God Part 2

Sometimes I'm going to post stuff just because it makes me laugh. This does. Anyone who can write "his noodly appendage" with that degree of consistency must be brilliant.

In all seriousness, her letter to Kansas Board of Ed raises some great points. Let the schools be places of public education and recognize that not everyone is Christian. Our founding fathers did.

Object of My Desire

I don't have any lesbian tendencies these days, but I do admit to a gargantuan girl-crush on Kristy McNichol when I was a preteen. I'm sure it had something (a lot, probably) to do with the fact that she got to kiss my TRUE crush, who I still swoon over today, one Matt Dillon.

Matt is so underappreciated. Yes, he's chosen some of the worst parts to play in the history of Hollywood. And his directorial debut in City of Ghosts was pretty convoluted. But have you seen The Outsiders?? I mean, come on---when he drags himself across the ground before dying from a righteous gunshot wound? Or when he cries, "Let's do it for Johnny, man. Let's do it for Johnny!" Woo-wee. Good stuff.

He really was very good in Beautiful Girls, Singles, Drugstore Cowboy and more recently Employee of the Month. His early work in My Bodyguard, and, of course, Little Darlings where he deflowered my girl Kristy is all great.

If you've never seen Over the Edge you need to rent it, seriously. Critics love it as a perfect, realistic slice of teen life in the late 70s.

And his comedic stuff is priceless--There's Something About Mary and In and Out were big box office!! Not to mention the cult favorite Wild Things ('course, seeing Kevin Bacon's manhood might have pushed the sales on that one). Here's his whole filmography and an interview where he talks about some of his favorite roles.

Okay maybe he's just hot. Either way I've always followed his career, and when Herbie the Lovebug was re-released with Lindsay Lohan this summer I got one more opportunity to watch my Tiger Beat heartthrob on the big screen so I'm a happy camper.

Now Kristy, as it turns out, is gay, recovering from drug dependency and has a career that makes Matt's look Academy Award-caliber. Maybe there was something deeper going on with that girl-crush thing after all...

Sonic Youth

I was a child star.

It's true. Perhaps not the international superstardom of say, Dana Plato, but definitely a TV personality to contend with. And now it's all coming back to haunt me.

I was recently hit with a deeply repressed memory that took place in 5th grade in the early 80s. As a middle-of-the road student, I was greatly surprised to be chosen to represent the great Georgian Forest Elementary School as a special guest host on "The Captain 20 Show."

Imagine! Not only would I get to be on television, but I'd get to meet Captain 20, too! It was nearly too much for my flat-chested, henna-haired, 10-year-old heart to handle.

When the big day came, it was marked by fascinating vehicles with strange antennae parked in the school parking lot, plus lots of very important-looking cords and wires and cameras. The kindergarteners were gathered to dance on stage in the multi-purpose room (cafeteria at lunchtime; assembly room and performance venue plagued with the stench of rotten milk at other times).

Suckers. Dance? I was going to be HOST!

My job was to introduce myself, the performers, and my school. Then I was to come on at the end and thank everyone for watching. Heady stuff, remembering all of those lines, I tell ya.

It all went pretty well, as far as I could tell, and from there it was a torturous waiting game until the show aired the following week. This predates any VCRs, at least in my short-pocketed household, so when the show started and my face zoomed larger than life on the screen, I was forced to commit the experience to memory.

It was bad. So bad. I was so overly enthusiastic I sounded like a coked-up Barbie doll, and I was certain that someone had taken my face and replaced it with another, fatter version of mine just for the occasion.

The notoriety at school cooled down after about a week, and the whole event was forgotten about...until I was surfing recently and saw something about channel 20 in Washington, DC, and started to get sucked into some research.

After numerous e-mails to web masters, I was actually honored to hear from Captain 20 himself in response to my requests for a copy of the show. Here's a summary of our exchange:

Dear Kaptain Kidshows:
I have no idea if you'll be able to help, but the web site is great and exactly what I've been looking for.

I'm trying to track down an episode of "The Captain 20 Show" that I was on ("guest host") in 5th grade....either late 1979 or early 1980. The show came to us at Georgian Forest Elementary school in Silver Spring, MD.

Any advice on how I might find a tape of this? Anything you could offer would be greatly appreciated.

And his response:

Hi Jennifer,
Thanks for the note and it's clear you have fond memories of your appearance on the program. Unfortunately, there are only scattered video remnants of most of the shows. We reused the tapes every other week and didn't save much. Sorry I couldn't bring you better news! Please share any memories you have so we can post them on our website.

I hope to hear from you.
Stay forever young,

Dick Dyszel
Captain 20

He also shared this link to a news story that aired just the day before, where my old elementary school was featured on Trading Spaces. It seems the high-powered Hollywood connections are still holding strong at Georgian Forest.

Hero

Here's a question--why is it that I'm reduced to a whimpering pile of dogshit when it comes to 8-legged creatures?

It's 3:30 a.m. Little person wakes me up because she has to go potty. Fine. Normal.

Not normal: big, brown, hairy, friggin' tarantula style s-word watching us from the bathtub.

After a bona-fide Oscar performance (read: I didn't scream loudly and piss myself) I put the child safely to bed and re-entered the bathroom, though I had no clue what I planned to do about the situation. I remember calling my friend Adrienne over from across the street to kill a cocky daddy longleg that had dared enter my house when I was about 14, but with her living several states away now that option didn't seem a good one.

This wasn't a small scary spider, mind you...this was a BIG scary spider, and there was no way I could squash it or even wack it with a shoe, because it would clearly just stand up and squash me back.

I finally decided on Drano, 'cuz that's some powerful stuff. Proud of my creative approach, I quickly filled a cup full and, squinting so I could aim reasonably close to the target, I threw the poison in.

Off by a mile, and now the monster was on the move.

Windex! It has a sprayer! That slowed it down, but I had to really interact closely. To avoid the screaming thing, plus possible pukeage, I did a quick follow-up with the Drano, this time on a much slower enemy.

Eventually (long, long, long 20 seconds or so) it stopped moving, which meant I still had the ominous task of removing it from the bathtub.

Cover the corpse with more Windex, for good measure. Cover the mess with wads of toilet paper to conceal the imagery. Find big man-shoe to eliminate any trace of life that might still be struggling to take hold.

And finally, a blind, lightening-fast swoop of more tissue directly into the toilet for flushing. Twice.

I wish I could say I felt some kind of satisfaction, but since I wasn't able to sleep afteward it just served to screw up my entire day.

Next time she can pee all by her lonesome.

House of Pain

Yay!
Ick.
Yay!
Ick.

A wonderous thing, the first yanking of the tooth. Brave girl. Brave mom (or not so much, actually).

And kindergarten a mere weeks away.

Off to cry now.

The End of the World As We Know It

When I had my twins, everyone I knew received a long, detailed email from me describing the whole event from beginning to end. I wish I'd saved it, but this guy's How it all happened rendition is pretty damn close. In fact, all of his entries are very funny and will give you an excellent idea of what my life has been like for the past few years.

On a related (sort of) note, this sex survey touches on some topics discussed at my recent girls' night out. Use the pull-down menu to breeze through it, but suffice it to say I never realized how phallic Italy is...and yet I've always wanted to go there.

867-5309

Today I e-mailed back and forth with about a dozen clients on a magazine project that's nearly on press. Nearly every other company--literally 4 of 11--had a Jennifer as a contact person.

I've always had at least 3 Jennifers in class and in every workplace, including a red-hot happenin' internship at the National Business Aircraft Association where my nickname was "Cubby", a reference to the J-3 Cub plane (I was Jennifer #3 on the team).

The last 3 books I enjoyed were written by Jennifer Lauck, Jennifer Weiner and Jennifer Cruise (okay, that one might be a pen name), respectively.

The leader of our fair state of Michigan is in the club (and is a neighbor of mine, coincidentally).

Even the baby name book I bought for my newly expectant friend is aptly titled, "Beyond Jennifer and Jason".

My sister gave me the nickname "Fer" just to be different. It never stuck with anyone except for her, but I do like it when I hear her use it.

This chick knows exactly what I'm talking about, and cites some good research on the topic.

It's something you get used to after awhile; I've had 36 years to adjust. And on the bright side, perhaps it forces all of us in the Jenisphere to strive for ways to demonstrate our uniqueness and stand out among our fellow 'Fers.

But it also makes me wish I named my kids Gwendolyn or Ezmirelda to ensure they won't face the same fate--and very glad I avoided Ashley.

Born Already

The older I get, the more religious everyone else gets. Or maybe it's just a post-terrorist society. Or it's simply more apparent now that I have kids.

Or maybe, just maybe, it's a newfound fundamentalist propaganda campaign that is pummeling me from every square corner of the earth.

Whatever its origin, it's starting to bug me. I've officially pulled the kiddos out of their Nazarene preschool so I can send them to another nonsecular, apple pie version down the road---which, it turns out, boasts that it offers a "good Christian environment" in its ads.

Because Christian is better than say, not Christian.

And, lord help me if they get one more invitation to vacation bible school.

It's probably too late for them anyway, as one of their favorite sing-a-longs in the car is Jesus Loves Me.

But outside of the "get 'em while they're young" circuit, it's still creeping up on me. Every other blog I breeze through has a religious slant of some kind, and I feel totally ripped off. I was hoping for more cerebral stuff to entertain me. Sex, drugs and rock-n-roll, for instance.

My friends have even started going to church and synagogue more often (this could in fact be related to their previous degenerate lifestyles), and some of my favorite TV shows and movies are expending perfectly good energy on the topic.

My bottom line? Sorry, world. I don't need to be born again. It worked just fine the first time. And I don't need religion to be spiritual. I can appreciate the miracle of life by looking at my family or watching the clouds roll by just as well. Live says it perfectly:

I don't need no one to tell me about heaven
I look at my daughter and I believe
I don't need no proof when it comes to God and truth
I can see the sun set and I perceive

So enjoy and embrace your own thoughts on God. Count your blue cars and all. Just keep those private thoughts on the subject as just that. Private.

A Day in the Life

So for the most part, my life revolves around my children. That's not to say that I've given over my identity completely but any (good) parent knows that dates with "b.c." after them have nothing to do with the Big Guy upstairs. Instead, it' s the suffix given to the self you grew to know over the course of many years, did your best to become comfortable with, and then abandoned for the more complicated, layered version after children.

With this is mind, I've been trying to fill my kids' lives with wonderful summer memories while still making time for good 'ole moi. It's typically a give and take=I get to go work out at the gym if I take them to the pool afterward. I get a night out with friends if I stay off the computer and phone until noon the next day.

This bargaining is self imposed, largely to curtail any feelings of guilt. But the real driving force is a desire to give them a happy, well-adjusted childhood. Pinky swear.

Today's negotiation was a few shows for them on Nickelodeon in exchange for quiet time while I finished the book I've been enthralled with, Jennifer Lauck's Still Waters. Not quite the life-changer that its predecessor Blackbird, was, but fantastic nonetheless.

After reading this one-two punch of personal horror (and self-realization) my own worries seem paltry. Real and comfortably mine, but not so bad. So today, my life was really just about perspective.

Like a Virgin

Well, it already feels incredibly self-centered to be doing this, but my inaugural posting has to happen sometime, right?

Look for actual content coming soon...after I finish my work deadlines, wrap up volunteer projects, pick up the kids from preschool, take them to cheerleading class, head to the park for a birthday party and eventually get back home for some down time.

So perhaps soon is a relative term.

But this should be, as they say, big fun!