This Weekend

I’m out of town for the weekend. Did you just hear that? That was the sound of my husband doing the happy dance.

I’m going to Laurel, Mississippi. It’s where I’m from. Here are some fun facts about Laurel:

  • Laurel is the home of Leontyne PriceBlanche Dubois Ralph Boston, Tom Lester (Eb from “Green Acres”),Parker Posey, My Favorite Martian Ray Walston, Marsha Blackburn, Lance Bass, Clinton Portis, and Frank G. Wisner.
  • Lauren Rogers Museum of Art, Mississippi’s oldest museum, is in Laurel. I will kiss your ass in Macy’s window if you can find another museum of this quality in such a small town. AND IT’S FREE. But don’t let that stop you from stuffing a dollar or two in the box. It’s an outstanding museum run by outstanding people and they need all the help they can get.
  • Memphians will recognize Laurel from a trip to Kroger. It’s the home of Sanderson Farms chicken. Chicken that ain’t shot up with anything but yummy.
  • Laurel in in Jones County which seceded from the Confederacy. Or maybe it didn’t. Some dispute that claim.
  • Laurel is called “The City Beautiful”. And it is, indeed, beautiful. Here are some pictures to prove that.
Also, here is a picture of a plastic cow in my parents’ backyard.
Anyway, I’ll be gone a few days.
Bye.

Elephants Are Morbid: Digital ADHD

(Note: I started writing this on 9/19. Just so you know. Also, I’ve tried errything I know to get the second half of the piece to break into proper paragraphs. It is difficult to read. BUT YOU WILL READ IT AND BY GOD YOU WILL NOT COMPLAIN.)

Blogging has some distinct advantages: I get to choose what I write about. I can write in my sweat pants–and by that, I mean I actually write my rough drafts on the INSIDE of my pants as a political statement about the transitory nature of the pixel vis-a-vis text-based applications and the political landmine that is cotton-based paper products in a post-green consumer society. The complete and total lack of editorial oversight here at Standard Shed Studios makes sentences like that possible. YOU’RE WELCOME.

So, here’s the thing. I was just talking to a friend about this blog she read where the writer was publicizing IP addresses for various reasons. Do not like. In this digital age, that information is really no different from publicizing a physical address. If you’ve got trolls and need to block a fella, do it. No need to talk about it. That person behind that IP address may be  perfectly lovely until he or she gets behind the wall of anonymity the internet ostensibly creates. Like getting in a car. Get me in traffic and I will let loose with a stream of expletives which will melt the rubber off your radials. I’m not an aggressive driver–far from it. It’s because of the cussing. If I didn’t talk to my fellow road-sharers, every time I got in my car it’d be like Death Race 2000 and I’d be Machine Gun Joe. (That one’s for you, THK!) In other words, stay away from Perkins, ma, ’cause Senior Day is triple points.

Point is, my mind works like this:

  • Sit down at desk.
  • Realize I forgot Cheetos. AGAIN.
  • Wonder if they have Zapp’s Cajun Dill Chips at the grocery.
  • Talk myself out of going to see.
  • Start writing stuff. Just stuff. Just getting the fingers working.
  • Twitter feed produces Twitter Feud O’ The Day.
  • Look at NPR feed.
  • Wonder where the saying “memory like an elephant” came from.
  • Learn that elephants mourn and hold elephant funerals.
  • Remember watching that Nature on crows that was cool as hell. Crows hold funerals also.
  • Wonder what would happen if an elephant showed up at a crow wake.
  • Wonder, yet again, why I don’t have a book contract/sitcom.
  • Think about writing a sticom where the sassy neighbor wears a caftan.
  • Realize I’m about to be late for something.
  • Take a sip of what I BELIEVED to be Coke Zero, but is actually CHERRY Coke Zero.
  • Brush my teeth.
  • Run my errands.
  • Finish disgusting cherry Coke because it’s open.
  • Get back home, clean kitchen, iron, remember I have half-written blog post.
     Notice nowhere on that list is fix dinner for husband so he stays big and strong and sexxaay so he can subsidize my writing habit.
 Whoopsies!
Me: Um, sweetie? ‘Member how you said next time I went out of town you were gonna eat nothing but sardines in mustard sauce on white bread?
Him: Yes? Are you going out of town? (He says, trying not to let excitement creep in to his voice)
Me: Well, not exactly, but I did go to Germantown today.
Him: So you’re saying there is no dinner.
Me: Well, I guess if you want to be all technical and whatnot.
     It’s at this point you’re expecting me to go back and tell you what the hell the publicizing the IP thing had to do with anything. The truth is I don’t remember. I’m keeping it in the post because I think it’s important for you to understand what it is like to be me.
     I would like sympathy, please. Smothered in tender kisses and $20 bills.
     I think what I was driving at was that you have to give up a little privacy when you’re playing on the digital playground. And you can’t really complain too much when people you’ve never met in person know as much about you as your OB/GYN. My husband is getting used to total strangers knowing what he had–or didn’t have–for dinner. Or what movies we watched last week. Or how I send him texts telling him he’s the cool, cool breeze that clears away my grumpy and leaves me in a place of simple pleasures and unicorns and bunnies.
     Just kidding, honey! I won’t tell them that!
     If you put me on a project which interests me, I’m on it like mayo on a bologna sammich. Otherwise? Well, why do you think I know elephants mourn? Today I just lack focus. I think I’m suffering from early 21st century postmodern neo-narcissistic existential angst. Everything is making me stabby: Cliff Stearns, Hizzoner The Governor Lite (Thanks for following me on Twitter, yo!) Middle Tennessee, and for some reason the fact that today is National Coffee Day and people keep hawking fair trade coffee.
BUT…
These things make me happy!!
And this:
Everything I do, I do for you, internet.