Most of my Web stumbles these days come from Twitter.
I found this video yesterday and loved it. Rapper’s Delight, the first song in the medley, will always remind me of growing up in South Park near the tail end of Martin Luther King Blvd in Houston. It wasn’t until years later when I was going to school on the east coast that I realized how far behind the rest of the world we’d probably been in our neighborhood. My freshman year of college, I was sending home mix tapes of Doug E. Fresh and Slick Rick, blowing the minds of my poor friends left behind with ancient releases of Run DMC, thinking they were cutting all kinds of edges.
Also on Twitter yesterday, I ran into Mocha Dad. According to his blog and Twitter profile, he is also from Houston, and probably grew up right up the street from me. We went to college together, but the first time we met? Yesterday on Twitter. What a small Interwebs.
My weekend getaway with Q has been postponed, so my first Chevy Mom’s Time Out mission will be with the kids. We’ll hit the grocery store and, if the camera is rolling, pretend we buy organic. We do not buy organic unless you mean the actual, non-ripoff marketing definition of the word: from living organisms. In that case, we eat organic all the time. Those cupcakes were stalks of wheat at some point.
The title of this post comes from what Jordan used to type into her browser address bar trying to access You Tube. It’s now an inside joke, our calling it You Tub. I ran across a site (I was on an Interwebs tear yesterday) written by a young extreme conservative ideologue protesting something or other about Muslims and the president. The grammar made him sound as though English was nowhere near his first language or his fifth, and that perhaps he hadn’t mastered the first four. Somewhere in the vitriol, I figured out that the kid has cerebral palsy, and maybe that was supposed to excuse his implied refusal to hire his mom as a copy editor. Maybe he was using his disability as his hook, and if someone cleaned up his posts, he’d no longer get any attention. Who knows? Note to self: even as I’m living the dream of raising free range kids, don’t let Jordan (or the other two for that matter) look like an idiot in front of the world. Even kids with TBIs can learn to run the effing spell check.
Your husband relentlessly and pathologically crushing you in Words with Friends in comments…
LOL what was Chevy PROMO was read as Chevy PORNO!
Now I know what you’ve come to expect when you visit my blog. Ha.
You Tubbing reminds me of a Lifetime movie where the Mom thought that ‘gurgle’ was a search engine…LOL, gurgle it.
I hardly ever buy organic–with so much less of this and that in the product, why must it cost so much more? It’s ridiculous.
But? I love that you’ll be playing the role of the eco-savvy mom in your film.
I will admit these organic chicken breasts we bought from Target over Christmas were to die for. Yummers.
love the stalks-of-wheat-to-cupcakes line, freakin’ priceless! and i also love “you tubbing” kid writing/ typing is the BEST!
btw, you should write a post about free-rangin’ (not to be bossy or anything) but i’m trying oh-so-very hard to, you know, be like *that* but it goes against every fiber of my being.
so what i’m saying is, teach me, will you?!
I’m just glad Jordan’s phone auto-corrects her text messages. I’d have no idea WTF she’s trying to tell me otherwise. You know, Einstein was also a terrible speller. Just sayin’.
Dunno about the free range post just yet. I do let them ride their bikes around the neighborhood without cell phones clipped to titanium helmets and six-inch thick elbow pads, but I’m still in the no-bragging-about-it stages. You saw how panicked I was during camp week. Lemme think about it.
My husband couldn’t crush me at words with friends but my 16 year old could. On the other hand my 14 year old not only can’t spell she flat out refuses to use spell check. I think she decided that as long as you can figure the word out she doesn’t need to waste her time being correct.
Your doing ok on free range kids. Mine are old enough to wander all over but I don’t even let them out of the yard without a phone or I panic whenever I hear sirens.
You’re a siren-panicker, too? Thought I was the only one. I let them roam, just not without anxiety.
I’ve got to get one of those beatbox machines. I may even produce some House music beats.
Aw man, house music! Reminds me of parties on Tuesday nights for no reason except why not? Thanks for stopping by!