Hannah Montana ... ?

So, we're browsing around the Round Rock Outlet Mall last night, to enjoy the cooler evening weather, and Z wanted to go into Kay-bee Toys. While he was drooling over Transformers, I wandered over to the board game section, only to stumble upon this:

Here's a close-up, just in case you can't see it well:

A.) Games like this should be abolished. Teaching your daughter how to become a "pop star", like Hannah Montana. It says it includes an "instructional DVD", as if to imply that if you & your daughter follow the steps on the DVD, you TOO could be the next Billy Ray & Miley. Isn't that false advertising? How about this ... do your daughter a favor, and get her a chemistry set instead.

B.) If they are marketing to little pre-pubescent girls, shouldn't they at least put someone on the box who actually looks like a girl? Or a young girl, at that? For some reason, the person photographed looks to me like a 14-year old boy in drag. I know this poor person had to don the dreadful Hannah Montana wig, but honestly. Even Miley Cyrus looks more feminine than this when she's all costumed up. Disney (who put out the game) could use a little of their massive fortune made off of Hannah Montana to doll up the girl on the game box. Wow.

By the way, has anyone out there ever watched five minutes of Hannah Montana? If so, you will probably understand my utter confusion as to how this became such a phenomenon. I think they use laugh tracks, it's that bad. Hannah Montana is reason #738 that I'm happy to be the Mom of a boy.

Catching up

I am happy to say I finally have some alone time.  Time where I can blog to my heart's content, without feeling guilty for neglecting my boys, neglecting my job, or neglecting my body for lack of sleep.  I actually was supposed to have six glorious hours of alone time yesterday, when the boys went to the UT vs. Arkansas game (thank you again Jim!), but alas, Murphy's f-ing law kicked in and I spent the entire day flat on my back feeling miserable.  Ok, not the ENTIRE day - I did get up to go get a pedicure for about 45 minutes, but then crawled back into bed immediately after, with toes barely dry.  I then proceeded to sleep the entire afternoon, only getting up to pee & check on the score of the game.  That shows you how much I love pedicures, eh?

So, since I have some alone time (Z's in bed, Aaron's at his store waiting for the carpet guys to finish cleaning their carpets, and I don't have to get up early tomorrow), I thought I'd catch everyone up on some things we've done through September.  By things, I mean a trip to the capital when it was one of the first low-humidity, gorgeous 80 degree weather of the year, our annual trip to the Pecan Street Festival, and another road-trip to a diner from that book I mentioned a few blogs ago.  Let's begin.

First, we were looking for something fun to do outside on this breezy, non-sticky day a few weeks ago, and we also wanted it to be free.  We decided to take a trip down to the capital grounds, and look around the capital, then hang out on the grounds under the big, giant trees.  We've taken Z there one time before, but he was only 3, and didn't remember a whole lot about it.  Of course, now that he's six, we heard about how "bored" he was within 15 minutes of pulling up some shady grass and relaxing.  Too bad, son!  Mommy & Daddy weren't moving for a while, so we tried to come up with games and things to keep him busy.  Besides Aaron chasing him (which got old for Aaron REAL quick), I decided to play fetch with him.  As harsh as this sounds, it worked, and he was delighted to go running after my shoes for a good while.  Then, he resorted to chasing the people-friendly squirrels, but that quickly backfired.  We saw him run up on one little furry guy, then stop dead in his tracks, and come hauling ass back towards us.  The squirrel had actually juked him, as if to act like he was going to rush Zach.  It was hysterical.  Zach came back to where we were, and described the squirrel's face as, "it was like he was saying 'WASSUP?!' ".  I wish I had taken a picture of Zach's thug face as he was imitating this tiny squirrel.  I will spare you of token capital pictures, as I'm sure you've all seen it either in photos or in person before.

The Goddess of Liberty

The squirrels will walk right up to you.

Impatients are floating in the fountain

Z thought this was dirt ... oops.

The after-math.  Oh, boys.

Lying on my back, looking up.

Alright, one capital photo, for good measure.

Running back with my shoe (ie - fetch).

A lovely blue jay.

The same lovely, but suddenly perplexed blue jay.

Leaving the capital grounds ... he saw signs and was ecstatic.

Nice.  Driving through downtown & saw this guy.  

So, he means peace but back off, bitch?

Hmmmm.  Only in Austin, I swear.

After our time at the capital, Z mentioned he would like to go see a museum or two.  Since we won't go anywhere near the Austin Children's Museum on a weekend, we took him to a Natural History museum on UT campus.  Again, it was free, but apparently everyone else had the same idea.  It was so ridiculously crowded, it was making me edgy.  You couldn't even see things close-up because of all the people around each exhibit.  We left there, asking Z what he'd like to see next, and he said an art museum.  Aaron thought it would be great to take him to the Ransom Center's Art Museum, also on campus, because he & I had been there before and loved it.  Turns out they were having a paper exhibit, so it was basically a bunch of old letters and hand-drawn pictures or notes by certain artists and authors, so it didn't do much for Z.  He did find one print though, that caught his attention, and asked me to take a picture of it:

A closer look.

The title, artist, and explanation.  Interesting.

Fast forward a week or two, and we took our second trip for the year to the Pecan Street Festival.  It always comes through in May and in September, and we always go both times.  Z loves the funnel cakes and snow cones, Daddy loves the shrimp on a stick, Mommy loves the overpriced gyros, and Mommy & Daddy both love the cheap, ice cold beer.  I took some random shots from that day, nothing family-oriented.  Guess I was feeling a bit artsy.

The pizza joint on 6th street even has a myspace page?  Seriously?

Oh, how times have changed.

Needless to say, it was a fantastic day.  It always is when we go there.  As much as crowds usually get on my nerves, there's some weird calm about this specific event.  It just feels like home ... don't know why, but I won't kill the wonderment of it all by trying to figure it out.

Lastly, we finally took another day-trip to visit one more diner in our beloved diners/cafes of Texas book.  This week we chose The Bluebonnet Cafe in Temple, TX, and wow, we were not disappointed.  I forgot to document our meals in pictures on the last few trips we've taken, so I'm happy to say I remembered on this one.  Here was our lunch:

My cheeseburger and fries.  Oh yeah.

Aaron's chicken fried steak and onion rings.

The place itself.

I have to apologize for not taking pictures of our desserts.  Aaron ordered the chocolate meringue pie, and I ordered the apple pie with ice cream.  (Z opted out of all the goodies, because he had a big breakfast.)  We tore into those pie pieces as soon as they hit our table, so they were gobbled up before I remembered the photos.  If anything, that should be testament to the yummy goodness of this joint.  Stop by, if you're ever on your way to or from Austin.  It's worth it.

Other than the things I've posted here, we've been staying busy with school, work, and allergies.  We're all full of snot and antihistamines these days, and praying for cold weather, like everyone else.  This round has hit everyone particularly hard lately, even co-workers and my two best friends & their families.  Seems like no one can escape the mucus.  I've also been busy being "room parent" for Z's class, which includes working on an auction project for our biggest fundraiser of the year in November.  Z's teacher, one other Mom, and I all decided we should do a photo collage of the kids, then have it framed and labeled with our school crest & monogram.  I think it'll turn out beautiful, but we have a lot of work ahead of us before it will be done.  I photographed all the children last week, and will be doing a few re-takes this week, so I can get the pictures off to the magical person who'll be putting them into collage form.  I'll show you the end result, once we finally get there.

Hope everyone has been doing well & taking care of each other.  October starts this Wednesday.  What the ... ??  Wanna really freak out?

Yeah, chew on that one for a while.  eek!  Hugs to all, until next time ...

Crocs

DISCLAIMER: If you are easily offended and/or partake in the Crocs phenomena, skip this one.

Have you ever come across an article and thought, "Gah! That's EXACTLY what I would say, if I knew how to write better?" This happened to me recently, with an article my husband brought home for me. It was in Newsweek magazine, and it nailed my exact feelings about a touchy subject in this world ... Crocs.

Anyone who has known me for a while knows how much I loathe these rubber monstrosities. The argument of how comfortable they are, or how much their kids love them doesn't change my point of view. When it comes down to it, they are ugly, rubber clown shoes that undoubtedly make one's feet stink. (I know this, because my dear friend bought a pair for her then 15-mo. old son - his feet reeked so badly after one use, she threw them out.) One of the reasons Aaron brought this article home is because we have stood alone in our fight against Crocs for many years, and it was comforting to read that we are not the only ones who feel this way. We, too, walk around in amazement at how many people have jumped on to the Crocs bandwagon, apparently ignoring the hilarity of the Croc itself. Below is a re-post of Steve Tuttle's Newsweek article, and it's great. Please, read & enjoy.


The case for ending our long national nightmare.
By Steve Tuttle | Newsweek Web Exclusive
Aug 1, 2008


I like to play a game with my son, Joseph. We sit on a bench in touristy Old Town, Alexandria, Va., and we're not allowed to get up until we see a dozen pairs of Crocs. It usually doesn't take long. But the other day we were stuck at eight after a few minutes, and I was getting a little concerned. Just then my boy leaned over and said, "Don't worry, Dad. A family of dorks will come along any minute." To paraphrase Hank Hill, if he wasn't my son, I would have hugged him right then, I was so proud.


I know what you're thinking: what kind of sick father lets his impressionable young son call people dorks because of the shoes they wear? Well, who else will teach him that wearing sweaty bright purple clown shoes in public is not OK? He certainly won't learn that lesson at school. Teachers seem to be some of the biggest abusers of this horrid fad.


I know what else you're thinking: "I like Crocs … they're so comfortable. I'll tell you who the dork is … the guy writing this story, that's who! And who died and made him the fashion authority anyway?" Well, no one. I own pitted-out T shirts that are more than a quarter of a century old, and I've been known to strut around town in some pleated khaki Dockers. I own one belt. A female colleague even told me once I'd be a "perfect candidate for 'Queer Eye for the Straight Guy'." I think she was trying to be helpful. My complete lack of fashion sense actually supports my theory, because even I know these things are an abomination.


Yes, I'm really, really late to the Crocs-bashing party. Really late. Plenty of fashionistas have written screeds over the years. But the damn things are still here, so this is no time to stop fighting. To quote the great John Belushi: "Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell, no!"


I've been following the good work of Web sites like I Hate Crocs Dot Com for some time, even going so far as to submit a photograph of a stuffed skunk spraying a pair of pink Crocs. The fantastic Best Page In The Universe posted a hilarious rant a while back joking that people who bought Crocs on Amazon.com also bought frozen corn dogs, Pabst Blue Ribbon Light and trucker balls, as well as the CD single "Hey There, Delilah" by the Plain White T's. The rant's author, Maddox, writes: "People who wear Crocs go on and on about how comfortable they are, and how it's supposedly odor resistant because it's made out of some kind of anti-bacterial foam … You know what else it's resistant to? You getting laid."


A popular YouTube video called "Dorcs" parodies the trend: "Wow, but they're so ugly," says an office worker to her friend. "That's how you know they're comfortable," he says. By the end, she's a convert: "I've given fashion the finger, and joined the Dorcs revolution!" The Crocs Empire is acutely aware of us haters. Even their own commercials make fun of the irrational and over-the-top rage their shoes instill in people like me. In one, an unshaven lunatic holds a neon blue Croc in front of his face and screams, "Why are you wearing these!" for 30 seconds. I only wish I'd known about the tryouts for this commercial.

Crocs's stock price has cratered of late, so there is hope. According to the Rocky Mountain News, the shoes, "which were once so popular that the company couldn't keep pace with demand, are now piling up in warehouses." Maybe the company's just a victim of its own success. If practically every person in the U.S. already has a pair and they're indestructible, how many more can you sell? The same thing happened to Wham-O back in the 1950s with the Hula Hoop.


But the company isn't giving up. They've been diversifying, sponsoring Olympic teams and veering off into sandals and other designs, trying to fool us. They've even gone so far as to create a high-heeled Croc. OMG, as the kids say. These have to be seen to be believed. I recommend only the strong of heart should attempt to Google "high-heeled Croc." The company Web site has this ominous warning for us: "Today, Crocs™ Shoes are available all over the world and on the internet as we continue to significantly expand all aspects of our business" (italics added). That sounds like a threat to me. They're even suing other companies like Skechers for allegedly stealing their great idea. Skechers says the lawsuit is "baseless," "outlandish," and "ridiculous." I'll tell you what's outlandish and ridiculous: that these things sell so much that another company would feel compelled to copy them, allegedly. Don't we have enough eye pollution with just the originals still out there? Don't be fooled, America! Soylent Green is CROCS!!!

SIDEBAR FROM PHYLLIS: Here are two pics of high-heeled Crocs that are out there ...

If you think about it, the Crocs company should really be admired. P. T. Barnum would be proud. They've managed to separate money from the wallets of millions and millions of seemingly sane people who wake up, look in the closet, and actually decide: "Today I'll leave the house wearing these neon-green Dutch bubble shoes with Swiss-cheese holes in them. Maybe I'll even buy some little plastic strawberries or bananas and jam them in the sweat holes, just to jazz things up and make the bacteria incubate faster." That's fine. I say do whatever you want in the privacy of your own home. Let your Crocs freak flag fly. But don't make the rest of us watch.


I realize this article might not go down too well even in my own editorial office and certainly not in our ad sales department. My boss in Washington read an early draft and said it was funny, but that I had a "somewhat demented obsessiveness." At least he threw me a "somewhat." Another editor wondered aloud if I had perhaps been trampled by Crocs at some point in my life. I also worry about writing this because some of my best friends—and their sweet, innocent children—wear them. One of my dearest—the sister I never had—introduced me to the shoes years ago when she waltzed into a garden party in a pair of bright hot-pink Crocs. I couldn't stop staring at them. "What are those things?!" I whimpered nervously, hoping maybe she was rehabbing from some sort of strange Achilles mishap. "Oh, they're called Crocs … I got them for gardening," she said, so innocently.


Oh, if only we'd known what a tsunami of fashion idiocy was about to be unleashed, maybe we could have stopped it somehow, and they would have stayed in the garden where they belong, covered with manure, a trendy item to be featured on www.stuffwhitepeoplelike.c

om. If only. Then they wouldn't be out there in the American mainstream, that big, vast, sweaty mainstream traipsing through our airports and over our beaches and around our great shopping malls. Plop, plop, plop, they go, stuffing their Crocs faces with ice cream and Doritos and giant sodas. Plop, plop, plop. Stuff, stuff, stuff. Yuck, yuck, yuck. And the rest of us have to watch. I spent eight hours waiting on a flight at Dulles over the 4th of July week and I was just minutes from tackling the next group of Crocs ploppers I saw. Luckily for me—and the ploppers—my flight finally arrived and I wasn't arrested for assault. Knowing my luck, I'd have shown up in court to find 12 pairs of Crocs sitting in the jury box.

It would have probably been better for my career if I just posted this as an anonymous Craigslist rant as CrocsHatah35 or something. Plenty of others have spouted off about Crocs there. And sure, I would have had a lot more readers. But Craigslist doesn't write my paychecks, and this is just too important to ignore another day. Some times you just have to make a stand, even if it's a few years late. Do we really think we're going to stop global warming if we can't even end this fashion Chernobyl once and for all? I think the U.S. government should institute a Crocs buyback policy, like they do in the inner city for guns. It would do more to beautify this great land than Lady Bird's highway beautification program ever did.

So I'm begging you, America. Just stop. When you wake up tomorrow and look at your options, choose flip-flops. Go barefoot. Wear boots. Anything but Crocs. By next summer—if we all work together—we can have this plague of bad taste virtually eliminated. Yes! We! Can!

Birthday pics & Pink Floyd

Hello folks! I am happy to say that I've been too busy living, which means no time for blogging. But, alas, you have been so patient in my absence of birthday photos, so here they are!

As mentioned before, we had Zach's party on Saturday, August 30, since his special day fell on a weeknight. On the actual day of his birthday, we took him for a private party romp of Chuck E Cheese, with my parents. At first, he didn't understand why he was having two birthday celebrations, but in the end, he seemed to enjoy the double partying immensely. Hope he doesn't get too used to it, because we hope to keep things to one affair next year ...


Saturday, August 30, at a place called Main Event. They have bowling, laser tag, an arcade, pool tables, rock-wall climbing, glow golf - the works! Zach was interested in the bowling, so here are some pics of the facility, as well as his stupendous "sign" birthday cake. (THANKS SCOTT! Everyone - go see or call Scott at The Cake Plate for your cakes!! He's amazing! 512-263-9305)

The Main Event


This THRILLED him - his name on the marquis!


This place is massive.


Pool tables & full bar.










Some 3-D decorations on the wall that I thought were cute.


This year, it was a "One Way" cake.


It was DELICIOUS!


Making sure Daddy put SIX candles on his cake.




Make a wish!


Jim & Brandon, driving together.


I gave Amy & Becca some "Mommy" party favors - here's Bec pretending to enjoy her mini bottle of Seagrams.


Dad & Toni playing a game of air hockey.




Zach & Preston enjoying air hockey, as well.




Ma wanted in on the fun too!


Aaron & Zach, riding a Harley Davidson motorcycle game.


Jim, Brandon, & Amy watching Preston fly a fighter jet.


One happy birthday boy & Preston.
(Preston is one year YOUNGER than Zach! Amazing, no?)


Zach, surrounded by all of his Webkinz.
Thanks to Becca, Toni, & my parents for helping his collection grow to 14!


Group shot - he wanted me to take this.


Our boy cat, who found the Siamese Webkinz in the pile, and decided to get cozy with it.
We now call it his girlfriend.

What a day that was! Loads of fun, and Main Event was so accommodating. We would go back there for his next birthday party in a heartbeat. To top off the day, I got my best bowling score ever - 176! No one could believe it, including me!

A few days later, on Sept 3, we frolicked at Chuck E Cheese. Since we had already done the whole cake thing, he chose a cupcake to take there instead. We always thoroughly enjoy ourselves at Chuck E Cheese, even though we're 33, and this time was no different.

The rat that gets my son's pulse racing.

I must admit, I didn't take nearly as many photos on his birthday night, because I was too busy playing skee-ball and shooting baskets for tickets. We worked as a group for tickets so Zach could have his pick of what he wanted from their counter, and we ended up with something like 1500 tickets! Not bad! Of course, he picked out a dozen different little items which have now ended up all over the floors, which in turn, has led to them being stepped on in the dark of night. It's amazing how much one little toy can make a person cuss.

Overall, I'd say he had quite a birthday, with all the amazing gifts everyone showered on him - plus both birthday celebrations. Preston got him a Transformer he had been dying for, Aaron's parents sent him a Wal-Mart gift card where he got two other Transformers he had wanted, then he got all those Webkinz ... he's as happy as a pig in poo these days. A poo pig that's not getting anything more until Christmas, that is.

On a different note, I just wanted to say something quickly about someone who passed away recently. September 15 we had to say goodbye for the first time to a member of one of the greatest bands to ever exist, Pink Floyd. Rick Wright died after a short battle with cancer, and it's such loss.

The deaths of famous people don't usually affect me (ok, Lucille Ball and Phil Hartman did, but that's all so far), but this one did. Pink Floyd has been been one of those bands that I have listened to since my teenage years, and marveled at their amazing talent. Aaron and I have talked many nights about how incredible they are, and wondered if they even realized how extraordinary their music was while they were making it. I have many great memories, one of which includes my one of my favorite memories with my husband, all with Pink Floyd as the soundtrack. I know the band members weren't getting any younger, but it's always a shock when the first one goes. Most of the time, I, as well as many others, have listened to Floyd and have been taken aback by the lyrics, guitar work, or David Gilmour's velvety voice. From now on, I will hear the keyboards just a tad more prominently than I have before. RIP Mr. Wright. You will be missed.