:: leveling charges ::

holy crap, people. it's the last day of september.

and what a september it has been.

something tells me there will be a lot of reflection happening over the next few weeks (some here, some elsewhere around the interwebs), but today instead of reflection i thought i'd do a little responding instead.

responding to recent charges against me.

the two complaints-slash-charges-against-me that have been voiced most vociferously during this experiment have been these:

(1) this was not well thought out and

(2) my experiment devalues the work of OTHER stationers, takes customers from them, and hurts the industry

as to the first charge i say yup. you're totally right. it was designed (and by designed i suppose i mean intended) to let things happen naturally so i could see what would happen. i didn't want to direct it too much. i just wanted to put it out there and see what came of it. i mean, i took great pains to ensure that i communicated the spirit of the experiment and how i hoped people would respond, but i tried otherwise to just let it be. this is why it was only for a month, people! it was a one-month experiment that i hoped would give me enough to go on to try to figure out a realistic and sustainable way to integrate the spirit of the name-your-price concept into a real, living, breathing, tangible-goods business.

the second charge is harder to respond to. at first, i was really upset by this charge. i'm the one who - back when etsy still had something called "alchemy" where people could request that sellers bid on custom work and could list their desired price for said work - used to bid high and explain why so that the buyers would understand how much really goes into completing custom work. 

i'm the one who includes labor (but not design work - that i bill or contract for separately as appropriate) and paypal transaction fees in her break-even price and then adds in overhead and profit to calculate her wholesale prices (which are then doubled to calculate retail price). 

i'm the one who disliked doing branding work so much she doubled her hourly rate and then doubled it again and found herself loving it. 

i believe in profit. 

i go crazy when i see someone who is not charging enough to even cover her costs. (but, i reason, she'll learn. or she'll go out of business.)

but the more i think about this charge (and really, there are a few things being said here that i've kind of rolled into one), the more upset i get. first of all, please. let's not give me too much credit here, folks. i've had this awesome amazing turnout but really, it's still only 24* people. 24 people, 18 of whom told me that if they were going to DIY their invitations or buy them at target, costco, michaels, or other-big-box-place. two people sent me the designs they had already started working on themselves. one customer was going to get hers at minted. the others didn't say. so let's not get carried away thinking that i poached all of these customers from my artisan and indie friends and competitors because i really did not. the people this experiment appealed to were people who wanted to support an indie business and still work within their DIY budget. they weren't the people who were about to go put down $600 with one of my competitors until they saw a post somewhere about my experiment and realized they could get the same thing cheaper with me.

and as far as the industry? well honestly i'm not totally sure i care about whether or not i'm supposedly hurting the stationery industry. this little business of mine is about two things at its core: providing me a creative outlet (and my customers a creative high) and providing my family with enough money to pay $200K in student loans plus a mortgage and all those little things it takes to, you know, live? 

i mean really, who starts a paper goods biz saying, "wow, you know, i really want to support the greeting card industry and ensure that it maintains its integrity and fortitude." what wedding vendor is in business to keep the wedding industry strong and healthy. do those industries help support us and keep us alive as vendors? sure. but is it why we're doing what we're doing? come on. 

if my experiment makes my business stronger and my business is a paper goods or a wedding business, then my experiment strengthens those industries in its own way. and whatever industry assumptions it calls into question, well, good on it. would i love to think that my little self might help other little selves start to think outside the "here is how you run a stationery business" curriculum? yes I would. but do i think i'm going to bring down the industry or topple my competitors? i'm not that crazy.

i'd really love to go into a little comparison of my experiment versus the completely-accepted-industry-standard wholesale model, and in fact i plan on delving into that discussion in the coming weeks once i have a little time to put some data from the experiment together and sit it there alongside some data from my experience with wholesale so far. but from where i sit i'm seeing a lot of similarities: both depend on the idea that volume makes up for lower profit margin; both require significant "unbillable" work on the part of the business owner. the difference is in the experience (and cost) for the customer, it seems, and in the relationships formed or not formed between creator and user.

but that's a discussion for another day, i'm afraid.

stay tuned.

* 24 is a rough number. i have had 52 inquiries, i think, and 24 actual purchases (although i can't remember if i am counting two clients twice (each of whom made two orders)). this only includes name-your-price wedding customers, obviously, not other customers or clients brought on this month.

:: :: on fairness and lemonade :: ::

you know sometimes i get downright indignant that i work so hard and yet make so little money. here my family is struggling to sell our condo and knowing it’s time to move out of my mom’s house and faced with a strong financial suck if we can’t make something happen SOON. (and p.s. can we please talk about the fact that even if i wanted to go to work to help contribute to the family funds daycare is prohibitively expensive, especially with number two on the way? is that wrong or what?)

i spent all day yesterday looking over our finances and running scenario after scenario. i mean, some way or another we're going to make it work, because we have to, but in the end i just kept thinking how unfair it is that i make so little and that i have so little control over when i will be able to make more.

i’m out there. i’m getting my work seen. i’m doing whatever marketing and networking i can.

and i’m making sales. lots of sales, even. but with overhead and fees and all, the $10 or so i can manage to make in a day soon turns into a profit of so much less.

i feel like shouting “it’s not fa-ir!” in my loudest and whiniest voice so that all the world can hear and cringe at my cry.

but i also feel like running through the streets shouting, “hey! watch out world! one day i’m going to be featured in real simple and you’re all going to be sending me your money in fistfuls. and then i will be able to buy a house. and then maybe life still won’t be fair but iI’ll be able to invite you over for lemonade and some good old fashioned bitching about fairness.”

what would you think if you saw a person running through the streets shouting that? would you think i was crazy? or would you join in? what would you shout if you were into shouting and that kind of thing?

{image from the each penny pretty creative commons group. go on over there and check out all the amazing photography available for many uses.}

:: :: real happy versus fake happy? really? ::

(I’ve included this image because my blog is feeling too un-image-y lately because I am too mentally preoccupied to take or download pictures. This is a pendant available for sale on the great and wonderful etsy in the great and wonderful MadisonReeceDesigns shop. It is, sadly, about sixteen times too large for my surprisingly small neck, mostly because it would dwarf my surprisingly small head by being half its diameter, but I thought one of you might like it. It’s only $12 (plus she’s got a sale for $5 off going on until August 30th) and she’s got lots of others. And no, I don’t know her and am not being paid to show you this image. I just like it and it makes me happy and this post is about happiness. Sort of. So there.)

And now on to our irregularly scheduled blog post.

So… I met my friend Mr. Dewey (Decimal) at the library again today for some quality one-on-one time. We spent some time in the 618s as we often do lately (depression, mental health, etc.) and then journeyed to the 179.9s for a book by someone Emmons (really? do you expect me to interrupt this rant to go find a link and a first name? get real) about the science of gratitude. I read an article about it in this month’s Yoga Journal (again, you’re on your own for a link here, people — haven’t you ever heard of Google?) and found it intriguing enough to garner a trip to the library.

Well, that and I had four reserved items awaiting me there.

Anyway, I found the Emmons book and then surfed the decimal system looking for other interesting finds. And then I found this book whose author and title now escape me (I know! Bad blogger!) because at the time I just read his jacket blurb and then moved on to the next book without much reaction other than, “Yeah. No. Not this one.”

But throughout the day I’ve been finding myself getting more worked up over this guy’s book. Basically his premise is that contemporary culture has created an entire class of people he calls the “happy class” who are, basically, fake happy. These are people who have taken psychotropic drugs (which he says are overpescribed — and who am I to argue since I don’t know shit about this other than that I’m currently taking psychotropic drugs and they appear to be serving a purpose) or have done one of three other things to get fake happy: they workout to make themselves happy, they have turned “falsely” to religion to make themselves happy, or something else I can’t remember.

OK. It’s not like what this guy has said is so bad. I know. But it just gets under my craw (is that even close to the right expression? anyone?) because I just can’t wrap my head around the difference between “real” happy and “fake” happy. If working out makes someone feel happy, why isn’t this real? Is it only real happiness if we have made absolutely no effort to achieve it? If it just smacked into us like a bird into a vinegar-clean glass window?

Besides, wouldn’t the more interesting topic be how contemporary culture has taught us to all think we want constant happiness? That it’s our right to be happy?

I have, obviously, been thinking an awful lot about happiness lately, what with me walking around all unencumbered by the terrible burden of happiness. And it seems to me that happiness is such a lazy word to describe a whole range of things we really mean: satisfaction, joy, enjoyment (which I think is different from joy, obviously, despite the same root word), peacefulness, contentment, ecstasy, etc. Happiness is just part of the spectrum, and yet we tend to talk as if it’s the only color that matters. I do, anyway. I never hear myself saying, “Why aren’t I at peace with my life?” but rather “Why aren’t I happy?” Happiness is such a fleeting emotion, but something like contentment is so lasting.

Now why don’t we have a dewey decimal for books on contentment?

Or maybe we do. I guess I haven’t looked.

Color me embarrassed. : )

:: Tiny McSmall Fortune ::

The Internet is just clamoring over Tiny McSmall, an online clothing store for children. Oh, how beautiful, the Internet's proclaiming. Oh, how darling. And yes, the Internet is right: it's adorable stuff. See?



But apparently the Internet is AJ's-Rich-Girlfriend-on-The-Sopranos rich because cute as this is, I would have to choose between buying it and feeding my son for 21 days.  And P.S. I could handsew this outfit in the dark and paint the spots on with my teeth and still not have the balls to charge $79 for it. Tiny McPricey is more like it.

:: Buck You, Ohio ::

Being a New Yorker living in Ohio is like what being the only gay man in a rabidly straight locker room must be like: everyone around you has pictures of women up and all they want to do is talk about women and oh my fucking god people stop asking me if I am going to watch the game this weekend.

No, I don't want to donate blood to help OSU beat Michigan in the Blood Donating contest that apparently OSU won last year and still has the trophy for.

No, sorority chick on the quad, I don't really care what website you want me to go to to "help us beat Michigan."

No, I don't have anything scarlet to wear. I've lived here almost five years and the only Buckeye gear I have is my student ID and a super big sweatshirt my hubby got me at the spur of the moment when I was eight months pregnant and cold. now. cold now. brr. must have giant sweatshirt.


I asked my students once, and only once, what the big deal is about this game. Someone told me, "It's a battle between good and evil." She was not smiling. She was serious.

And now I miss home.

:: Changing The World One "Gift" At A Time ::

Why, why, do things that seem so good in theory have to go so very, very wrong? I signed us up for the Freecycle Columbus Yahoo group last week thinking, yes, how good of me, joining Freecycle and being a good little recycler/trader. And oh, won’t it be so neat when someone gives me a gorgeous antique wooden table – not the ornate kind but the very plain kind that looks like a slab of wood and four square sticks – so that I can get hubby to stop talking about the one he found at Meijer (which is, by the way, as bad as buying your table from Kmart if you don’t know what Meijer is – the table may look pretty in the store but you just know that the one you get home isn’t going to go together right and it’s going to have some weird defect and the faux wood stain that looks so lovely and dark in the store is going to look all red and streaky in your house).

So I’m shining my halo when my first email arrives, even though I specifically told Freecycle Columbus that I didn’t want emails, I just wanted to go to the website to read the messages, and I think, yes, I’m so smart and such a good person and everyone should want to be like me. Isn’t Freecycle so wonderful?

And then some more emails come.

And some more.

Oh. my. god.

363 emails in the last not-quite-five days. Emails to offer items and then emails when said items are taken. Emails in search of items and, yup, that’s right, emails to let everyone know that the desired item has been procured.

And that gorgeous antique wooden table, the kind that looks like kids have been drawing and doing projects and eating warm, steamy soup at it for decades? Not yet. Not even close. Instead, I’ve seen emails regarding broken hot tubs (fiberglass, has a leak, we don’t know where and don’t care to look), broken garage door openers (makes a clicking noise and won’t lift the door), a box of fabric scraps (this one has potential, actually, except based on the lady’s other offerings I suspect this may be a box of, like, purple velour or something equally heinous), a working dryer with a fake Christmas tree (must take both!), an Old Navy orange bubble coat that has no rips or tears but does need a “real good cleaning,” a brown canopy without instructions (brown? really?), 150 paper shopping bags (ooh, over here! pick me!), and an “antique heavy iron lamp base with birds lampshade” that “would need rewiring.” Oh, and the “lamp shade has water staining on one side, but is pretty nifty.”

Turns out, Freecycle is a place for people to throw away their old, broken, junk. Sure, there were boxes of baby clothes and some books and software titles (“Planning Your Divorce,” I shit you not), but about 90 percent of the offers I’ve seen so far have included the words “broken” or “needs work” or “some stains.” So of course now I don’t even trust the other ten percent who I suspect just actually forgot to mention “has vomit on it, but this will probably come out” or “electrocuted my gramps, so we don’t want it anymore.”

Here’s the worst part. All that crap gets taken. I’m hoping the takers are sociology Ph.D. students working on dissertations because otherwise all I can say is damn, people, stop collecting other people’s crap. I’m all for passing stuff along and all but holy hell.

Damn halo. Must have been picking up interference from the devil himself.

:: BlogOn: Apply Directly to the Blog! ::

When I was a kid, TV prescription drug ads didn’t exist. There were no celebrity endorsements of osteoporosis medicines, no political endorsements for erectile dysfunction pills. All we had were these extremely vague commercials for Rogaine with Minoxidil in which there would be pictures of people doing things and an announcer telling you to talk to your doctor about Rogaine with Minoxidil.

I asked my mom so many times what Rogaine with Minoxidil was but she had no idea.

Finally, we called the 800 number and asked, but they wouldn’t tell us over the phone. Roagine with Minoxidil was, apparently to us at the time, tippy-top secret medicine probably used to treat really really bad diseases.

Now, of course, we know that Rogaine (plain old “Rogaine” for men, “Rogaine with Minoxidil” for women) is for hair loss. We also know from Rogaine ads (and their website) that “you should not use Rogaine if: your degree of hair loss is more than that shown on the side of the carton, because this product may not work for you; you have no family history of hair loss; your hair loss is sudden and/or patchy; you do not know the reason for your hair loss; you are under 18 years of age (do not use on babies and children); your scalp is red, inflamed, infected, irritated, or painful; you use other medicines on the scalp.”

The list goes on of course, and ends with the list all prescription ads seem to end with. The “stop use if” list that usually includes things like “stop use if you experience chest pain, faintness, or dizziness; sudden, unexplained weight gain or loss; swelling of the hands, feet, or eyelids. Stop use if babies start screaming whenever they see you or if you induce sneezing attacks in the people around you. By all means please stop using this product if any part of your body falls off, unless you are happy with the loss.”

And we all know the side effect lists that warn us that we may have watery stools, erections lasting four hours, difficulty breathing, oily farts. In the years since those initial Rogaine commercials, the drug industry has lost its modesty.

And yet somehow we have this:

In the commercials they play around here, this ad consists of this image (the woman applies HeadOn directly to her forehead) and a chorus of voices shouting, “HeadOn: Apply Directly to the Forehead! HeadOn: Apply Directly to the Forehead! HeadOn: Apply Directly to the Forehead!” End of commercial.

What the f**k???

I watch and watch this commercial for some mother-loving sign of what on God’s great green earth HeadOn is FOR, but all I get is this mantra, spoken by a chorus of individuals who apparently want me to apply Head On directly to my forehead.

I wish I could find out how their sales are because I’m seriously considering my own series of commercial products:

How about Foot Wrap: Wrap Right Around the Foot!

Tomato Rub: Rub Directly On Tomatoes!

Hop Skip: Hop and Then Skip!

Nose Shove: Shove This Up Your Nose!

Lick Stick: Lick This With Your Tongue!

And finally, maybe Spray On: Spray This On, But Never Off!

(A note for those who are as tortured as I am: according to Wikipedia, my favorite experts in random stuff, “HeadOn is a topical product intended for headache relief, produced by Miralus Healthcare, which claims it is a homeopathic remedy.^[1] Although intended uses are not listed on the website or in the commercial spot, the implicit purpose of the product is to reduce discomfort caused by headaches.”)

:: Bumbo Recall (Or, I Get Snarky) ::

I try not to be too judge-y or too snarky but seriously folks. This is the dumbest thing I've heard in awhile.

When my mom was here a few weeks ago she bought Evan a Bumbo (pictured below). He spends a lot of his free time staring up at the ceiling or sitting on my lap and she thought he might like a change of scenery -- a bit of independence.

The Bumbo packaging warned not to use the Bumbo anywhere but on the floor. It also said not to leave Evan unattended in it (I don't know how they knew my kid's name, but that's another post for another time). So we put the Bumbo on the floor in the living room (our real estate agent calls this the great room) and let him sit in it for a few minutes at a time.



We don't use it when we need to do things like make bottles or pee. We use the good old floor for occasions like that because it would be really hard for Evan to hurt himself just lying still on the floor with no stairs or scissors or handguns nearby -- the kid would have to get very creative and frankly, we want to encourage creativity.

When babysitters come, we either hide the Bumbo or tell the sitters that he's not big enough for it yet.

But then this morning my mom calls all apologetic and all "I'm sorry I bought you a toy that's been recalled and I hope my grandson is okay and doesn't have any skull fractures." Whoa! Skull fractures! From a Bumbo! I guess this is something I need to look into. I'm curious, anyway, how something made of very strange-feeling foam could possibly cause skull fractures.

Turns out it's not the Bumbo. It's the dumbos. The parents who leave Bumbos on high precipices and then exit the room, probably to go smoke crack because come on, you can't smoke crack in front of babies.

I know. Stop being so judge-y. But I can't help it. Because my research into the Bumbo recall of 2007 reveals that the seats themselves haven't been recalled, just the instructions to the seats have been recalled. Apparently the warnings were not strong enough. So now the company has issued new instructions (you can download them here) and nifty new warning stickers.

Really, though, I think we all need to have our brains recalled. Next thing you know there will be nationwide recalls on beds (kids can roll off of them and land on their heads, causing skull fractures), dust (kids can have severe asthma attacks and then fall over, resulting in skull fractures) , even kitchen sink faucets (kids can accidentally get some water in their eyes when the faucets accidentally spray all awry and crazy and then the kids can stumble backwards into the fridge, bumping their heads and causing skull fractures).

Damn. I'm being judge-y again.

*****

P.S. If your child happens to have suffered skull fractures as a result of using the Bumbo, I'm very sorry. Yes, I do understand that sometimes we all do things that in retrospect we wish we hadn't done, and yes I am aware of the fact that I did learn about the seriousness of staying with Evan when he's in the Bumbo when he snapped his head back all weird in it once when I was right there with him. But by no means do I think there's anything wrong with the Bumbo or that anything needs to be recalled because I choose to put my son in a seat that keeps his butt but not his neck upright. And no, you're right, I'm not a perfect mommy and no, actually, I don't think I am, and yes, I'm sure I'll be writing a different post when Evan gets his first skull fracture and yes, I'll call you then so that you can tell me how stupid I am for whatever stupid thing I did that resulted in said skull fracture.

:: Bumbo Recall (Or, I Get Snarky) ::

I try not to be too judge-y or too snarky but seriously folks. This is the dumbest thing I've heard in awhile.

When my mom was here a few weeks ago she bought Evan a Bumbo (pictured below). He spends a lot of his free time staring up at the ceiling or sitting on my lap and she thought he might like a change of scenery -- a bit of independence.

The Bumbo packaging warned not to use the Bumbo anywhere but on the floor. It also said not to leave Evan unattended in it (I don't know how they knew my kid's name, but that's another post for another time). So we put the Bumbo on the floor in the living room (our real estate agent calls this the great room) and let him sit in it for a few minutes at a time.



We don't use it when we need to do things like make bottles or pee. We use the good old floor for occasions like that because it would be really hard for Evan to hurt himself just lying still on the floor with no stairs or scissors or handguns nearby -- the kid would have to get very creative and frankly, we want to encourage creativity.

When babysitters come, we either hide the Bumbo or tell the sitters that he's not big enough for it yet.

But then this morning my mom calls all apologetic and all "I'm sorry I bought you a toy that's been recalled and I hope my grandson is okay and doesn't have any skull fractures." Whoa! Skull fractures! From a Bumbo! I guess this is something I need to look into. I'm curious, anyway, how something made of very strange-feeling foam could possibly cause skull fractures.

Turns out it's not the Bumbo. It's the dumbos. The parents who leave Bumbos on high precipices and then exit the room, probably to go smoke crack because come on, you can't smoke crack in front of babies.

I know. Stop being so judge-y. But I can't help it. Because my research into the Bumbo recall of 2007 reveals that the seats themselves haven't been recalled, just the instructions to the seats have been recalled. Apparently the warnings were not strong enough. So now the company has issued new instructions (you can download them here) and nifty new warning stickers.

Really, though, I think we all need to have our brains recalled. Next thing you know there will be nationwide recalls on beds (kids can roll off of them and land on their heads, causing skull fractures), dust (kids can have severe asthma attacks and then fall over, resulting in skull fractures) , even kitchen sink faucets (kids can accidentally get some water in their eyes when the faucets accidentally spray all awry and crazy and then the kids can stumble backwards into the fridge, bumping their heads and causing skull fractures).

Damn. I'm being judge-y again.

*****

P.S. If your child happens to have suffered skull fractures as a result of using the Bumbo, I'm very sorry. Yes, I do understand that sometimes we all do things that in retrospect we wish we hadn't done, and yes I am aware of the fact that I did learn about the seriousness of staying with Evan when he's in the Bumbo when he snapped his head back all weird in it once when I was right there with him. But by no means do I think there's anything wrong with the Bumbo or that anything needs to be recalled because I choose to put my son in a seat that keeps his butt but not his neck upright. And no, you're right, I'm not a perfect mommy and no, actually, I don't think I am, and yes, I'm sure I'll be writing a different post when Evan gets his first skull fracture and yes, I'll call you then so that you can tell me how stupid I am for whatever stupid thing I did that resulted in said skull fracture.

:: You've Been Warned ::

I suck today. I am fatter than I was yesterday, uglier, stupider (see?), lazier, a worse mother, a crappier wife, a terrible driver. My hair is more drab and my teeth less white. My laundry isn't as clean. I am less able to cook than I was yesterday, and I wasn't even able to cook yesterday. My usual sparkle and shine have tarnished; I am ashy and black now. My students, poor souls, actually forgot things they knew as a result of my teaching today. Their writing is poorer and their grammar sloppier than it was.

And another thing: my lips are thinner than they were yesterday. Or maybe they're fatter. Which would be worse? I have also forgotten how to match in the last 24 hours. And how to spell. My breath is stinkier and my legs hairier. My feet have spread and are too wide for my shoes. My fridge is stickier, smellier, and emptier. Food tastes worse except for chocolate which only makes me fatter and more ornery.

I am meaner to dogs than I was yesterday. Small children, who yesterday might have found me funny and attentive, should stay far far away. Today I am more likely to stub my toe, burn myself, and eat children in a beefy stew.

You should watch out, Internet. Your association with me today will make you slower and more likely to lose your connection. You will be plagued by pop-ups that weren't plaguing you before. Your websites will appear differently in every single browser and none of them will look the way you designed them. Your links will dead-end suddenly. Your Google searches will turn up only irrelevant hits. You'll be the unwitting victim of a phishing scam and you will suddenly forget all of your usernames and passwords.

Yes, it's that kind of day. And for no apparent reason. At least you've been warned.

:: I Know It's Not Your Fault, Internet ::

Can we talk about part-time infant daycare for a minute, please, Internet? What’s that? Oh, there is no part-time daycare for infants, you say? Yes, I know, I’ve tried every freaking daycare in Columbus and the surrounding area and, yeah, they already told me. No part-time infant daycare. Waste of cribs or some such nonsense.

Try babysitting websites, you say? Yeah. We have also tried those. We’ve paid our registration fees, submitted our information, and sat back waiting for all the babysitters to pour in. Out of 22 days we need a sitter we have had exactly one day taken care of. One.

And another thing, Internet. What is the big freaking deal about driving fifteen miles? My husband and I do it every. damned. day. You say the babysitters won’t sign up because they don’t want to drive fifteen miles? Well I say they are stupid and lazy and care too much about greenhouse gases. There’s a super cute baby sitting here just waiting for someone to come play with him twelve hours a week. I think the ozone can handle it. And I know those babysitters are driving fifteen miles to the mall because there aren’t any malls downtown. OK, there’s one, but it is a sucky mall. Malls don’t pay you $10 an hour, babysitters. Seriously. Think about it.

Internet, I’m so sorry I’m yelling at you because I know it’s not your fault. There’s that saying about shooting the messenger, of course, but you’re not even the messenger. You’re an innocent bystander. And I’m starting to worry about how my husband and I are going to handle things when our super nice just-until-she-finds-a-job temporary babysitter finds a job and can’t come over. Sure, paying a sitter costs half of my income, but we still need the other half – I can’t just not work.

If only I had it in me to start my own daycare – a place that only does part-time infant care. Because us part-time working moms are people, too, and we need someone to watch over our babies just like all the full-time working moms and dads do. We shouldn’t have to post an ad on Craig’s list and take our chances with psychopaths and murderers. Assuming psychopaths and murderers would even drive the fifteen miles to our house which, let’s face it, no one else seems to want to do.

Ugh. Just one more way going back to school this quarter sucks. Luckily my students are cool and my iPod is stocked with new music to listen to on the commute.

:: Best Music Video Ever ::

The title of the post says it all. I LOVE this OK Go music video (the song is "Here It Goes Again") so much I'm considering having a small video screen implanted in my forehead so that I can play it across my head for people. Scroll down on the page I linked you to and you can choose your own video format. It takes a little patience while it loads, but I promise it is well worth the wait.

Also, if you're interested in hearing the lead singer of the band (Damian Kulash) talk about the video (they made it with a home video recorder and there aren't any tricks or edits -- that's pure treadmill dancing), you can check this out. (You do have to watch an ad first.)

Finally, if you happen to be reading this post on the day I post it, you can catch Kulash on The Colbert Report at 11:30 on Comedy Central.