Building Castles on the Beach

I realize this is a strange thing to post after not posting anything for a while (if you missed yesterday's Comeback Post , be sure to check it out), but this song popped up recently on my iPod. I didn't realize I even owned it. Turns out it's on some random collection of 80's super-memorable power-dance hits CD I ended up with somehow, complete with all-time classics from Terence Trent Darby and Will to Power. (Tell me what songs they sing and I'll give you a cookie.) I'll tell you why I'm writing about this, but first listen to Eddie Murphy's "Party All the Time," especially those of you who've never heard it and have been missing out your whole worthless lives: So I found myself contemplating what in the H-E-Double Hockey Sticks possesses a comedian at the peak of celebrity to record such a sexy beast of a song. It's as if all along he was paying it forward, giving future comedians fodder ripe and ready for parody. I...

Remember a month and a half ago when I said I was back in the groove , like Homer after the carnies vacated his house? I suppose I didn't so much "lie" as "not follow through." Since then, I've written scarcely a word that wasn't about a high school IB World Literature paper or an eleventh grade argument essay, and to be honest there weren't a whole lot of the latter turned in despite the arrival of the end of the quarter. I even abandoned my critique group since not living up to expectations was giving me the figurative ulcer. I'm now midway through my Spring Break, and I should have a lot more time on my hands. I do, but I don't. This was all a lot easier last year when the boy was immobile and would sit in his little chair or the crook of my arm without a fuss while I typed away at my chronicles. So, whatever. I'm going to have to make it happen. Feng Shui: Maybe all my mom needed was a few rocks to stack. By now you may ...

Brent’s busy. I’m busy too, but as his wife I try hard to support him in all of his endeavors. In that spirit, I decided to help out my longsuffering husband, by writing a guest column for his blog. Since for the past two years I’ve had baby brain, it’s very difficult for me to manage a coherent conversation about anything other than diaper rash and toddler toys. Being aware that these are not of much interest to most people who don’t have baby brain, I’ve stretched myself to the limits to write about something I used to know a lot about – the Oscars. Face/Off To be honest, if Brent wasn’t around I probably wouldn’t have watched the Oscars this year. I have developed a profound cynicism about that show that burst like an overstuffed zit in 2004 when Hilary Swank won the Best Actress award, beating out Annette Benning FOR THE SECOND TIME. That night, I said some especially fervent prayers and checked my food storage because I was sure that Hilary Swank winning a second act...

This week I started reading the book The Time Machine Did It by  John Swartzwelder . In a weird way he's one of my heroes since he has written the most Simpsons episodes of any other writer. If you're a fan, you can pick out a Swartzwelder episode from the jokes about hobos and old-timey Americana, as well as the crazy non-sequiturs. If you're not a fan, just know that he's funny. But I've had a strange reaction to reading this novel. Allow me to sidebar. Today is the Origins blogfest. I found out about it from the blog of sci-fi writer  Alex J. Cavanaugh . To participate, I'm supposed to write about what makes me want to be a writer or where it all began. The timing is serendipitous because just this week I've been questioning my goals and aspirations and wondering if I even have the time, let alone the fortuity to become successful as a writer. My blog posts have been sporadic at best (my last one was even a bit of a downer), and worki...

I have been offered the Liebster Blog award from two fellow bloggers: McKenzie at The Ubiquitous Perspective  and TJ at They Won't Get Us .  If I recall my seventh grade teacher, Frau Cathcart, correctly, "Liebster" means something like "Sweetheart" in German. That's sweet, right? Apparently the Liebster Blog award is to be passed on to blogs with fewer than 200 followers. Perhaps this is what's stoking my ennui this evening because the fact that I fall into that category makes me a tad sad. I've been at this for more than a year now, and it seems like any momentum I might have had has stalled. And every time I look over and see that Networked Blogs widget with my own little icon as my one follower, I get a little more glum. I only decided a couple of weeks ago to put that on my blog space, and I don't know what else to do but have it sit there waiting for some action, but it still reeks of desperation, doesn't it? I know it's mostly...

Last week my wife and I had a Facebook duel with competing comments on a friend's post. It was Brad Pitt's fault. It was one of those posts where someone has taken a saying or a quote and pasted it onto a famous face or embarrassing picture in order to give the text heft. Sometimes the person actually said what they are quoted as to have said, sometimes not. For instance, Nelson Mandela did not say, "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate, blah, blah, blah." But the internet memes seem to think he did. I didn't create this...and I've just added to the problem, haven't I? People think these memes are funny or, worse, meaningful. They share them to Facebook and write things like "Wow!" or "So true" underneath. I don't get most of them. Rather, I don't get what most people see in these memes. I mean--and this is what I said in my Facebook joust with my wife--I say pithy stuff all the time and no one puts together a ...

Previously on " The Great Sleep Debate ": Dad starts to lose his cool after waking up at 3:00 in the morning for the five-hundredth time in a year. Then I remembered that back when the boy was still the size of my forearm and his whole head would fit in my palm, my wife had picked up the book  Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child  by Marc Weissbluth, M.D. At one point she told me in this totally incredulous way, "This book says if you put your baby down to sleep at six o'clock, he'll sleep straight through until six in the morning." We scoffed out loud together, for what did I care, anyway? Xander needed sustenance every two hours. Sleeping through the night would have to wait. We waited too long. I was beginning to feel like it would just be better to lie down on the hardwood floor of the nursery while the boy rattled the slats of his crib with his bottle all night. So I made an agreement with May. If I read this book, which she only ended up reading...