Cross My Heart and Hope To Buy

In a fit of social conformity and because a quick glimpse of myself in a department store mirror reminded me of the Matterhorn during spring thaw, I went bra shopping today. On the whole I’d rather have first dibs in the selection of nooses the hangman is going to use to finish me off. Or at least pick which angry nail technician is going to file my little toe down to niblet size at Naughty Nails.

First off, there’s the personality clash. Bras today are undeniably perky, padded, and prime-time ready. If the bras I saw in the lingerie section were the Tiggers on Pooh’s corner, my chest is covered in wall-to-wall Eeyores. Unless I raise my arms, you couldn’t pick me out of a lineup of Christopher Robins. Out-of-date eggs are more likely to be sunny side up.

It’s not bad enough that bras are displayed according to styles instead of arranged by sizes like hammers, condoms, and other handy household items. Overcrowded conditions cause the things jump to their deaths like lemmings whenever you approach the rack. The floor is covered with scraps of lace and spandex like the result of a bridal party-streetwalker collision. To streamline the whole process, I selected a wheelbarrow full of likely candidates and threw them on the floor.

I blame the whole thing on over-aggressive sales clerks who know that once you enter the barren land known as foundations, you’ve forsaken pleasure shopping and are not going home without an underwire that doesn’t snap in half like a fortune cookie whenever you bend over to tie your shoe.

Not only was I discouraged that everything seemed to be the wrong size, I was dismayed to find they were also the wrong shape. To me, pushups are something I had to do in gym when I refused to wear the regulation gender-neutral guerrilla togs. In Lingerie Central, it’s something that plugs your boobs into your nostrils like nose plugs. A swimmer with a push-up bra will never have to worry about water on the brain. And at my age, I’m in real danger of losing at least one over my shoulder.

I wanted something a little kinder to my body than the underwire air mattresses hanging in rows. Something feminine made from fibers that did not originate in the Space Program. I finally found a cotton and lace number that made sand castles out of parts I thought had been lost at sea long ago. Never again will I have to check my armpits to see which direction I’m facing.

I celebrated my successful shopping trip with dinner at The Egg Roll King where I finished up with a fortune cookie that was right on the money. It said, “Things are looking up.”

But just to be safe, I’m going to get someone else to tie my shoes.


This column first appeared at An Army of Ermas. Scoot over there for more than the government daily allowance of fun.

The WOW! Factor. Or Not.

Many thanks to Lisa Allen for taking up my slack once again, and incidentally showing us that Europe actually does have something bigger than Bieber. 

"It just didn't wow me like I expect Eurovision to."

The above was said by one of my friends that I've introduced Eurovision to. We were gathered around to watch the latest one, with everyone happily munching on snacks, while I recorded their scores for each song.

The Devil Went Down to Oslo

We had been doing Eurovision parties for a few years now, introducing them after our first time, the 2008 competition which I talked about previously. Unfortunately, 2009 was a boring year - we didn't even remember any of the entries, and there weren't any fun or silly ones.  The exception was the winner, an exuburant young fiddler from Norway who bounced around the stage like a happy, enthusiatic otter.



One of these is not like the others...

 The next year made up for the dullness of the previous one, and showcased one of the strengths of the show. The songs for 2010 were overall good (though very ballad-heavy), and there was even a bit of excitement when poor Spain got punked by a young man who slipped onto the stage with background singers before the security guards chased him off. Lena, Germany's winning entry, really deserved it, but it was the interim show done while the votes were being tallied that warmed the heart.

Norwegians. Really.

Believe it or not, Norway has black hip hop artists called Madcon, and they are good.  They led the large audience thru a dance routine, and then through the wonders of the internet and flash mobs, all of Europe joined in. Viewers saw groups in cities across the EU gather and dance the same dance. Webcams had been mounted in homes of each of the participating countries, so you also got to see families joyfully dancing on their furniture or with their dogs.




Lithuania rocks....

    There was even a lone  guy standing out on a rock in the North Sea, getting his groove on. The song really energized the audience (both in the arena and around Europe) and became what my husband calls "a moment of pure joy", a snapshot in life where you can see a person, or group, doing something that makes the event the happiest moment of their lives, up to that point. Such moments are infectious to watch, and draw you into the moment to share the joy.


...and so does the population of this island.

  

My friend's comment about the  2011 winning  song not "wowing" her was about the pretty, but banal entry from Azerbaijan. My husband reminded her that she had only seen four out of fifty-five contests, so she was kind of new to the scene for that kind of statement. But such is the impact of Eurovision, good and bad, it makes a BIG impression.



"Excuse me, darling. When does the flash mob start?"

 Historical note: The first Eurovision song contest had been started back in 1956 partly to promote the  wonders of television, partly as a poke in the eye to the Eastern bloc nations, kind of a way to say, "Hey! Look at all the fun we're having!". Over the years the contest has weathered denunciation from the Pope, competition from the Soviet Bloc, controversy every  year over the scoring (the worst was the year Franco practically bought the win for Spain), launched a few careers (the most famous and successful being ABBA in 1974), and even started a revolution. 


Perhaps the most useful knowledge the contest imparted was the desire to learn geography,like where Slovenia and Slovakia are.


Next year should be interesting, since holding Eurovision in Azerbaijan is going to be like holding the Olympics in the Sandwich Islands.

A Little Boy Gone on 9/11

Sending my heartfelt thanks to Carole Conner Oldroyd for permission to reprint her post.  And to little Rodney Dickens for so much more.

A Little Boy Gone on 9/11

by Carole Conner Oldroyd on Saturday, September 11, 2010 at 3:05pm

I post this every 9/11. I made a promise to myself and to this little boy's memory that I would never forget him.

This is Rodney Dickens. He was only 11 years old when he lost his life on September 11, 2001. He will forever be the face I see when I think of that terrible day.

When photos started streaming in on TV after the terrorist attack, his little face struck me. I began to wonder about him. As a mother whose kids were close to Rodney's age at that time, so many things ran through my mind.

 

My first thought was, "Who was with this little boy? Was he traveling alone?" My boys had flown alone several times.

My heart broke when I wondered if he knew what was about to happen; that his life was about to come to an end. Did anyone put their arms around him, or did he face the those final moments as alone as any human being could ever be? Did he cry? Was he afraid? Did anyone hold his hand? Did he pray for God to rescue him? Did he have dreams, goals, plans for his future? Was he even old enough to begin dreaming of what he would do when he was all grown up?

When I began researching to find out who little Rodney was, I learned that he was, indeed, without his parents. He was traveling with classmates. Again, parental instincts crept in and I sobbed thinking about his mother and his father. Were they watching as this all happened? How devastatingly helpless must have been the feeling, knowing that they were powerless to protect their child from the wickedness of these terrorists. I have had nightmares about Rodney crying for his parents in the seconds before his life was brutally stolen away on what should have been a day filled with joy.

And then my emotions turned to rage. Correlations between this innocent child and my own children filled me with so much anger, knowing that the terrorists would not have cared if my children were on that plane. Regard for precious human life was tossed aside like an unwanted object by those . . . I'm sorry, I cannot use the word "people". In fact, I don't have any other word for them besides terrorists. I feel that nothing appropriate even exists in the English language.

As I write this, my arms are covered in goose bumps. My eyes are filled with tears. This child. This sweet-faced little boy lost his life before he even had a chance to begin living.

Rodney, I never knew you. But I love you. With all of my heart, I love you.

As long as I live, you will never be forgotten.

BOOM!

What happens when you let the Captain loose on the Ermas blog? Join us at An Army of Ermas for a great, big earth-shattering KA-BOOM!

Yoga Bare

Don't look now, but the Captain's at it again. Check out my post at An Army of Ermas for a guy's version of what should be a peaceful combination of exercise and meditation. Take a peek and see what all the excitement's about. If you dare.

The Battle Hymn of the Ermas

An Army of Ermas: Making you spew coffee on your monitor since 2009 2010 what seems like a long time ago. The Ermas salute Stacey Graham, Friend, Founder, and Fearsome Leader.

The Battle Hymn of the Ermas

(Who let the doggerel out?!)

(With customary solemnity by the Captain & Mrs. Captain Mullis)

The call went forth from mountain-top
To take the mighty pen
And wield against the sadditudes
To make them laugh again

The answer came from far and wide
Across this terra firma
"We come! We come! With flashing gags!
The Army of the Erma!"

And so they came, from every land
The innocent and racy,
To answer Zombie Nature's call
Obeying General Stacey

With limericks and doggerel,
With punchlines and with giggles.
In bold italic Arial
And small handwritten squiggles.

She sent them out against the Dour
To fill the world with laughter
And out they went good willingly
Although they didn't hafter.

With jokes and japes and cheesy puns
Hilarity ensued
While much of it was family-style
Some was blushed with lewd.

So every year on August ninth
Our wine in sippy cup
We raise a toast to General Stace
And put our bottoms up!

Better than American Idol and you learn Geography Too!

Why, yes, contrary to the propaganda spread by my offspring, I do have friends! Talented ones! Humongous thanks to Lisa Allen, who has taken time away from training for the Scottish games to entertain you while I’m away. What? Not training for the Scottish games? Would you believe the Olympic Games?

Would you believe a lightning round of World of Warcraft when she’s supposed to be making dinner?

Please welcome Lisa, who is patient enough to put up with my ramblings AND the Captain’s AND David’s and still manages to have a life.

When I was a horse-crazy little girl, I would always get excited when the month of May rolled around, because that was Kentucky Derby month. Now that I'm older and more sophisicated, a two-minute horse race just doesn't do it for me (no matter how pretty the horses or hats). I want something with even more color, outlandish garb, and excitement - I want Eurovision!

What is Eurovision, you say? My half-Irish husband introduced me to this continental wonder, which began as a Cold War propaganda tool. Imagine an American Idol with countries instead of hopeful wannabes, with wildly varying original songs performed over a weekend instead of a season, and rules of judging which change from year to year.

The idea is that all the countries of Europe (which they have a very broad definition of what constitutes Europe) send their best singer(s) and songs to compete on a spectacular technological marvel of a stage in whatever country won the contest the year before. The clothes would make Bob Mackie salivate, the Bjork swan outfit from the Oscars look positively pedestrian, and gays swoon across the world. The songs and singers themselves run the gamut from Eurotechno, to power ballads, to ethnic folk with rap on the side - you name it, they've got it.

The BEST way to watch Eurovision is to watch via the BBC. They usually have a snarky, funny host to put things in perspective. Think someone on the level of a British Johnny Carson, liberally apply lots of liquor. Terry Wogan had been doing hosting duties too long, as you could tell as the show went on.

The first year yours truly saw it (2008), the contest was in Belgrade, Serbia. The show always opens with the previous year's winning entry - in this case a plus-size Maria Serifovic dressed in male attire with a drop-dead voice and song, which brings up another nifty thing about Eurovision. Your weight, your age, your hair abundance, and your sexual orientation - they don't care about it! Can you sing? Do you have a good act? You're in! (OK, there might be some discussion about the “can you sing part”, meaning you may be subject to some unique song stylings and the occasional turkey. No, seriously, we mean a guy in a turkey suit.)

2008 saw a 75-year-old crotchey old man scratching a Victrola, a devil and an angel battling in

song, a Spanish Weird Al Yankovic, a Greek Britney Spears, what looked like Lucy and Desi singing by a clothsline with knitting bride backup singers, and best of all, a gaggle of Lativan pirates with rubber swords who were having more fun than it should be legal, especially as no intoxicants were invloved (on stage at least, can’t vouch for the audience).

Silly, you say? Yes, but darned if those songs don't just stick in your head, like a cheery brain slug. The Lativan pirate song, Wolves of the Sea received an enthusiatic thumbs up from the 12 and under crowd, and also every pub in England and Ireland. And while a slightly sappy Russian ballad called Believe won that year, which song do you think I most find myself humming?

(Historical aside, there is an irony to Russia winning, as until the early 80‘s a person in the USSR, and many other Eastern Block countries could go to jail just for watching Eurovision.)

Next time, I'll talk about how Eurovision does and does NOT wow some people.

Lisa Allen

Pictures: http://connect.in.com/spain-eurovision-2008/photos-1-1-1-a4553fbdbae1933a26cb72ac314003eb.html#image_button

http://www.cbc.ca/news/arts/tv/story/2008/05/23/eurovision-2ndsemi-finalists.html?ref=rss

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/celebritynews/6149407/Terry-Wogan-Profile.html

http://www.guardian.co.uk/media/2008/may/23/bbc.tvfakery