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Is it fair or ethically sound to run a cost-free fundraiser in the middle of a conference, gain mainstream media coverage, and encourage everybody to wear themed clothing in support of your cause, when there are other, legitimate charities that have paid thousands of dollars for advertising and/or expo hall space at that same conference?
What about conference organizers who allow this kind of thing to happen? Would they allow it to happen for just any person who tried to do it? What if, say, I tried to do it? Would it have worked in the same way, hypothetically? Just tossing out hypotheticals here.
Will you help me get my novel published, person whom I barely know, and member of marginalized group about which I have recently written a scathingly intolerant post that has received a great deal of attention in our relatively small corner of the internet?
Does this tutu make my butt look twenty-six again?
Has this LOLCat thing gotten old yet?
Will anyone notice if I delete this post?
Is destruction creative?
Did you rip that off wholesale from Donnie Darko, or are we supposed to believe you were up late reading obscure Hindu texts?
Will I ever run out of material?
Are any of these people likely to stop any time soon?
Mini is a funny kid. Perhaps you’ve picked up on this.
The thing that is changing is that he is becoming self-conscious about it now. To the point that I suspect him of writing bits down on the backs of cocktail napkins. Or maybe working things out to try out at the next open mike night at Caroline’s. Now, given, he’s only three — but still, it can’t be long now before he’s talking about whether or not to go blue for the preschool talent show.
BIT ONE
The other day, I was trying to wrangle Mini for bathtime. As is his habit on occasion, he was selectively ignoring my requests for him to come into the bathroom. So after some time had passed, I started in with the age-old parental technique of counting wherein the parent counts, slowly, and when the parent gets to a certain number, then the kid knows that Trouble will be happening. The conversation when as follows:
Me: One . . . Two . . . Three . . .
Mini: Four, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHTNINETENELEVENTWELVE!
BIT TWO
Mr. Right-Click came home from work the other night, and Mini asked him if he’d “care to join us downstairs.” We asked him if an English butler had been teaching him idioms when we weren’t around.
BIT THREE
We continue to go through the dances of potty training with Mini. Though he is mostly trained, there is one exception — he has completely rearranged his life so as to not need to use the potty for “number two” except at night time when, as you might suspect, he is wearing a diaper. And more often than not, he will go ahead and use the diaper instead of the potty for number two, despite the fact that he knows his desperate parents will not only bribe him with toys if he uses the potty, but actually go so far as to *drive him to the toy store that very second* if he uses the potty. Still, when we put him to sleep, we are often greeted, ten minutes later, by Mini at our bedside with the Kirk Douglas face, which means that there’s some kind of wonderful package in his diaper that needs immediate attention.
So, the other night, we were all in Mini’s room negotiating the delicate issue of the pre-bedtime poop.
Mr. Right-Click: So, Mini, Mommy and I are going to leave now, and go in the other room.
Mini: OK, GAGA! [Ed. Note: I should add here that "Gaga" is some kind of all-purpose preschool slang of fluid definition that we don't really understand. "Gaga" can mean something good or bad in quick succession without warning.]
Mr. Right-Click: So basically, your plan is to poop your pants just as soon as we leave –is that right?
Mini: That’s right.
Me: [laughing.]
Mr. Right-Click: Come on, dude, let’s go sit on the potty. Right now.
Mini: No way, GAGA!
Me: [laughing.]
Mr. Right-Click: Your mommy thinks this is hysterical.
Me: I’m sorry, come on buddy, let’s go sit on the potty.
Mini: No way, GAGA!
Me: Come on. Right now.
Mini: No way.
Me: One . . .
Mini: Two . . .
Me: Three . .
Mini: FourFIVESIXSEVEN
Mr. Right-Click: OK, that’s enough.
[Time passes, we return to our room. Mini comes out with the Kirk Douglas face.]
Mr. Right-Click: Did you poop your pants?
Mini: Yes sir, GAGA!
Me: Mini! Why did you do that? Why wouldn’t you just sit on the potty when we asked?
Mini: Because I CAN! GAGA!
And here’s where a visual would really help because the last part was delivered with a Hannibal Lechter lisp, like Mini was looking for some fava beans and a nice Chianti to go with the poop he took in his diaper, just because he could. Gaga.
The UnMom: I have a kid around here somewhere. Just not on this blog.
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ONLINE DATING CHRONICLES
Sure, I eventually met my husband, Mr. Right-Click, through online dating. But not before I had dated nearly one hundred of Los Angeles' least suitable bachelors. Laugh along in my Online Dating Chronicles.
SPY ON ME
Looking for something to read? Wondering what I'm reading? Perhaps it's time to start Spying On My Google Reader to find out about the coolest stuff I've read lately on the internet.
MUCKRAKING
Sometimes I like to muckrake. You can read about it here. Oh, and here too. Listen, if I don't do it, that muck will just keep piling up until we have to call a roto-rooter. So really, you should thank me. You're welcome.
LISTS
You know, you slave away at blog posts day after day, you try to write fiction, you try to provide interesting social commentary, but at the end of the day, they come for the lists. Check out List Mondays to see what all the hullabaloo is about, because I sure as hell cannot explain it.
OTHER ABDPBT BLOGS
ABDPBT Personal Finance
Shining a light on the big business of poop.
ABDPBT Tech
Tech for mommy bloggers. Or bloggers who aren't mommies, but hang out with them. Or Dads. Whatever.
ABDPBT Commodity Fetishism
This is where I post stuff that I think is cool. Maybe you will think it's cool, too.
FULL ARCHIVES
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LOS ANGELES
Los Angeles is where I was born and raised. I always thought I'd leave, but for some reason I never did. Sometimes, I like it here. Other times, I'm not so sure. But good or bad, it has made me who I am.
Sometimes I take the melodrama of my life and twist and turn it until it looks almost charming. I do this because I want you to like me:
Cigarettes & Green Felt: This is about the time I figured out that adults were mostly full of shit.
Assburger: It's not just a disorder on the autism spectrum: it's also one of your relatives!
On Truth: Sometimes somebody will say something and it hurts your feelings. And then you will write a story about it and your aunt will call it "phenomenal." Everyone else will try to pretend like it never happened.
The Sheer And Unmitigated Power of Bob Mould: Sometimes you spend your formative years obsessed by an unrequited teenage crush, and then one day you realize that person is now an orthopedic surgeon who lives in your neighborhood. It kinda sucks when that happens.
Ben From Madera: For one Halloween, Ben dressed up like a bee, like that kid in the Blind Melon video. That's how I will always remember him.
Mr. Right-Click
He is my best friend, even if he uses a PC. And the fact that sometimes he will pretend to be a "Pancake Pirate" is only part of the reason. Arrrr!
Mini
His cutie-pie percentile group is off the charts.
Spinning
If you think this is just about exercise, then you have underestimated how wildly inappropriate people can be when they undergo physical pain in a group setting.
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