Colorado Springs, The Final Chapter

We did more on this vacation than I ever remember doing on a vacation before, mostly because we spent so much money getting and staying there, we wanted to have so many good memories that we couldn't walk at the end of the day.

(To my Utah friends: I did look up how long it would take me to get from Colorado Springs to Salt Lake, and it told me 9 hours.  I told Sven, "How about you take the kids for a day while I go meet some friends for lunch?"  Being a typical "detail-oriented" fellow, he dragged the rest of the information out of me and ascertained that I would be on the road for 18 hours for this event.  The kibosh was then applied.  I'm working on an actual trip to Utah for next year, though.)

Day 3 of our trip opened with the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo.  This zoo is tucked into the side of a mountain and is not funded with taxpayer money.  I was not expecting much, but I was totally blown away.

When we got to the zoo to buy our tickets, some deer wandered out of the woods and into the zoo, then some came back out.  We saw one perched in a decorative shrubbery just inside the gate, gnawing on leaves and viewing us with a jaundiced eye.

Giraffes!  This zoo has one of the largest giraffe herds in captivity, has bred more than 150 giraffes for zoos all over the country, and has a special pen where you can pet and feed them.  That's my hand.

Princess and Dexy loved feeding the giraffes.  I had to stop taking pictures because Dexy was trying to jump in to the pen with them, which, besides being a fall of about 20 feet, would have put him in a pen with over a dozen giraffes who, frankly, were somewhat hostile if you didn't have a special "Giraffe Cracker" (3/$1).

In one of the stupider things I have ever done, when I purchased zoo tickets, I asked for tickets to the Mountaineer Sky ride, which takes you up the side of a mountain in what was described as a "cable car."  I was picturing one of those enclosed cars, like you see at amusement parks.  What we got was a ski lift, with no seat belts or safety equipment.  Sven said, "No, that's not it, it can't be it," but it was, and we rode it up the side of the mountain.  We were terrified.  By "we," I mean Sven and me.  The kids loved it.  Dexy immediately scooted all the way up so he could look over the bar, which prompted me to clutch him to my side so tightly he said he couldn't breathe.  We got to the top safely and planned to make our home on that part of the mountain, but since our stroller and things were at the bottom, we rode back down and vowed to never speak of it again.  This is the one picture Sven got before he began to get too scared to let go of Princess.  ("Daddy, you're choking my tummy.  Stop it.")

We got a new camera, and this picture shows how awesome it is: you can clearly see that we were watching "The Land Before Time 17: Little Foot's Digestive Trauma."

After the zoo, we went to Garden of the Gods again, but you've seen pictures of that.

Our last stop in Colorado was Miramont Castle, in Manitou Springs.  I am so writing a book about this house.

Creepy.

With that, it was time to go home.

It was a great trip.  Tune in next month for Branson 2010.

Why can't everyone be exactly like I want them to be all the time?

I just got home from seeing Eclipse, the third movie in what is now officially called the Twilight Saga.  As expected, the movie was completely awesome, but that is not the point of this entry.

I rarely go to movies.  Before we had children, Sven and I went to the movies fairly often, as it was a somewhat inexpensive form of entertainment, and we both liked movies.  However, as time passed, I became more aware of the rude behavior of others, and it got to the point where I dreaded going to the movies.  Here are two examples:

1. Once, during a highly anticipated sequel, I sat in front of a young woman who had talked her friend into coming with her.  The friend had not seen the first movie.  Throughout the entire thing, the young woman whispered things to her friend like, "Okay, the reason that is important is, in the first movie, she got her arm cut off?  Right?  And now she doesn't have an arm?  So that's important."

2. Another time, during one of the Star Wars prequels, a man sitting behind me was talking on his phone at conversational level.  I turned around and looked at him, smiled, and turned back to the front.  He called me a b-word.

By the time I got pregnant with Princess, I was grateful to have the excuse that I couldn't really sit through a 2-hour movie without getting up for various reasons.  I even missed the highly anticipated movie version of Rent, but Sven bought it for me on DVD soon after Princess' birth.  Of course, you can't take a baby to a movie theater, so then I had even more of an excuse not to go.  If Sven had some action-filled comic book adaptation he wanted to see, he could go with his friend, Hezekiah.  Not me.  Even when Princess was old enough to go to the movies, I had to stay home with the new baby.

Then there was Twilight.  After years of self-imposed exile, I went online and bought a ticket for Twilight.  I went by myself.  (A side note: I love going to movies by myself.  Sven thinks it is sad and weird.)  A year later, New Moon.  Last week, Sven and I took both kids to Toy Story 3.  Earlier today, I took Momz and the kids to Toy Story 3 (yes, again, it was awesome).  And then, tonight, Eclipse.  Here is what I have learned:

KIDS ARE NOT THE PROBLEM.  ADULTS ARE.

The first time we saw Toy Story 3, it was in a completely packed theater, first show of the day (around 11:30), full of kids of all ages.  It was silent, except for totally appropriate laughter.  Today, we saw it again, and there was a very noisy ADULT who kept commenting.  (Several children shushed him.)  Tonight, at Eclipse, there were THREE BABIES who were FUSSING throughout, but since it was the 9:00 PM show, I blame the IDIOTIC ADULTS who thought it was appropriate to BRING A BABY to a PG-13 movie at 9:00 PM.  In addition, there was a very drunk and loud man who was extremely vocal about his devotion to Team Edward.  ("Suck it, Jacob!" was shouted more than once.)

In short, though kids at movies get a bad rap, I'll go to a family movie with a theater full of kids any day.

And save the rest for Blu-Ray.

2010 Vacay: Colorado Springs, CO, Day 2

For the second day of our vacation, I planned on spending a day in historic Cripple Creek, home of folk songs and gold mines.  To my dismay, it has now become the home of casinos and casinos, so we just rode the train before heading back to Colorado Springs.

Since we crossed a time zone in our travels, we were chronically early throughout our stay.  We arrived in Cripple Creek at about 9:00, only to discover that nothing opened until 10:00.  Here is Princess posing with a bronze statue of someone as we killed time until the train left.

Dexy wanted to get on the train and go.  He did not understand why we didn't just go!  Just go!  Just get on the train and go!  It was a long hour.

Finally on the train, Dexy discovered, delightedly, that they blew the train whistle all. the. time., which meant he got to make this face and say, "What was that, Mama?" about 87 times.

Princess, less enamored of trains than her brother, was just silly.

That evening, we went to Seven Falls.  To get to this observation platform, we rode up an elevator through a mountain and came about about 100 yards from the falls.

To get to the top of the falls themselves, you have to climb 224 stairs.  I figured, no, we'll just stay on this nice, safe platform and look at it from a distance.

The chipmunks at Seven Falls (throughout the Colorado Springs area, as a matter of fact) are quite brazen and somewhat suspect in their political thinking.  I'm positive this one was wearing a Mao jacket before he knew I was there, but he took it off quickly and adopted an innocent, stereotypical pose.

We were lucky; that night at Seven Falls, there was a demonstration of Native American dance.  At the end, Princess was asked to come up with the other children in the audience (but she was the youngest one who got up, due to her belief that she is welcome to perform at any time on any stage).

Princess with one of the Native American dancers.  Those things hanging on her dress jingled.

This lady was an expert dancer and drummer and singer.  She was awesome.  I'm reasonably sure that is a different tipi from the Cliff Dwellers site, but I can't guarantee it.

Sven and Dexy coming down the enormous staircase to the top of the falls.  They made it about 2/3 of the way up, Dexy walking by himself, until Sven said, "Look at how high up we are!"  Dexy then looked down, held up his arms, and said, "I want Mommy."

Princess, on the other hand, made it all the way to the top of the falls.

Princess then took this picture of Sven.  After this, she dropped the camera.  Days 3 & 4 will be presented with pictures from our new camera.

2010 Vacay: Colorado Springs, CO, Day 1

This year, the Folksy household rounded up and headed out and ripped and snorted our way across 1200 miles of America, arriving in Colorado Springs after a mildly traumatic two-day drive.

Here we are shortly upon crossing the Colorado border.  I began experiencing motion sickness, so did not pose for pictures until I was truly acclimated.

Day 1: Garden of the Gods Park.  This park is full of enormous red rocks, prompting Princess to ask, "Is that one a God, Mama?  What about that one?  Where are all of the Gods, Daddy?" which led to an interesting discussion, in which Mommy attempted to clarify that, although God is *everywhere,* it doesn't mean that He is hanging out in Colorado for the summer.

The Colorado Springs area is rich with Native American artifacts and lore, including the Anasazi (Ancestral Pueblo) Cliff Dwellings.  The dwellings were carved into the rock, then built of brick and stone, and are in great shape for a 1,000-year-old place.  I would list them as "cozy fixer-uppers."

That being said, when it came time to tour the dwellings, Princess was too afraid.  Apparently, when she asked Sven, "Where are the people who lived here?" he replied, "They're all dead."  For some reason, she was then a little leery of going in.  Kids.

Also included in the Cliff-Dwelling site was an authentic replica of a tipi and an authentic gift shop shaped like a pueblo.  Dexy now wants to live in a tipi, as he informs me daily, swathing himself in towels in an attempt to form some sort of tent-like structure.

Later that afternoon, we decided to drive up to the summit of Pike's Peak.  This sign was at a rest stop located at about 8,000 feet.  For us, Texans, in June, this sign was hilarious.  I would guess the temperature when we stopped here was in the 60's, though, which was crazy.

It was 33 degrees at the summit, so Princess got a sweater, which was the highlight of her entire trip.  Every time we asked her, she said her favorite thing in Colorado was the shop at the top of the mountain where she got her sweater and got to use the bathroom.

For the record, I was totally sick from around 8,000 feet, but really, really sick starting at about 10,000 feet.  When we got to the top, Sven said, "Get out of the car and walk around, you'll feel better."  I passed out in the bathroom.  Twice.  As this smile will tell you, though, it was completely worth it.

Sven had a great time.

And that was day 1.

Vaguebooking and Other Foibles of the Technological Age

Timing is everything.  Mere days after I relinquished my title of Queen of Passive-Aggressiveness,  I found the ultimate PA tool: vaguebooking.

I discovered it, as I discover all beauty and truth, on Facebook.  (For the uninitiated, Facebook is a website in which you can acquire "friends" and see what they are up to via "status updates" which are posted to their "wall."  You can also play about 10,000 games, which only cost you your time and dignity.)

Status updates can be trivial ("On my way to get pizza, hope the wait isn't long!") or thought-provoking ("Wondering what clouds think we look like?") or snarky and judgmental ("Just saw a woman on the subway in lime-green stretch pants.  Hello, 1987 calling!")  None of these qualifies as vaguebooking.  These updates are all examples of completely appropriate Facebooking.

Vaguebooking, on the other hand, is the posting of a deliberately vague message to create, reignite, or escalate drama.  Some examples:

"Wonders why all men are such jerks."

"Is very upset at something a so-called friend said today."

"Thinks someone needs to get over herself and just have it lanced."

"Wonders, why me?"

"Has had enough and is just going to give up."

"Thinks that was hilarious!"

"Knows that the rest of the world will just have to grow up.  I give up.  You win."

If the responses are all, "Who?"  "What happened?"  "Oh, no, what are you talking about?" then you have a vaguebook.  Vaguebooking is odious, awful, and should be punishable by death.

I admit my reaction to vaguebooking might be a little extreme.  I have been guilty before of innocently vaguebooking; I was not trying to send a message to anyone, I was legitimately saying something about society at large, but it could have been interpreted as vaguebooking, and the drama that followed has made me extremely leery of ever posting a vague status update again.

Facebook, Twitter, and (I imagine) MySpace have opened our lives to so much additional drama, it's ridiculous.  Whatever happened to the old days, of "dignity" (secrecy) and "decorum" (shame)?  Nowadays, it isn't unusual to learn on Facebook about your teenage niece's unplanned pregnancy, your former student's new tattoo, or your uncle's new boyfriend (surprise!).

The purpose of vaguebooking is usually one of two things: to provoke a response in a desperate plea for attention, or to provide some sort of "clique-ey" feeling to one's wall.  One of those might look like this:

Mildred is "still laughing about last night!"

Jose comments: "OMGoodness, chica, I bet you are!"

Sue comments: "Do you still have the balloon?"

Mildred comments: "It popped!"

Jose comments: "LOL!"

Sue comments: "ROTFLOL!"

Mike comments: "What are you talking about?"

Mildred comments: "You had to be there!"

And I haven't even gotten to the political status updates.

So, my friends, my new rules of Facebook:

1. Never, ever post a status update that could ever be interpreted as anything other than a completely factual statement.

2. Never, ever comment on someone else's status if I don't know exactly what it is about.

3. Never, ever, ever comment on a political status unless I agree with it.  (Which means, of course, that I almost never comment on them.  I live in Texas.)

By following these three rules, I have learned to get along just fine on Facebook.  It's just like going to a party.

I'm in the back room playing video games.

The Next Step

"The best way to build confidence in students is just by telling them how much ability you see in 
them."


-Ron Clark




"Who told you you could sing?"
"My singing teacher."
"She lied."


- American Idol Auditions, 2008

I recall when I first heard the term "self-esteem."  It was the mid-1980's and I was in elementary school, when suddenly it seemed that the words "self-esteem" were being uttered every five minutes by parents, educators, and media gadflies.  It seemed that it was the mission of every adult to foster and nurture self-esteem, which meant the following things:

1. Never, ever, ever, tell a child he or she didn't do something well.
2. Never, ever, ever, tell a child he or she won't be able to do something.
3. Never, ever, ever, tell a child he or she isn't skilled or talented at anything.
4. Praise children for anything and everything.
5. Encourage children to set long-term goals without regard to practicality or feasibility.

I firmly believe the "self-esteem" craze of the 1980's is responsible for a lot of screwed up adults in the 2000's.  It was such a "boomer" thing to do, right?  The same generation who believed that the way to intellectual enlightenment was drug use and loud music decides that negative must always equal bad, that children must be nurtured in a completely positive environment at all times.

(Re. "Boomers": Please understand that I don't believe that every individual born between 1940 and 1960 is flawed.  Just the ones that keep yapping about Vietnam and Woodstock and how all culture and art came to a standstill around 1974.  Those guys.)

Self-esteem was just one of the conspirators in our vast national murder of the concept of "shame."  It use to be that "shame" was a potent force in our society for enforcing a sort of general moral code.  Sometimes it was good, sometimes not so good.  Some things that used to be stigmas are now not only accepted, but embraced and promoted.  Sometimes that's good, sometimes, not so much.

It is interesting to me that, as a society, we seem to be completely incapable of anything other than the most extreme reactions.  We either shun or celebrate.  We love or loathe.  We condemn or glorify.  While individuals are more than capable of making fine distinctions, as a society, we stink at nuance.  So, rather than say, "You know, negative reinforcement makes some children shut down and become self-defeating, so we should really examine how we use negative reinforcement and start using targeted positive enforcement," we say, "You can't tell Suzy that she can't sing!  It will scar her for life!"

This is why we have American Idol.  This makes sense to you if you are like me and mainly watch the early shows, in which the laughably bad takes the spotlight.  You see dozens of people, every year, who seem sincerely convinced not only that they can sing, but that they can sing better than anyone else in the world.  These people are also equally deluded on their physical attractiveness and personality.  Part of our national fun is watching Simon Cowell, speaking for so many of us, skewer these people and deflate them in public.  That's our *real* national opinion on self-esteem: we all really do recognize that it's a crock, and Simon Cowell telling the woman with three teeth and three hundred pounds that she isn't the next Jennifer Lopez affirms it.

That's not the real story, though.  The real story is when the auditioner, after being told by three music industry professionals that he or she has no shot at fame, or even a living, leaves.  The person, more often than not, confesses either angrily or tearfully that he or she will never give up, that Simon doesn't know what he is talking about, that he or she really IS the next American Idol.  That is how deeply erroneous self-esteem can root: it takes self-esteem into self delusion.

Everyone should love themselves.  But self-love is like loving another person: you can't do it blindly.  We love our spouses and friends with knowledge of their flaws.  Why can't we do that with ourselves?  If I can love someone with bad skin, or bad morning breath, or explosive flatulence, why can't I acknowledge flaws in myself and love myself anyway?  (For the record, Sven does not have bad skin.)

I'll say it: I love myself.  I'm overweight and have crooked teeth.  I don't have terrific skin; in fact, I have some extremely strange hairs that have developed facially that I'm bothered by.  I have webbed toes.  In fact, my feet resemble Fred Flintstone's.  I'm short.  I have accepted that I CAN NEVER achieve in the following professions:

• Fashion Model (even plus-size, I'm too short)
• Toothpaste spokesperson
• Sandal wearer
• Guest star on "Law & Order" (can't carry off a smart business suit)
• Teen idol
• And many more!

My point is, if you tell a 15-year-old who is caterwauling "Can't Be Tamed" for the school talent show that she will be a star someday, it might feel like a kindness.  It might make her feel good for the moment.   But sometimes we have to think long-term, and go with the smile and the "I'm so proud of you for trying" answer.

I'd rather they hear it from me than from Simon.

Thievery!

Scene: Folksy House, Friday, 8:30 a.m.

Deb: So, what are we doing today?

Sven: Well, the carpets are still wet (note: Sven stayed up until 4 a.m. shampooing the carpet downstairs, hence the late wake-up time) so we need to get out of the house.

Deb: I've already given the kids a bath and they're dressed, but I need a shower.

Sven: Okay.

Deb: Can you check Dexy's diaper? (Turns on shower in bathroom)

Sven: Ew.

Deb: Well, you go change him while I shower.

Sven: (silence, pleading look)

Deb: Really?

Sven: It's so cold out there, and I'm so warm.

Deb: Sven, please-

Sven: All right, where's my pants?

Deb: Fine, I'll change him.

(Deb exits with Dexy.  She and Dexy have an involved conversation about poop, digestion, and the meaning of the words "disgusting" and "awful.")

Deb: (enters bedroom): Princess, where is your daddy?

Princess: He took your shower.

Deb: What?  (Races to bathroom.  Sven is in shower, singing happily.)

Princess: Told ya.

Deb: This will not be forgotten.

Fin.

The Stupidity of Youth

Recently, Miley Cyrus has come under fire for the way she has been dressing and behaving and looking and singing and dancing and breathing and existing.  People say she's "too sexy" for her age, that she is trying to "be sexy" instead of just being natural and age appropriate.  Which, right away, tells me that no one in the media thinks that Miley Cyrus is really attractive, because if she puts on eyeliner, the headlines scream about how hard she's trying.

That being said, I watched her new video, "Can't Be Tamed, But Can Shriek," and immediately called animal control to return her to the wild.  If you missed it, here it is:



The most recent kerfuffle has to do with this outfit, which she wore to perform:

(Just for perspective, here's a picture of Britney Spears at the same age:

)

Miley's outfit?  For a 17-year-old?  I don't see the problem, frankly.  I think the video is awful, but the sick green leotard is just a leotard.  I don't see the problem.  (And, for the record, most of my objection to the video is that it is terrible music accompanied by a terrible video from someone with very little talent who has been mass marketed to the point that children are being conditioned to like her regardless of what she produces.  Not that I have a strong opinion about that.)  Okay, so Miley "defended" herself via this statement:

"I always tell people, everyone goes through a bad point in their life and makes bad choices. But they just haven't been published and it hasn't been documented and (published) on the Internet.


You can see how that would drive people crazy. I would like to see you at 21 and video that and put
that out there for people to comment on,"

So, apparently, Miley's current media strategy is to do stupid things, and then say that she should be allowed to be stupid because young people are stupid, so stop paying attention to all of these things I'm doing to get attention!  Because everyone does stupid things intentionally!  Seriously, Miley is trying to say that the deliberate, business-driven choices she is making with a committee of handlers is the same as a 20-year-old getting wasted at a frat party and waking up with a headache the next day.  Guess what, Miley: most people who make stupid choices in their teens and twenties don't know they are being stupid!  They make those choices because they are stupid, not because they think they are entitled to be.

So compare Miley, who is defending her right to be stupid with calculated, attention-getting stupidity, with this painfully stupid young superstar:

Her name, my friends, is Ke$ha.  Yes, her name has a dollar sign in it, which is classy with a capital K.  This Autotune diva recently made an appearance on Saturday Night Live in which it became painfully obvious that she is utterly without any irony to temper the complete ridiculousness of her "talent."  I once entertained the possibility that she was, perhaps, being awful with a little wink, that it was a Lady Gaga-like commentary on the trashiness of celebrity.  No, as it turns out, Ke$ha is completely earnest.  Look at her two performances from Saturday Night Live, each of which are brimming with avant-garde-like flourishes coupled with the most inane pop music since Tiffany:





(The fan-made tags on Hulu, by the way, include phrases like "would rather be blinded by battery acid; talenteless, worst thing ever," and some that could be considered hurtful.)

It's one thing to be young and stupid.  It's another thing to be young and stupid enough to believe that the adults around you telling you to be stupid have your best interests at heart.  Poor Miley.  Poor Ke$ha.  Poor all of us.