Thursday, January 20, 2005

shake your groove thing

It thrills me to no end that Monkey loves to listen to the RetroActive channel on digital cable. All those songs from 80's (and sometimes 70's) that I, as a small town midwestern girl with a punk heart, listened to. She loves to throw herself around the room to the Violent Femmes, spinning until she falls to the ground. She screams "DANCE!!!" when she hears The Clash. Right now she's grooving to Blondie; waving two chocolate alphabet cookies in the air above her head. Someday I know she will stick the photos ofwhatever her generation's equivalent of the Bay City Rollers will be to her wall. Until then I can only hope she'll keep asking for "Bowie, Bowie, Bowie!" when we get in the car to go to kindermusik.


Big Daddy, my beloved, is a reality television junkie. It is a flaw that I choose to overlook due to his many good attributes. For the last two nights Big Daddy has been plopping his drafting table down in front of the television to watch American Idol. God help me, even I can't resist the pull of that show. I have a suspicion that most of those people know how truly horrid they are and are just hoping to end up on television in all their gawd awful glory.

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