A radical idea....or not

What if, instead of Jehovah Witnesses and other religious folks, scientists went door to door to explain the big bang theory and how humankind came to be? I can think of many people who would prefer that option.

Extreme Makeover idea

I don't watch much TV. Want proof? I didn't know the Emmys happened until I read it in the LA Times. Okay? But I am not here to to malign TV, I want to throw out an idea that I think would make non-habitual TV watchers like me into more regular watchers.

The mister and I love Discovery Science and especially "Through the Wormhole" with Morgan Freeman. The scientists who comment for this program have illustrious careers, enviable pedigrees from top-flight academic institutions and publish seriously thought-provoking research on things like the string theory, black holes and my favorite, time-travel. Back to the Future be damned.

Here is my beef, though.

Could these scientific visionaries make the effort to wear contacts? I'm serious. Pretty much any scientist you have seen on a science program dons super-ugly, outdated glasses. Initially I thought it was so they could wiggle the frames while they spoke, or appear more erudite. Now I don't think so. I think they can't be bothered, or perhaps they have never heard of that fabled institution that is Lens Crafters. Think about how awesome it be would to be a world-class scientist with three Ph.D.s, research labs across the globe AND look cool? I honestly would TiVo their commentary, maybe even watch it twice.

I proposed this idea to the mister who considered it vain and irrelevant to the pursuit of science. Whatever. Science is about opening frontiers. I propose that with a little effort, these presently unattractive, outdated looking think tanks could capture a wider audience, endear science to more people and make us a better civilization overall. That's opening some goddamn frontiers.

You know I am right.

Love Bites

Me: "I love you, Magnus. I don't think I could live without you."
Magnus: "I can't live without Transformers, Mom."

Let's work on those official statements

This has been something I have wanted to address for a while.

Official statements from studios, actors, industry folk when someone dies unexpectedly. We all read them, and they all read about the same regardless of the person who died or the circumstances. I mean, obviously you are saddened and your thoughts go out to the family of the deceased. Is that all? Aren't you actually devastated and you want to punch something, or take Valium? Especially for actors, who are supposed to be about portraying human emotion. You can't convey something more convincing than saying you are shocked?

I can recall only one genuine press statement that was released soon after Heath Ledger died. It was from the mother of his daughter, and she didn't try to sugar coat how anguished she was. If memory serves, she actually used the word heart broken in the beginning. You could feel her grief. Serious stuff. She will probably win an Oscar one day.

I say we start a new movement. Hollywood, join with me. Let's start a cause of no b.s. press statements. Let's endeavor to express sadness in the truest terms and not undermine the intelligence of the public. We have all lost people, and we know it sucks. So get on board and tell your publicist to shine, you want to put out a statement that is meaningful and not hollow and fake. After all, and you guys know this best, there is nothing worse for actors than bad acting. 

The importance of decent pajamas

Since becoming a mummy and resigning myself to a less-than-chic existence, I have strengthened my resolve in one specific area. Well, two. The first is to always use a good moisturizer (early 40s and no Botox yet, y'all!) and the second, and most important, is to ALWAYS go to bed wearing my nighttime finest.

I know what you are thinking. A dirty mind is a terrible thing to waste. But you couldn't be more wrong. I am not referring to see-through bras, purple thongs or clear plastic heels. By nighttime finest I mean a set of clean, respectable pjs with a very simple pattern and colors that broadcast well on TV.

Before you get all preachy on me: no, I am not filming some lurid, high-def housewife porn, though the thought has crossed my mind. (Preschool is expensive, and we have three children.) Some people have their earthquake kits for when disaster strikes. I have that, but something even more valuable. I have a nighttime ensemble in the unfortunate case that there is a fire, we have to escape and local news crew shows up wanting to interview survivors. My hair will likely be a disaster, but I will still come off looking fairly pulled together despite having smoke inhalation.

Many years ago, I saw a news clip about an apartment fire in Chicago that struck at two in the morning. Residents were vacated and had to stand in the street, half-asleep, shivering and talking to reporters. Most of them were wearing hideous overnight garb: stained wife beaters, boxer shorts with holes, ill-fitting sweats. Baaaaad stuff. I resolved at that moment never to be one of those overnight fire survivors. If I had to lose my house to a fire, there was no way in hell I was going to look crappy on the evening news too.

The mister is much more practical and routinely checks that the smoke and carbon monoxide poisoning alarms are in working order to avoid disaster in the first place. Good for him. I am doing my part, ensuring the Alt family name is respected and that I don't embarrass anyone by going on TV and looking like a refugee.

I think they call it shared sacrifice.

What did I learn this summer?

Faithful readers, you will be pleased to know that I didn't waste an entire summer shopping online or reading trashy beach novels. I in fact have acquired some new skills and knowledge! They include:

1.  How to julienne a zucchini. Properly.
2.  How to change a diaper with an upside down infant. Harder than it looks.
3.  How to drive past trucks with Mitt Romney stickers and chuckle. Not too loudly.
4.  How to prepare shopping lists and write a press release. At the same time. This is also harder than it looks.
5.  How to stick three screaming children in a car without drawing too much attention to myself.
6.  How to be neighborly. Big one! I went to a new neighbor's house and introduced myself. By, like, myself.
7.  How to prep a Slip N Slide.
8.  How to wipe runny noses, take temperatures and dispense Tylenol. For three people. All of them under five.
9.  How to disguise boxes so the Mister doesn't think I am spending too much shopping online.
10. How to love the suburbs.

Ha ha, that last one is a crock of shit. But I am working on it.

Catch 22

I would like to shed two more pounds, although everyone is buzzing in my ear that I am thin enough. I think maybe I have a form of OCD. Do I absolutely have to lose the weight? No, not absolutely. But I like even numbers, so 120 sounds better than 122. Try saying it aloud, you'll see.

If I stopped sipping bubbly three times a week (okay, four), the two pounds would likely just melt off. But mamma likes her bubbly, particularly after a long, arduous day of diapering, bathing, changing, soothing, driving and more diapering. Champagne adds instant festivity to uneventful, poop-filled days.

So here I am, mired in a conundrum of my own doing. Give up the bubbly, or drastically reduce it, and realize the glory of weighing an even 120?

Nah, I didn't think so.