Monday, April 17, 2006

Because it is Bitter, and Because it is My Heart

Hello and welcome to Mama Blah Blah. Please remove your shoes and any metal items on your person and place them in the bin.

First off: my Easter was so horrifically bad that it made me feel like this:

I can't say any more except that being around my family (not the cute little Blah Blah family comprised of Sweet William, Viva and myself, but my family of origin--particularly my mother) has become something akin to Chinese water torture. After every visit, I spent days being alternately pissed off and depressed about the visit, and what fun is that? Hence, no more visits. Whoever wants to see me can--well, not see me. I'm done.

I'm so done that I called my mother-in-law and apologized for not having Easter with her and my father-in-law. Let me say that my in-laws treat me like their own, and visiting them is not a painful experience akin to poking forks in one's private places, but a laid-back, enjoyable occasion. In contrast, my mother and her posse have been treating the Blah Blah family as if we are a piece of garlic-and-crap-flavored gum stuck to her shoe (in case I haven't mentioned it, two weeks ago my mom missed my child's birthday for the second year in a row--and by the way, did not call to say she wouldn't be showing up, did not even call to wish her a happy birthday. And then just yesterday she gave my nephews Easter baskets, but not Viva). You can fuck with me, but not my kid. Shame on you. I am done.

Not that I'm bitter or anything.


Moving on: After the horrifically bad Easter experience, what a pleasure it was to come home, let Sweet Dub put Viva to bed, and collapse onto the couch to watch what has to be one of the best episodes ever of "The Sopranos." (I don't think I reveal too much here, but if you haven't watched it yet, you may want to skip to the next subheading.) Let me reiterate my ongoing admiration for the show's writing team. The reveal of Vito Spatafore's secret life--along with the varied reactions at varying levels of The Family--has been fascinating to watch. Hat tip to the San Francisco Chronicle* for catching this:
Paulie was among the most furious at [learning that] Vito [is gay], which could suggest an interesting subtext: Perhaps Paulie, portrayed throughout as a never-married mama's boy, protesteth too much.
This truly has to be one of the best-written shows on television. Even the secondary characters are fully realized and very emotionally complex. And my television-watching was, thanks to my darling husband, accompanied by ice cream. Sweet.


Where is the hope for public education when the principal can't read? From the wires, via Salon:
A principal trying to prevent walkouts during immigration rallies inadvertently introduced a lockdown so strict that children weren't allowed to go to the bathroom, and instead had to use buckets in the classroom, an official said.
Apparently, the principal in question mis-read the LAUSD handbook and "ordered a lockdown designed for nuclear attacks."

I'm kind of sceptical that the principal did this by mistake. Because 3rd graders who want to go fight for their rights are just as scary as any kind of nuke-yoo-ler event. Believe it!
* "Vito on the Lam, Aching to Live Free," in today's online edition. Click here to read the whole story.

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