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Today is quite blustery for the end of July… one would almost think that it is the middle of November with the winds, clouds, and general discomfort of pretty much all Bay Area residents… I noticed this while walking to a nearby cafe to get Chili for lunch. Yes… chili, the winter food for a perfect San Francisco Summer’s day. Before leaving I tightly pulled the sleeves of my sweater around my wrist, lugged on my giant winter-y coat, snapped each snap, and cinched at my waist the heavy duty toggle thing that gives winter-y type coats waistlines, so you can be warm… and sexy.

I marched out into the wind, feeling tingles of cold on my cheeks, and happened upon a group of children… a whole herd of them wildly pelting colored balls at each other.  I thought to myself,

“They’ve gone insane from the blistery conditions…” As I stood there, shivering in the wild winds of summer, I realized… oh. Dodgeball.

Dodgeball is the devil’s work.

Someone thought it would be an awesome idea to wrangle a bunch of kids and encourage them to throw balls at each other. For any child who has lacking motor skill capabilities… this game is a DEATH PIT OF DOOM. Kids basically fall into two types: Outdoor child and Indoor child.

The Outdoor Child

Likes: worms, salting snails, setting thing on fire, running, jumping, climbing

Dislikes: school, showers, napkins, combs

The Indoor Child

Likes: reading, video games, watching tv, puzzles,

Dislikes: all of the stuff Outdoor children likes…

Here’s a clue to what type of child I was… I broke six bones walking before I was 12… just from walking into things.

I hated Dodgeball.

Watching these children, I was reminded of my Elementary school days… shuddered slightly, but then remembered how fun it was to actually have a scheduled break in the day to just run around like an idiot. I take brakes, but never to run around… or draw with chalk on a sidewalk… but instead my breaks include disgruntled marches in the cold to get chili. These kids didn’t give a crap that it was a freezing summer day… they were having fun- well most of them…

One sad little boy in a giant green puff coat stood on the sideline desperately avoiding contact with one of the brightly colored balls. His hands tucked tightly in his pockets, cheeks a bright bold red. “Hang in there, kid,” I thought to myself, then trudged away to get my chili.

I’ve had a dull headache for the past few days. My first reaction was to silently wonder if it was a brain tumor, but my laziness usually wins over my hypochondria. Because of this, my only real plan of action to combat this dull pressure has been to drink insane amounts of water. For me… two glasses a day… I know, I’m on the verge of drowning. My headache hasn’t gone away, but I have been peeing a lot. Since, I’ve been peeing a lot, I’ve been making frequent trips to the ladies room- which I share with the public… because I work at a popular science museum. Since this is a hands on museum- the bathroom is usually filled with kids covered in some substance getting yelled at by tired moms. This is all fine and dandy, but what I can’t get used to are children peeing in stalls with the doors open.

1. It’s something I, as a single non parent-y type person, am not used to witnessing.

2. Parent-y types think it’s normal, and get made if you make a weird face as if it wasn’t.

3. Sometimes the children look at you… while they are peeing.

4. Sometimes they are crying… while they are peeing.

Yes, peeing and pooping is normal and natural and whatever other hippie adjective you can attach to it, but it’s also rather shocking and a weird thing to encounter when you are at work. Can you imagine, cubicle dwellers, if you were to get up right now, head to  the bathroom and see a little boy whizzing next to the toilet, crying, and picking his nose at the same time?  No? Well, I can… and I’m not proud of that either. I didn’t know that this open bathroom stall door was a thing, and I wish I could go back to the pleasant time when it never crossed my conscious.

Most generations tend to relate to a certain decade, usually the phrase starts with, “Oh I’m a child of the…” By stating this, you can easily identify  yourself with the music and ideologies of the ten years you associate with. Case in point:

“I’m a child of the 60s” - I loved me some acid, being hairy is awesome, the a noodle-y electric guitar is my THANG, war is stupid, and I’m hella old… with a tiny earring.

“I’m a child of the 70s”- COCAINE!!!!!, I miss it when pants were incredibly tight and high waisted, I know how to do a dance that comes with a specific name, and I’m still secretly harbor my radical urgings to wield a semi automatic and a beret.

“I’m a child of the 80s”- COCAINE… still…, I sported a really awful and complicated hairdo, roller skating was my JAM, and I’m still trying to block out the politics of this decade by focusing on the ridiculous pop culture… Reag-NO-Rubix CUBE!

Now- here is where I hit my speed bump… some people don’t have it so neat and simple ahem* late twenties I’m totally talking to you…

I’m going to use me as an example, because… this is my blog.

I was literally a child of the 80s- but that doesn’t really count, all I recall of the 1980s was wanting a Kid Sister, wearing Oshkosh B’gosh overalls… and taping Michael Jackson videos off MTV. Simply put, when you use the phrase, “I’m a child of the…” you’re a talking about being a teenage/early 20s- Basically when you discover who you are.

Coming of age bullshit.

I was a teenager in the 90s- but here’s the jig… it was the late 90s.

le sigh.

What’s the difference you ask? Well… let’s do a journey through a visual recap:

Early 90s

Late 90s

see…

Let’s do another one!

Early 90s

Late 90s

… this is depressing…

Early 90s

Late 90s

That’s just the music…

Early 90s

Late 90s

Early 90s

Late 90s

So in a nutshell… shit got stupid by the end of the 90s…

I’m attempting to write a children’s book.

Shit is hard.

I got the basic story, which is half the battle… I thought. Turns out actually writing the damn thing is INSANE. I can run off the normal kiddie gibberish for a while, but then I start to dive in to that weird rhyme non-rhyming bull crapola. It’s fun to write a short poem in weirdo rhyme time, but a book? Who the hell am I kidding. Which is why I started it as a non rhyming picture book (I know… the best drawing I can do is an elaborate stick figure… lucky for me, I know some awesome talent- who might lend their fantastical skills to my children’s book empire.)  The problem with a non rhyming picture book is the language, you want it to be so rich and wonderful that you don’t even need the pictures- but in combination with art are you are able to spin such a beautiful world that the child and the parent (pssst- also non child rearing adults) will get lost in.

phew.

Seeeeeeee? It’s hard. Also when using complex image weaving language you tend to rhyme… and a bad rhyme…. oh man… that can be cheesier and stinkier than a Gouda fart. I’m gonna finish this shit, though… and I (eventually… hopefully… fingers crossed… please please please rubbing on four leaf clovers) will become a millionaire and beloved by folks all over the world.

People you should google: Eric Carle, Maurice Sendak, Tomie dePaola, annnnnnnnd Leo and Diane Dillon (swooooooooon, swoooon, and double swoooon)

The Mehserle Case has been in the news for a while- but just for recap… Bart Cop shot a man while he was laying on the ground in a crowded station on New Years. Yesterday he was convicted- Involuntary Manslaughter- which many feel is a slap on the wrist for such a documented crime. Obviously there are problems with this case but here are my main complaints:

1. In every article leading up to the trial… the reporter weirdly stated the race of Mehserle and Grant, the victim.

“Mehserle who is white. Grant who is black”

Literally, just like that, all the time. I mean we can see the pictures, I know that race plays a huge role- but really…. it just seems like they are stirring the pot by constantly reminding us about their race. Making the issue represent some under current racial problems Oakland has. Which could be true or which could be far from it.

2. There were no black people on the jury. If every one is making this into a race issue let’s fucking mix the pot. Also shouldn’t the jury represent the dynamic of the city? Hello, Oakland is one third black.

3. The riots… foot locker? Really guys?! Way to play is super stereotypical…

4. Anarchist- you have to organize a ride to come from another city to perform chaos in Oakland… that’s not anarchy. Hey do us a favor and just go work at the your daddy’s law firm… we don’t need your privileged anger.

5. This is a quote from the San Francisco Chronicle, “Many of those arrested were “anarchist” agitators who were not from Oakland and wore bandannas, hoods or black face paint, police said.” Why is THIS the image they choose to go along side the article…