Mamalogues®

Somewhere over the rainbow

2008-05-09T16:02:14Z

I walked into a Dierbergs, a locally-owned grocery store here, for the first time in my life yesterday. I recently stopped buying Trader Joe's meat as Chris and I are very particular about cuts of meat and I'm just not happy with the selection TJ's offers. I hate having to go to a frillion places to get one week's worth of groceries. The Schnucks (another locally-owned market) off of Loughborough has a great butcher, but I don't want to drive back and forth between two interstates. So I stopped into Dierbergs to check out their meat.

Ohmygawd.

Their produce sparkled like diamonds. The kids and I were in such awe that passerby must have thought that we were urchins who'd never set foot inside a grocery store before. Their bell peppers? They were meticulously arranged so that all their little butts were pointing outwards. I am freak about my food and we are instant BFFs if you order your kitchen items with a dash of OCD. There wasn't a withered piece of produce in the bunch; there's always a suspicious bag of grapes or a browned apple in the mix but not at this store. I like to touch, smell, and feel up my produce, not unlike foreplay, before I place it in my cart. It seemed pointless to do it here. They had everything categorized. There was a giant ORGANIC sign marking all the naturally grown products. I wish Schnucks organized their organics as thoughtfully. As I only popped in for meat - and OMG those cuts were SMOKIN' - I didn't go through the whole store but I'm sure that the aisles were paved with tiles made from crushed unicorn horns and that there was a pot of gold in the last aisle. We briefly considered erecting a tent in the cereal aisle and just like, live there for ever.

When we approached the register there was - GET THIS - a bagger waiting at the end of the conveyor belt. In some other stores, even when business is slow, I have to practically shake down a cashier to get a bagger. And when one isn't available there's this awkward moment, you know, when you attempt to bag your groceries and you try to hide how you bag them so the cashier doesn't glance over and roll their eyes. You stand there like an unwelcome houseguest as your groceries accumulate at the end of the conveyor belt, like should ... should I start bagging this? No? Is that a bagger over there? Is he...he's coming over here - no, no he's going on a smoke break. Ok, so I bag? When the cashier has to bag your groceries the people behind you in line are all "Gawd, we HAD to get behind a FAMILY purchase," because all they have is a box of wine, toilet paper, and beef jerky (party!) and boooo on you for buying family-size quantities of food. Ok, maybe it's just me.

But anyway, there was a bagger there and he just stood there and then when my groceries came down the belt his arms went blurry and he bagged the hell out of my groceries like I have never seen them bagged before. When he was done his hands were actually smoking and he blew on him like a gunslinger blows on a gun after winning a draw. Slightly exaggerated, but still. Then the checker gave the boys stickers and because they are bought and sold with anything miniscule so long as it's free, they were all "WE LOVE IT HERE."

(I was seriously not paid, contacted by, or cajoled by Dierbergs to write this. I just get really excited over little things.)

Scheming on a thing

2008-05-08T19:27:40Z

This Saturday I'm meeting with some of the St. Louis internet for the first public meeting of the St. Louis Bloggers Guild. We'll be at Benton Park Cafe, owned by a friend of ours, and my saying that it has some of the best eats in the city isn't bias, it's truth. They're graciously putting the Guild up and serving as our home base-of-sorts. Many thanks to John and Jess.

Please join us if you can; we'll be there from 1 - 3 p.m. and are discussing our first big project. Click here for details and to RSVP.

The best pick-up line ever

2008-05-07T18:19:44Z

A friend of ours whose in-laws work with Energizer recently gave us his-and-hers gift bags full of trimmers, razors, and other cosmetic things. Chris is fascinated by gadgets, no matter how small or for what purpose. While I watched television he disappeared into the kitchen bathroom and I heard the small "reuuuuuuurr" of tiny machinery. He reappeared some time later, walked up to me and smiled.

"Notice anything different?" he asked, raising and lowering his eyebrows repeatedly.

"Um ...?"

I just trimmed my nostril hair. Electronically."

Yacht Rock

2008-05-06T15:31:54Z

Thanks to those of you who contribute your 2c in the last post. We haz opinions! LET US SHOW YOU THEM. I never begrudge a civil disagreement because it gives us something to talk about other than how we have to wait an entire summer for the next "Rock of Love" installment. Disagreement? C'est la vie. It's more fun to party. Which brings me to the topic of smooth.

I have wasted over an hour of my time watching the "Yacht Rock" episodes on Youtube. The series is the fictitious backstory based upon the music of Kenny Loggins, Michael McDonald, Hall & Oates, the Doobie Brothers, and other artists whose smooth music defined a genre. It's lampooned hysterically in this series; Chris busted in the house one evening with his giant iMac and was all "WATCHTHISOMG."

It's a good series if you like music + comedy, though please note, parts are so NSFW. If you can't start from the beginning at least start with this episode. It grows on you. I swear. Before I understood the aesthetic I was all what the ...? Episode #9 is about the interesting production-marriage of Ted Templeman and The Halen and it's my absolute favorite. Turn up the smooth!

The trickle down effect

2008-05-05T15:41:34Z

Chris spent all last week in Madison, Wisconsin, mixing a record at Butch Vig's studio. He left last Sunday night and no sooner did he close the door behind him than Ewan erupted into a chaos of tears and wails. It was a hard week for the brothers Loesch. I've said it before in this space so many times: I cannot fathom how military wives deal with their husbands' absence for so many months.

I slept with a firearm responsibly located near my bedside. I've no apologies; I'm a woman with two young kids in the city and it, along with our alarm system, gives me peace of mind. The boys understand firearm responsibility and I've written about it extensively here and other places. I was even more glad to have it after I received email alerts about a guy claiming to be from the water department attempting to force his way into homes in my area.

While at his homeschool gym class, Liam overheard one of the kids say that guns were "stupid" and "people who use guns are stupid." Liam said "What about for self-defense?"

"No," the kid replied. "All of it is stupid. My mom says we're safer using swords."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Liam responded. The exchange angered him and he refused to interact with the kid. He waited to tell me about it until we got home.

"Well that's just goofy," I explained. "It's the people who aren't familiar with firearms who are scared of them the most and it's usually those people that end up causing or being the victim of an accident. That's statistical."

It wasn't the gun conversation that shocked me; this was my first real headlock with an opposing parental view. The strength of how we raise our kids, the quality of what we instill in our kids is tested in moments like these. I was impressed with how Liam handled the situation. No matter what we teach him, I hope we continue to successfully incorporate respect and tolerance into his viewpoints, like mortar to the bricks, despite what he may experience in future disagreements.

Content with enough

2008-05-02T15:45:03Z

As we walked into Liam's art fair/competition on Wednesday night I immediately scanned the room for his entry because shame and I, we've never met. I finally saw his piece, an interpretation of a work by Jackson Pollack, with a red third place ribbon affixed to its corner.

I checked in my purse to assure that I'd packed a jar of Vaseline so as to get our egos back out the door before showing him his ribbon and congratulating him. Liam is at the stage where he could accomplish quite a lot artistically (more so than now) if Chris and I wanted to really push him, really cultivate him. But we don't. We let him do as much as he wants. We first thought that perhaps we were doing Liam a disservice, holding him back. We've since decided to the contrary. I always second-guess my parenting decisions. (I'm sure that will make the kids feel fabulous when they read this as teenagers. Hi! We've no clue as to what we're doing! Love, Mom and Dad.)

When I first began homeschooling we decided that our major goal was to discover each of our kids' particular gifts and then teach and encourage them to use those gifts for societal benefit. I don't want to burn them out on their passions during their childhood, besides; I want them to enjoy their youth. We know another young artist whom I believe to be equally advanced as Liam. He's always in some art workshop, studying in a mentor program, doing this, doing that, going here, going there. He's a brilliant kid but he doesn't act like a kid. Perhaps he's just super mature for his age but the last time we were around him and his parents in a social setting I fully expected to see him smoking a cigar and clutching a glass of scotch. I want Liam to run and revel in all that defines childhood. We have a period in our life where we're afforded a free pass to behave immaturely and explore all of our options because of our age. I want him to enjoy that. Besides, I think he does wonderfully as it is.

Lawn Man

2008-04-30T15:59:28Z

The other day Chris said to me: "You know what? My grass is looking good. Lookin' REAL GOOD." He said it as though the fescue in the backyard had suddenly developed breasts overnight.

"Yes, it does look nice," I said, looking up from my copy of Domino.

"Yeah it does! It looks AMAZING."

It's spring again, the time of the year when animals come out of hibernation, when baby critters are born, when men ultimately talk about fertilizing their lawns whenever gathered together. It's apropos. At a recent gathering of friends, I noticed that the conversation from the man-half of the group delved into grass fertilization and yard work and mowing and machinery. Whereas a man's fishing stories are akin to a woman's labor story, so is yard work discussion akin to something chicks talk about, I'm too tired to think of a competent analogy. You get it.

The other day we were at Lowe's, often thought of as man territory, but I love it there. I love the shiny objects and the smell of the wood. Basically, I love it for the same reasons as would a cat. Chris convinced himself that he needed a blower-slash-sucker. Some mechanized elephant to remove the dead leaves from under the deck and from the flowerbeds. He spent thirty minutes examining the different types of blower-sucker machines (my mind is about to explode from the juvenile opportunities here) before trotting out proudly to meet me in the garden department with the box in hand.

That afternoon as I pruned and planted like a 50s' housewife, he stood in the backyard and adorned himself with the blower's bag and strap as though gearing up for a joust. He slipped on a pair of the manliest garden gloves I could find him (blue and green stripes), a pair of yellow goggles, and for a moment, I could've sworn I heard the Vienna Boys' Choir and saw a Photoshop starburst behind him as he stood satisfied, his hands on his hips.

Monday in photos

2008-04-28T18:29:35Z

Some new photos mixed with older ones I came across while clearing off my SD card. We're gearing up for summer and winding down Liam's extracurricular lessons, though his core lessons will continue as planned year-round. Click photos to enlarge and for captions.

(I'm also still working on putting the site back together and yes, all the archived entries that you asked about will be restored!)

Some credit for the way that I am

2008-04-25T14:30:26Z

Firstly I want to thank each and every one of you from the bottom of my heart who have commented, emailed, messaged, even called to say an encouraging word and offer a shoulder of support. I am truly humbled that you took the time out of your day to do so.

Now! On to happier, more pleasurably angsty things, specifically today's Friday Flashback. We were asked: "What was the first movie you ever saw? What was your first notable movie memory? And what effect did it have on you?"

Sweet jeebus, there are so many. I remember when I saw "E.T." in the theater and thought that E.T. was gross and ew but yet, aw, how sad that he wound up in a ravine bleating "Elliooot." I remember that the idyllic situation of the subdivision was very appealing. I remember first seeing "Labyrinth" and thinking that David Bowie was a strange, but fascinating man.

Then there is "Rocky Horror Picture Show," which my cantankerous, beer-loving, fallen Catholic uncle picked up at the video store for the kids while the family was vacationing on a house boat in the Ozarks. I was all "Mom, what's a transvestite?" To this day no one can crack me up like that particular cranky ol' uncle.

There's also "Poltergeist," which so impacted my life that to this day I am still weirded out by closets, mirrors, charismatics, and Quaker hats. One evening we grandkids were all spending the night at our grandparents on Thanksgiving night and my aunt thought it would be a nice little scary move, "like Casper." Sweet Christmas. I was never more terrified in my life as I was when I saw that film. After "Poltergeist 3" came out I removed all the mirrors from my bedroom. I'm not kidding. They stayed out of my room until I left home. Come to think of it, why the cost of the film's rental doesn't come with a therapist is beyond me. Steven Spielberg turned all of the fun, neat things about childhood: toys, clowns, trees, innocence, into instruments of terror.

My family seems so irresponsible, don't they?

I think perhaps one of my favorite films of all-time, a film that contributed so much to my warped humor, my fascination with my own neighbors and urban legends, spying on - and a general appreciation for my street is, "The 'Burbs." I saw this film in the theater with my mom and aunt when I was in elementary school. I've never laughed so hard in my life. It saddens me that it's so under-appreciated. I can identify with every character, even the Klopecs's outcast aesthetic. One of my favorite characters is played by the brilliant Bruce Dern. "I spent 18 months n the bush, sonny. I can snap your neck like a twig!" I found a compilation of his different moments from the film here:

Another scene from the movie here:

What movie impacted you the most? Share it in the comments. It's an interesting topic; I'm always curious to hear what people say.

The other divine Flashback Friday participants:
Oh the Joys
Mrs. Flinger
Sweetney
IzzyMom

(We're also still working on piecing the site back together. I'm still manually inputting hundreds of archives - though we may have some hope left for the server; Ill update if we do.)

Setting it straight

2008-04-23T14:39:07Z

Way back in 2004 I applied to register "Mamalogues" as a federal trademark. At the time there were no other "mamalogues" on the Web. I researched. The USPTO researched. They concurred, which is why they agreed and allowed me to register my site's name as a trademark in connection with a blog about motherhood and parenting.

One thing about trademarks: they're not like copyrights. Trademarks must be maintained because any stone left unturned can weaken the ability of a mark to distinguish a person's goods and services. This is intellectual property law 101. Because my mark was used as a column, because the name was optioned in Hollywood once, and now it seems for a second time, as a project, I knew that I had to stand up and protect my property. So I did.

Ms. Genevieve Hinson was apparently offended by this. I got emails asking me if I was related to her, if our sites were affiliated - there was actual confusion between the two websites. Then she followed me on Twitter. She was well aware of my trademark as I use the ® symbol present beside my mark. I was very cool and contacted her and told her hi, I was a bit concerned, could we talk? I was ignored. Again. And again. And again. I didn't quite know what to do. I realize that bringing the law into your life is a very serious thing and I wanted to steer clear of that but I have a responsibility to protect my property. So I contacted my attorneys. A cease and desist was sent out.

Just days before the deadline to which she was to respond, I was notified by a reporter, Nick Belardes, in my comments section no less, who very curtly asked me why I was "going after" everyone with a "mom" in their website name and oh, he was going to do a piece about it for the ABC affiliate ABC23 KERO in Bakersfield, California. Except that he already did it; it not only aired, but a story was on their website as well as video. I followed the link he gave me and I couldn't believe my eyes. I started crying.

Not only was the story missing valuable information, but I couldn't believe that they went so far as to suggest that I'm somehow being a "bully." I couldn't believe that Hinson thought it easier to run to a news outlet instead of just talking to me in the beginning. Who knows what could've happened. That it was asked why I was protecting my mark instead of asking why others were causing me to protect my mark also blew my mind.

What wasn't mentioned in the piece were all the times I tried to contact her and amicably discuss the issue. Or that I obtained my federal trademark before she blogged, and years before the entry was made on Urban Dictionary (I also think it's curious how the Urban Dictionary entry was created just last month). It didn't mention that my dispute with MomLogic was not over the issue of "MomLogic.com," but rather over their use of "momologues" as a blog on their website.

The bottom line is that it's not a case of "cyber bullying," it's about the rights extended to owners of trademarks under federal law. Specifically, federal trademark law requires that the trademark owners be vigilant with the protection of their marks. Plus, the term "bullying" suggests that there is a disparity between resource and power when in reality, both parties are represented by capable counsel representing their interests in this matter.

It's amazing that I can be vilified for simply protecting that which I have earned, applied for, and received. I never tried to prevent anyone's speech, but rather act to protect my proprietary interest in my URL. I've never told anyone that they couldn't blog, but rather am asserting my right to my trademark which identifies my website.

That's why companies protect their trademarks.

You can't create a car company and call it "Dadge." You can't open up a coffee shop and call it Stahrbuchs. This is one of the main reasons I, and others, founded the bloggers' guild, to protect our work. We want to protect ourselves against any attempts to restrict and/or dilute the scope and force of the validity of our intellectual property, among many other goals.

It really upsets me that Ms. Hinson would use such a platform to express, for the first time, her disagreement with respect to my rights under trademark and in the process essentially cast me as the villain - that her dispute would resort to personal name-calling instead of having a discussion about the issues of our dispute.

Comments will be moderated.

Technorati tags: Dana Loesch, Mamalogues, St. Louis, California, trademark, intellectual property, blogging, Momologue, Genevieve Hinson

Now I'm going to melt your heart

2008-04-23T03:45:24Z

If my children's voices were respective to the size of their mouths, they'd share a physical trait with Mick Jagger. I can't fault them, they come by it honest. Their poor mother isn't much different. When I was in Jersey Chris sent me this Centro video of the kids in Sam's. Sam's is the first place Chris heads in my absence and the first place he'd head in the event of any natural disaster. I think Sam's hid a man-beacon in their store somewhere because whenever Chris drives and we pass the building on the highway I have to tug at the wheel to prevent him from careening off the road towards it. I came home from Jersey and we had like six pounds of pretzels, a pound of paper towels; the kids were building a fort with mass amounts of toilet paper, and we had new DVDs.

I got this video while I was checking out my hotel room. It was like I was right there shopping for mass quantities with them. Sniffle.

Mamalogues v 3.0

2008-04-22T16:35:09Z

I was up until 2 a.m. last night restoring my archives. It's going to be a long process. Fortunately, many of you had my archives in your feed readers and two lovely ladies in particular have pretty much my total archives combined. Thanks to everyone who's helped; Martin for his help through the years and Craig for totally bailing my arse out last night and doing the majority of what you're looking at here. He can bend CSS like those kids in the "Matrix" bend spoons. I cannot thank you guys enough.

It's an excellent opportunity to weed through my archives and remove the junk. I'm not kidding myself; after four-plus years I know there's been junk. I'm also in the process of rewriting every single one of my columns. I recently discovered that my former employer is selling archived copies of my columns. In order to write for that employer you pretty much have to sell your soul, which is what I did, like an idiot, because I was under the ridiculous assumption that only a byline gives a person credibility when really, it doesn't. It's ironic. I know not every one of those columns were winners, either, and to make up for that I've started rewriting the topics, so as not to plagiarize myself, and will be offering better versions here on my website for free. Look for that in the coming weeks.

We're still working on this site and things are going to change and things may look funky from time to time so please still with the pashince. Comments should be in working order again. If you notice any problems please let me know: mamalogues at yahoo dot com.

Bass = kicked

2008-04-22T01:21:53Z

Hi! Did you miss me?

At some point last night a storm of very technical things beyond my technical intellectual capacity occurred to my good friend M's server (who's been gracious enough to host me these past four-plus years) which completely killed it, the backup systems, and lost all of my data. Non-retrievable. Four-plus years of data. Including some of my letters to the boys on their birthdays. Comments. Everything gone. There is only a teeny shred of hope that we can retrieve anything. So I'm building back up from scratch and Google cache. It will take some time; plze haz pashince, thx. I'm literally retrieving my archives from Google Reader and the Wayback Machine. New design, et al. will come later.

Things are going to be weird around here for a bit but we're working hard to put it back to normal. "We" being me and other people who felt sorry for me when I freaked out, cried, and my hands went numb.

Thank you to everyone helping, especial thanks to M who is having a nervous breakdown along with me because he lost even more than I did.

The grocery store trip

2007-08-07T20:31:38Z

This week's column concerns the hellacious experience endured by every parent at one time or another: The Grocery Store Brat Attack. Whenever I approach a grocery store with my two children my ovaries scream and shut down.

I've gotten a lot of e-mail over this piece already this morning, but an alarming amount of it scolds me for "not disciplining" my children. Rest assured, I do discipline my children.

While Liam's antics were relatively minor, the kid had just received a shot of adrenaline not thirty minutes prior to stem off an allergic reaction to his shot. That figured into consideration. See? I do have some mercy. Ewan was also disciplined. However, any parent that says their children listened and obeyed in the store immediately after discipline is a lying liar and I call BS on you. If you have magical talents, screw you for not sharing with the class!

Lastly, I'm sick today. It feels like I've gargled razors.
Also, I've been really slow responding to e-mail last week because of all the VBS stuff. Please don't take it personally, I try to reply to some but am just not able to do so with all. I love that you write and I read every bit in my inbox. Thanks!

Going home

2007-08-02T20:26:39Z

Andi left this morning with a barrage of backpacks and carry-ons in tow. She's headed back to that wooded little crevice in the Ozark hills, the tiny little town that time forgot, with its one stop sign, small restaurant, and alcohol problem, back to where the majority of my family lives. Her school starts in a little over a week and she'll resume her varsity volleyball duties. In the meantime, her album will go into the hands of music executives. While I hate for her to return to that town where opportunities are few and so many become trapped by alcohol and drugs, it's still the hub of her adolescent life.
She'll finish her senior year in January and then she's moving back to St. Louis permanently.

I will miss having another girl in the house for completely selfish reasons; it's much easier to get your way against a man when you have another female on your side because generally, men are too terrified to take on more than one female at once. I'll miss the way that she noticed when I wore eyeliner on my upper lid, or how she appreciated the difference in the many heel heights. I will not miss how her dead car has been in our driveway for five weeks and her parents have not moved it and I'm going to scream. I will EMPHATICALLY NOT MISS the way the boys! THE BOYS called at all hours of the night to talk to her, nor will I miss how her brains seeped out of her ears anytime she was in close proximity of another 17-year-old male. I will not miss how she likes the hoosier-looking, mullet-esque bad boys instead of guys like Scott here (foreground). Seriously, who would not like Scott? Oh, that's right, ANDI WOULDN'T. Because she wants to kill me.

I will not miss the interesting dichotomy created by her virtually rule-free world and our parenting style. Uh, yeah, no you can't go to such-and-such party with this 23-year-old guy who has a girlfriend where I seriously doubt that you will not drink any beer, do I look stupid to you? Seriously. Do I? Do you think that I was NEVER 17 once? And 23-year-old guy: Hi! You don't know who my family is because if you did you'd be running for the hills, where they'd all most likely be waiting for you anyway, swinging ball bats that they keep in their cars. Those are just THE WOMEN. I've already told you to tread lightly because some of us own pig farms.

The town where she comes from, where my family is, is such an odd little country town. It's not sleepy; it just looks the other way. During her two-month stay here we tried to expose her to as much of the city as possible, to show her that cool things lay beyond the reach and shadow of those Ozark hills. I also laid it on thick about how she should not get knocked up and stay away from this fellow she's been talking to, a boy with a bowl haircut, who looks as though Moe from the "Stooges" cut his hair. Chinstrap, we call him, because Chris always makes himself laugh hysterically by asking if the fellow's hair came with one.

She'll be back in January. Lots of things will be happening by that time.