A roller skating jam called Saturday

*Edit - because, in addition to being a scatterbrain, I have far too many things to say (such that my part-Irish mother likes to say, as her uncle said of her, that I not only kissed the Blarney Stone, I swallowed it) and can never remember everything that I need, er, want, to say... a note has been added below.


From the look of my blogging to-do list, there is going to be some Very Heavy Blogging going on over the coming week or two. And we kicked things off good the other day with the morose reflection on death and the human tendency to accidental cruelty that was this post. So before we go wandering any further in the Forests of Deep Thoughts and dipping our toes in the Swamps of Despair and trying our hand in the Boxing Ring of 21st Century Feminism (where I will take on both Caitlin Flanagan and Linda Hirshman at the same time, in a frenzied smackdown that will involve pinching, name-calling and the bashing together of feminist heads. Are you ready to rrrruuuuummmble?!?!?), we need a little ephemera. To lighten things up...

1) Why the It's Not Easy Being Green Dancers will not appear on America's Got Talent.

Because - need I actually spell this out for you? - it is beneath them. What greater insult to their art than to be placed alongside Bobby Badfingers (um, eww) and a dancing, milk-spraying cow and judged by the Dark Lord of the Dregs of Inexplicably Popular Culture?

And, because Kermie lost a leg in a crawl-by gumming.

It was entirely coincidental that, instead of Gerber's Gourmet, WonderBaby dined on cuisses de grenouilles en bechamel that evening.

2) Zanta strikes again:

Dateline: Bloor West Village, 3:45 pm Tuesday June 20, 2006

Yep, that's WonderBaby in the foreground. Completely non-plussed, intent as she was on gumming that bicky into submission while fighting sleep. And that woman behind him, in the polyester slacks, with the home perm and the shades? No idea who she is. But moments after this picture was taken, she dropped to the ground and did a rolling side-kick to the back of Zanta's knees and took him down. It was beautiful.

3) You tell me. Lance Armstrong or Steve Zissou?

The Life Aquatic, Tour de France style.

4) Toronto Mama real life liquor-soaked playgroup bloggin' has gone off-site, to another blogspot location. (No, I am not trying to turn the blogosphere into my own little SimCity. And no, I am not making a run at world domination. I prefer to think of my efforts as falling somewhere between those of Pericles and Mr. Rogers. More Sesame-Street-gone-Socratic than SimCity or world-historical empire-building.)

And this little project is, for the moment, largely functioning in a blog-decluttering capacity. My last handful of posts have all had Toronto Activity Announcements tacked onto them and, you know, that kind of stuff can really interfere with the clean poetic lines (cough) of an otherwise tidy (cough) post. So. All discussion of mama-blogger things Torontonian (that is, at least, those things coming from this corner) will now occur over here, a place that I was so tempted to call Her Bad Mother's Backyard, or Her Bad Mother's 'Hood, but that I don't want it to be entirely mine. (This isn't BadMotherVille. If anything, it's WonderBabyLandia, but we're trying to discourage imperial impulses 'round here these days.) Check it out, and check back for latest news about the upcoming get-together.

Deep Reflection Bloggin' and Feminist Smackdown Bloggin' to commence shortly...

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Please visit the Basement for a cookie and chat with our current visitor. While you're there, you might also check the back corner, where there is a Dad - yes, a DAD - venting over a beer. Give him your support, 'cause Dads need love, too...