I’ve been having some ethical-parental qualms about the xbox.  I never would have bought an xbox or nintendo or wii for the kids myself, but since Egon paid his own money, and collaborated with Nick and John, I can’t say no to it.  But I think I can have some maternal authority over what games are played.

I instinctively don’t like/approve of first person shooter games.  These, however, are the most favorite types of games for the pre-teen male youth market.  Egon has recently been agitating to let him get Halo2, which is a first-person shooter game, but the shootees are aliens, not humans.  I am on the fence.  So last night, Egon laid out a strategic campaign of persuasion.

I was in the bathroom (where there is never any peace; if it isn’t a kid standing in the hallway asking me something, it is Mr. P desperate to join me in the tiled sanctuary – he becomes quite agitated if there is a closed door between him and me) when Egon came up the stairs, very red in the face and nervously laughing.  Shara, right behind him, said “He wants to ask you something but he’s having a nervous breakdown.”   After a few anxious seconds, Egon managed to blurt out:  “Can I get Halo2?”  I replied that I didn’t know the game enough, to which he said: “Come downstairs, I can show you.”

He’d looked up the game on Wikipedia and left the entry on the computer monitor to let me read.  Which I did.  And then did a search for “Halo2 game reviews” which led me to Common Sense Media, an interactive ranking site for parents.  The review there indicated that Halo2 was suitable for 16 years old and up.  “Rats,” said Egon.  “Compare it to Oblivion!”  So I did, and found that Oblivion is much less violent and disturbing.  “That’s really helping your case, Egon,” offered Shara.

I then tried to explain my thinking on this issue:  “I don’t think it is a good idea to be entertained by using weapons.  Guns and weapons shouldn’t be part of play.”

Shara gave me a look, and said:  “Mom, have you seen the front porch?”

The front porch (as well as the basement, garage, Egon’s room) is full of homemade weaponry – swords, scythes, flails, axes, basic bashing sticks, etc.  I think I may have lost the moral upper hand.

Drinks dreamed up at Family Night:

The Filthy Tranny

1 cocktail wiener
2 shots cheap vodka
maraschino cherries
mandarin oranges (from a can)

Place cocktail wiener in bottom of martini glass.
Pour in vodka.
Impale 2 cherries and 2 mandarin oranges on pink plastic stirrer,
garnish drink.

Drunken Scottish Schoolteacher

1 shot whiskey
1 black & tan (for male teachers)
1 Shandy (for female teachers)

Drop whiskey shot into drink glass.
Down the hatch!

The Church Lady

sherry
cigarette butt

Pour sherry into Welch’s jelly jar glass.
Garnish with cigarette butt.

(After previous FN conversations, not necessarily this one, Jasper told his mom:  “You guys were talking about some inappropriate things.”  Yes, indeedy, young fellow.  That’s what we do.)

The temperature rose to at least 71 degrees yesterday.  I spent most of the glorious day in cars and windowless buildings.

Beth & Casey were married in full blown Catholic splendor.  I kept worrying about Beth’s knees as she knelt in front of the altar for nearly an hour.  And about her 8 1/2 months pregnant bridesmaid with all the standing and sitting and standing and sitting required.

In all, we spent nearly 7 hours in activities wedding related.  But the best part was the 45 minutes in the Hilton bar, with Sara, Sean, Vicki, and then Rebecca and Rob, eating a mound of cheese cubes and drinking overpriced beverages.

I love my friends.

But it turns out I love my family more, when at about 7:00, after we’d eaten cake and listened to toasts, I realized that the place I most wanted to be was at home on my sofa, watching Johnny Depp movies and snuggling with cats and children.  So that’s where I went.

I am tired of pop stars performing in lingerie:

Beyonce

Katy Perry

Rihanna

Madonna

I won’t even provide a link to Lady Gaga, because that would just encourage her.

It’s not that I think these women’s vocal talents could stand on their own without a stage show.  They are OK singers, nothing spectacular (except Madonna who was once great but now just scary).  But the reliance on exposing as much flesh as possible in order to attract attention just seems desperate and insecure and pathetic.

They do live in La-La Land, so are probably unaware that the rest of society actually becomes embarrassed when parts of our undergarments are displayed to the world (OK, most of the rest of society, Monica Lewinsky and Girls Gone Wild aside).

So, Celebrities of the world, as the Fug Girls have so wisely said so many times:   “Look into pants.”

Went to Boston Store last night to purchase a wedding gift for Beth & Casey’s nuptials this weekend (Yay!).   Offspring were along for the ride.  Once we got to the housewares department, and I started hunting for items on the registry, questions ensued.

Egon:  What are you getting them?

Mom:  Well, they’ve registered for this beautiful table setting, so I think I’ll try and get that.

Egon:  What does registered mean?

Mom:  They’ve picked out things they want for their wedding gifts.

Egon: Why?

Mom:  So that they get matching dishes and silverware and glasses, and don’t get twelve toasters.

Egon:  That’s boring.  Get them something they didn’t ask for!

Mom:  No, I think I’ll stick with the list.

Shara:  C’mon Egon, let’s go register items for our wedding.

And off they skipped, arm in arm, to pick out china and pillows (Egon preferred the $60 pillow).

At the Meijer’s in East Lansing at 10:00 on Halloween night:

• Family of four, including 2 young daughters, one dressed in a yellow fairy/princess dress over her shirt and jeans, the other in a pink fairy/princess outfit
• 2 women in their mid-20’s, each dressed as a Sexy Something, with fishnets and thigh-high boots, buying booze
• several single men in 20’s to 30’s doing basic groceries shopping
• mom with her daughter, both in sweatpants, looking quite ready for bed
• stock clerks loading shopping carts with mounds of Halloween candy, decorations, etc., leaving behind wastelands of empty shelving
• “You wanta small basket?” – yelled across the parking lot.  “No! Get over here!” – yelled back in tones of drunken annoyance.

Joe Lieberman has been acting like a pissy 13-year-old girl who has been snubbed by the homecoming committee ever since the DNC backed Ned Lamont in 2006.

Some more recent petulant outbursts by Joe the Senator:

“I expect I will support some Republican candidates for Congress or Senate in the elections in 2010. I’m going to call them as I see them.”

On health care reform, Joe the Senator says that if a public health insurance option was in the final health care bill, he would join a GOP filibuster to prevent it from getting an up or down vote.

Of John McCain, Joe the Senator opined:  “I’m a Democrat who came to the party in the era of President John F. Kennedy.  It’s a strange turn of the road when I find among the candidates running this year that the one, in my opinion, closest to the Kennedy legacy, the John F. Kennedy legacy, is John S. McCain.”

And back during the 2008 Presidential campaign, Joe the Senator said that the choice was  “between one candidate, John McCain, who has always put the country first, worked across party lines to get things done, and one candidate who has not.”

And finally, here’s Joe the Senator on Fox News, discussing the release of torture memos:  “I thought release of the memos was a bad idea… It just helps our enemies. It doesn’t really help us.”

Joe Has To Go!

This blogging thing has become almost an autonomic nervous system activity – I do it regularly and without thinking about it.   And now it has invaded my dreams.

I had the most interesting dream last night – with which I shall not bore you, as dreams are invariably much less fascinating in the telling than in the dreaming (OK, I’ll share that Rob Lowe was participating in a dance and song routine on a grassy hillside to an audience which included me, having just come from a hog-butchering workshop.  (See, you didn’t want to hear that, did you?)).

HOWEVER, ahem, in my dream, after the song & dance routine was over (and after I shared with others in the audience that Rob & I had attended three summers of archeology field school together, before he left for Hollywood), I walked along the road, chanting in my head “Don’t forget to blog about this!  Don’t forget to blog!”

As if. 

I now find myself officially busy with work.  Full time busy.  Projects popping up right and left.  Phone calls from people that aren’t Vicki or Daniel.

Whew!

Not that I was worried, or anything…