FeeFiFoto Blog

Questioning The Theme Of My Blog

Sometimes I question the theme of my writing

If you're a regular visitor here you've most likely figured out that I don't usually peel off my skin to show you everything inside.  That's just not me.  There's definitely an inside inside of me, and I used to be all out there about it.  In elementary school I was the town crier -- everyone knew all my problems because I screamed about them very loudly no matter the site or circumstances. 

There was the time in fifth grade when I made a scene because I wanted to be a team captain in gym class; no surprise that I'd never been nominated, since I sucked at everything athletic except billiards.  My classmates, horrified and embarrassed, named me team captain for one of the gym units, and I felt like an idiot; at least I had sufficient self awareness to recognize that I'd made myself look like a fool.

The screaming subsided somewhat by middle school, and I made myself invisible (even to my own eyes; don't bother asking what I remember from middle school, because there's nothing there).  Through high school, college, law school and early adulthood, though, I still wore my issues pinned to my chest for anyone to see, if they knew to look.

I finally understood that I'd never done myself any good by erecting billboards to display my problems -- that I was doing myself way more harm than good by broadcasting my issues in the hope that someone would solve them for me instead of working to solve them myself. And once I took responsibility for my problems, they became a bit less daunting and a little bit more solvable (soluble?).

So I'm not the designated town crier any more.  I have my problems, but I keep them more private now.  I can't say I miss the drama days, because they were really hard on me. 

Still, when I read something like this post by Her Bad Mother, I wonder if I should share more of myself.  I compare the meaningfulness of Catherine's writing and question whether I can and should do better than I do now.  I wonder if my continuous stream of slip and fall stories is what I really want to be writing about every few days.

And then I realize that what you write isn't as important as how you write it, and Catherine of Her Bad Mother WRITES IT. REALLY. WELL.

Writing angst.  I haz it.

Whose writing makes your day?

Some Advice: How To Feed A Reader

Please people -- if you want me (or anyone else) to subscribe to your feed, please, please provide a full feed, or at least an appetizer.  Nobody -- NOBODY -- not even the reincarnations of Michael Jackson or Walter Cronkite -- is appealing enough to me to cause me to click through from my reader without even the smallest hint of what you're offering.  And that goes for bloggers whose first few lines are nothing more than copyright notices.  I get it; you don't want me to plagiarize your stuff, and I promise I won't.  Just please keep the warnings until the end of your piece, and give me at least some little tidbit to tempt me to click through and read your whole post.

You're welcome.

Thoughts On Jury Duty

I feel like I'm at the Humane Society, hoping to be chosen.  Every time one of those clerks come in to page 30 potential jurors I mentally wag my tail.

The security guys order me to throw away the fork and scissors in my bag (which one of my kids left a fork in the lunch bag?  Somebody's in truuuuuble.)  Later I discover that I had two pairs of scissors and they only caught one.  Wish I'd trashed this pair and kept the one I pitched.

I can't believe some people come intending to spend the entire day in this room with nothing to read, nothing to do except stare straight ahead.  Their thoughts must be mighty entertaining.

I feel foolish walking to a restaurant for lunch wearing this silly "Juror" name tag.  They begged us to wear the tags everywhere so attorneys and parties to legal proceedings would know not to talk about their cases in our hearing.  It makes sense, but I still feel dumb.

My friend calls my cell phone and yells at me for being on jury duty, like it's my fault.

I've brought a lot of entertainments: book, newspapers, knitting, laptop.  I get a lot of writing done but can only check email on my Blackberry because: dial up?  Really?  Come on, County Courts -- think about joining us in the 21st Century.  I'll happily donate my per diem to get you started.

By the end of the day those of us who haven't been called are dismissed and told we don't have to come back tomorrow.

I made $10.

If Helen Keller Were Here, She'd Say "Water" -- Teaching With Tough Love

According to Answers.com, kennelitis is:

"Social maladjustment toward humans, seen in young dogs raised in a kennel rather than with humans."

Little Miss is eight months old, growing well, eating enthusiastically, housebreaking (fairly) well (she knows the door has something to do with it, but isn’t as clear as I’d like on which side of the door is the better choice). She gets along brilliantly with Miss Puppy. I’m not sure how they manage to run laps around the dining room attached to each other’s ears, but they seem to have worked out a system.

On the down side, she expends an inordinate amount of energy growling at, charging, and even biting (yes, biting) Robespierre.

As you would expect, Robey is a little put out about this; he wants to be friends with everyone, and he’s also not fond of that part about biting.

My Ankle's A Little Bit Sprainy: Klutzing

But this time it's not my fault.  I was in the yard, talking on the phone and pulling weeds, while the dogs played playfully and picturesquely at my feet.  The chase commenced, and they leaped for each other but instead of catching each other, they crashed into me simultaneously and, moreover, at the same time.  Now, I know they're small dogs, but their combined weight is more than 50 pounds; meanwhile their velocity was like this:

Do I have to tell you what happened?  Do I have to explain the laws of physics?  Do I have to illustrate the result of the chance encounter of immovable objects and irresistible forces?  please don't make me please don't make me please don't make me

 

The LOOK harmless, don't they?

Still Chugging Away With Bar Mitzvah Planning

Hey Blogfans.  I need feedback and opinions here.  Has anyone had any experience using Evite to send invitations to a Bar Mitzvah party?  I'm talking about a party exclusively for kids, not anything to which adults would be invited.  Have you used it?  Seen it used?  Pros and cons?

I promise, my feelings won't be hurt, no matter what you say.  Unless you insult me personally, and why would you?  If you think this is the dumbest idea you've ever heard, feel free to share it with anyone you know.  Just not me, please.

Thanks friends.

Wordless Wednesday: What?

Summer Reading

Robey: "I'm bringing one of those books to camp."

Me:  "Which one?"

Robey: "How To Kill A Mockingbird."

Here's Another Reason To Admire Walter Cronkite

From the New York Times obituary of this great man:

"In 1954, when CBS challenged NBC’s popular morning program “Today” with the short-lived “Morning Show,” it tapped Mr. Cronkite to be the host. Early on he riled the sponsor, the R. J. Reynolds Tobacco Company, by grammatically correcting its well-known advertising slogan, declaring, “Winston tastes good as a cigarette should.” "

It's a sad irony that such a great mind should have succumbed to dementia.

Photo Hunters: Rocks

On our trip to the Grand Canyon, we saw rocks:

 

and climbed on rocks:

and stood in front of rocks:

and slept like rocks:

The Grand Canyon ROCKS.

THE END.

See more Photo Hunters here.

Wordless Wednesday: We Bought Several, Using Genuine Fake Money

It's Bastille Day, And You Know What That Means: Time To Update The About Page

Image here.

In case you're confused, there's really no connection between Bastille Day and updating my About page. I'm just messin' witcha.

I have, however, updated my About page, and here are some highlights:

I'm a recovering attorney with two kids, two dogs, a gift site called FeeFiFoto (duh), and very little free time on my hands.

1. I'm really good at parallel parking.  Someone gave me a lesson when I got my first car and I've never forgotten how.  I could park a school bus if I had to.  As long as the bus had an automatic transmission.
2. I did fail parallel parking on the driver's test, however.  Both times.  But I can do it now, I swear.  I even give lessons.
3. I do know how to drive a standard transmission, just not one on a bus.
4. Do they even make school buses with standard transmissions any more?  It's been a very long time since I've ridden a school bus.  Since I get motion sickness even at the mention of a bus, I don't think I'm going to be finding out about the transmissions on school buses any time soon.

Photo Hunters: Garbage

Here it is -- my photo of garbage:

It's a closet... full of garb... hence...

Garb-age.

Thank you.  I'll be here all week.  Remember to tip your waitresses.

See more Photo Hunters here.

American Idols: Whom Do You Admire?

Robespierre: "Jon Stewart is my new idol."

Me: "Really.  Why's that?"

Robey: "Because Billy Mays died."

Me: "..."

I Am Mossy: Replacing Grass That Won't Grow, With Moss, Which Might

With sincerest apologies to Bossy, who is one of my blogging idols.  In fact, I might or might not have a shrine to Bossy in my home, replete with life size graven images of her and her Great Dane, Stella (I wanted to name our dog Stella, or Taxi, because, how funny would it be to chase a fleeing dog yelling either name? but my kids wouldn't buy it).  Y'all go read Bossy's blog and then come back to my paltry post.  Better bookmark me, because once you've met Bossy, you might not be interested in me any more, kind of like when Jan's boyfriend met Marcia and all of a sudden he was like: "Jan who?" and Jan was like: "Marcia Marcia Marcia!!"

Was I talking about something?

Ah.  Moss.

Who Knew It Could Be This Easy: The Fountain Of Youth

Headline from Monday's New York Times:

‘Tonight Show’ Audience a Decade Younger

"One of the big questions facing Conan O’Brien was this: How can he succeed with the older “Tonight Show” viewers? The answer: by making them younger.

In Mr. O’Brien’s first month as host, the median age of “Tonight Show” viewers has fallen by a decade — to 45 from 55..."

Enough with The Daily Show -- I'm switching to Conan.

Wordless Wednesday: We Like To Photograph Doors. Don't Judge.

Fame Contest.  Enter here to win fame, and a gift certificate!

Public Service Announcement: How (Or Why) To Clean Your Refrigerator

Fame Contest.  Enter here to win fame, and a gift certificate!

STEP ONE
Prepare Jello in a large bowl according to package directions.

STEP TWO
Place bowl on a shelf in the refrigerator.

STEP THREE
Slam refrigerator door, causing Jello to slosh liberally.

STEP FOUR
Discover Jello puddles in refrigerator drawers.

STEP FIVE
Spend the next hour removing, washing, drying and replacing refrigerator drawers and shelves.

More Travel Excitement

Fame Contest.  Enter here to win fame, and a gift certificate!

Let's see -- where were we?  Something about traveling, Italy, noses...

Ah yes -- nosebleeds on parade.

Cupcake's nose can erupt like Mount Etna if you just look at it; it's a special power she has that we try to devote only to good.  So when my father hugged her and inadvertently touched her nose, the gushing recommenced. 

Now That I Think About It, The Nonstop Coughing Wasn't So Bad: Travel Crises

Some kids are chess masters.  Some excel at skateboarding, music, basketball or writing.

My kids are World Class Nosebleeders.

There are clear advantages to being the parent of an experienced nosebleeder.  Such as...

for example...

ummm...

Wait!  I know!

If someone you're with has a nosebleed, you'll know exactly what to do. 

Ta da!

A few years ago I had their noses cauterized.  I had to; our carpets gave the impression that our hobby was axe murdering.  Both have had to have the procedure repeated, and Cupcake more than once.  I try to remember to have them slosh Vaseline in their noses, with "try" being the operative word.

So we're on a plane to Rome two weeks ago. The flight is long, the plane cramped and inhospitable.  Five hours into the flight, Cupcake sneezes.