Munchkin Tuesday: Dancing Raisins

Anybody else remember these? I had completely forgotten why Hardee’s had the Dancing Raisins, but I definitely remember stopping on my way home from school to spend part of my allowance on one in junior high.

I have no idea what happened to that thing. Which is a shame, because it would look awesome glued to my dashboard.

Also: Claymation > all other animation.

Emily

What a drunk-dialer revealed

A few years ago, I got an unexpected phone call from a stranger who used such a familiar tone and had such a common name that it took me a minute to realize he wasn’t any of a dozen casual acquaintances who might have my number.

The conversation went like this:

ME: Hello?
DRUNK DIALER: Happy Memorial Day!
ME: Um … happy Memorial Day?
DD: Huh-huh. Do you know who this is?
ME: No, can’t say as I do.
DD: Huh-huh. This is John. Huh-huh.
ME: John who?
DD: Huh-huh. You don’t know who this is?
ME: No, I really don’t. John who?
DD: Huh-huh. You mean, you talk to ALL these guys, that you’d know all these guys named John?
ME: I know a lot of people named John, but I’m pretty sure you’re not one of them. I think you have the wrong number.
DD: Oh, you know me.
ME: Really. Well, if I know you, then how did we meet?
DD: It was the other night. I think it was at a bar.
ME: I haven’t set foot in a bar in six years. You have the wrong number.

I hang up. Not five minutes later, Drunk Dialer calls back.

DD: So you really don’t know me?
ME: No, and I don’t want to.
DD: I know you know me. We were drinking, and –
ME: No. We were not drinking, because I don’t drink. I’m sorry, but you have the wrong number.
DD: Huh-huh. Are you bisexual?
ME: No. I am happily married, my husband is bigger than you, and if you call this number again, he’s going to kick your ass. *Click*

At the time, the conversation struck me as being a harmless annoyance. But in thinking about it now — in the context of national discussions about serial rapists, street harassers and mass shooters — I find it unsettling, because it’s full of red flags that reveal the same kind of self-entitled, women-owe-me-attention mindset that motivates the Elliot Rodgers of the world.

Let’s look at those red flags:

1. “You mean, you talk to ALL these guys?” How sexist do you have to be to expect me to justify my relationships to you, random caller?

2. “Oh, you know me.” If you’re so certain I know you but am pretending I don’t, that should be a pretty good clue that I don’t want to talk to you — so back off.

3. The second call. If a woman hangs up after repeatedly explaining you have the wrong number, there is absolutely no legitimate reason to call again.

4. “Are you bisexual?” Based on this question, I’m guessing a woman told him she was a lesbian so he’d go away, and when that didn’t work, she gave him a fake number. “I’m a lesbian” means “Leave me alone,” not “Keep trying.”

5. Stopping only after I mentioned my husband. Drunk Dialer didn’t respect a woman in a bar who did not want to talk to him. He didn’t respect a woman on the telephone who did not want to talk to him. The only thing he respected was the threat of a physical confrontation with another man.

Women should not have to justify our friendships, argue, lie about our sexual orientation, give out fake telephone numbers, or issue threats to deflect unwanted attention. We shouldn’t even have to say “No, thank you.”

If I’m busy or you seem weird, I’m probably not going to acknowledge you at all. And that’s OK. You are not entitled to a woman’s attention simply because you want it. Please keep that in mind and plan accordingly.

Emily

Recipe for entertainment

I spent this afternoon with my goddaughter and her sister, who got to redeem some of their coupons from last Christmas. We blew up a bar of Ivory soap in the microwave, made a batch of slime, tie-dyed T-shirts in the basement, had a fondue party for lunch (bravo for Velveeta, taco seasoning and that electric fondue pot our old boss gave Ron and me for our wedding 15 years ago), made light-up Daleks out of styrofoam cups and Lite-Brite pegs with LED tealights under them, dipped marshmallows in chocolate and sprinkles, made puzzles and wrote with invisible ink.

If you ever need to entertain children, here is an excellent recipe that will do the job:

1 1/2 c. water, divided
1 tsp. borax
1/2 c. Elmer’s glue
Food coloring

Dissolve the borax in a cup of water. In a separate bowl, stir the glue and food coloring into the remaining half-cup of water. Mix the two solutions together. The glue will turn into a sort of gelatinous slime. Scoop the slime out of the bowl and discard the excess water. The slime will seem a little runny at first, but as you handle it, the texture will improve.

When I made slime with my niece and nephews a few months ago, my mom figured out that if you place a blob of your slime in an empty pill bottle, 35mm film canister or similar container and jab your finger into the middle, the air trapped between the slime and the container will mimic the sound of flatulence, thereby cementing your status as the coolest grownup in your young friends’ social circles. (In case you are wondering, this is high comedy to an 8-year-old.)

Your slime will keep indefinitely if you store it in a sealed ziplock bag in the fridge.

I am sorry to report I don’t have any pictures of our adventures today, as I was too busy cleaning up one project and setting up the next to stop and take photos. The girls’ mom, however, spent a lot of time documenting our adventures for posterity, so I’m sure I’ll be seeing some of those images in the not-too-distant future.

Emily

Folk Thursday: Shawn Colvin and Mary Chapin Carpenter

This cover of “Amelia” is easily the best thing I’ve heard since Judy Collins sang “Diamonds and Rust” with Joan Baez. Joni Mitchell is a hot mess, but daaaaaaaaamn, can that girl write.

If you don’t own Hejira, you really ought to remedy that ASAP. It’s been reissued on vinyl, which is really the best way to hear it. I’m much more tolerant of cold nights when I can curl up in the living room with Hejira on the turntable and drink hot cocoa with extra marshmallows. Which is probably what I’m going to do for the rest of this evening. I’m a little fuzzy around the edges, and I could use a quiet evening in my pajamas.

Emily

Brewing

I feel a creative outburst brewing, but I’ve got a nasty headache and feel too cruddy to do anything about it. I think I’ll just make myself a big cup of Sleepytime Extra and crash for a while. I’ve got a feeling Things will be Created when I wake. I feel amazingly awful, but it’s like storm-in-the-Texas-Panhandle awful — big and dark and dramatic, but way off in the distance, just between the clouds and the horizon, I can see a glimmer of light, and I know I’m going to drive out from under the storm and into this:

sunset

I’m gonna go drink this tea and take a nap so I can hurry up and get to the good part. Have a good night, wherever you are.

Emily

Sustainability on a shoestring

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 718 other followers