Thanks for hanging out with me at the AEW event Wednesday night. I know it won’t be long before the last thing you want to do is hang out with your mom.
To be honest, though, not many of the moms we know would want to watch professional wrestling. Er, RASSLIN’ (as it is known in the South).
(You know, if I knocked out some of my teeth, this and the taxidermy would give me the redneck trifecta. You would never know I had a doctoral degree. Yes, I know I’m stereotyping.)
But you and I have watched AEW since it started last year. We HAD to see it live.
Luckily, we like the same characters.
Jungle Boy (i.e., Luke Perry’s kid), Luchasaurus and Marko Stunt (Jurassic Express)? Yes.
Sammy Guevara, who always has his tongue out? Hell no.
Our seats were decent, and we got to sit in a group of folks who were ALL IN for Moxley and Hangman Page, whose beer-grabbing is killing us (in a good way).
When they chanted, “This is AWESOME,” we did too.
When they chanted “Asshole” as Wardlow appeared for the cage match against Cody Rhodes (oh the cage match), we didn’t. You’re 13.
When one dude behind us shouted to Rhodes getting his butt whooped in the cage match,” Do less of that!,” we laughed.
We both marveled at Rhodes’ epic finish.
It was a great night watching men in panties fight each other.
I’m so glad we spent it together.
I’ll meet you on the couch for AEW Wednesday night, unless you have baseball practice.
Love,
Mama
At the Marta station, we spotted the lucky fan who scored the shirt Cody Rhodes ripped off his body.
Warning: This post contains graphic images of a dead animal.
Dear Eddie, Dominic and Gideon,
Thank you so much for giving me the best Christmas gift ever: a taxidermy class at Rainy Day Revival down the street. It is the gift that keeps on giving, as I learned two things:
I really like practicing the art of taxidermy and not just admiring it.
It appears I’m good at it.
You know I’ve been trying to take a taxidermy class for years — since before we moved to Atlanta. The ones at Graveface kept getting cancelled as they didn’t fill up.
Not so with the RDR one: It sold out quickly.
Revell, the man in charge of my hair, and I have similar interests. His boyfriend bought him a seat in the class for Christmas too!
We practically rushed into the room as soon as it opened. Revell chose a fluffy black bunny, so I picked the one across for convenience.
The instructor, Nina, had us start with painting or staining our plaques. Then we had to massage our still-partially frozen yet “ethically sourced” rabbit. (No, I don’t know what that means. Various websites say various things. I didn’t ask. Ignorance is bliss.)
Here’s my rabbit, Roger (of course), lying in state — massaged and thawed.
Next we had to turn our rabbits inside out to remove the skull.
You would think this would be gross, but all the Borax we put on them helped dry things out. Plus, you know I watch plenty of medical and forensic reality shows.
Nina came by to check on progress and gave me props for not popping the eyes and keeping my lids intact.
See! I’m a natural!
Nina then announced this, which is something I never thought I’d hear:
Once you take your face off, stop: We’re going to take a break.
So we took a break.
Revell and I had fun with our gross puppets.
After the break, we made a new skull out of the kind of foam stuff that goes in the bottom of funeral arrangements. Apropos, no?
Roger starts to look more like himself again.
But see how his nose is a little mushed in? I got the bright idea to plump it up with some clay. Nina’s mom, who helps with the classes, was skeptical. Then she saw the end result.
Oh! You were totally right! That looks much better.
I’m an artist, I tell you.
Once we were done, we lingered in the shop waiting for Nina to mount them on our plaques. (Power tools + expertise = much quicker to get through all 30)
I had plenty of time to admire the wares — and dream of bigger projects.
Finally, Roger and I were reunited.
It will be two weeks until he “cures” completely and his bandages come off.
And you three will be forced to look at enjoy him in a place of pride at home.
So thank you for this gift. I had a great time, and I’m proud of myself.
I know you worked overtime with my sons. Each has a girlfriend.
Dominic has been with Anica a little while — long enough to get into trouble for skipping class to kiss her in the multipurpose room at school.
(The phone call with the assistant principal was mortifying for both of us.)
Now he wants to take it to the next level.
Um.
Not just no. HELL no.
I have to hand it to him: He was brave to ask.
But not THAT brave as he asked his father, not me.
Thankfully, Gideon is still in the kiddie pool. But he’s practicing his strokes.
Oh.
My.
God.
🙄
Right?!
This is new — very new — for him. In fact, it almost didn’t happen.
Him: There’s a girl at school who likes me. Me: Yeah? Do you like her? Him: Yeah. Me (Spidey senses tingling): So what’s the problem? Him: I don’t know if I have time for a girlfriend with jujitsu and baseball and homework. Me: Well, just talk to her about it. Let her know. Him: Okay.
(Waits a beat.) Him: I’m glad I can talk to you about relationship stuff.
Anyway, you did your thing. And now I have to do my mom thing — the thing where I notice everything but pretend not to, let alone say anything.
They’re feral cats: I have to let them come to me.
It was exactly a year ago that you played Smith’s Olde Bar in Atlanta as part of the U.S. leg of your Space Wolf tour — a leg I planned with no prior tour-planning experience.
(Good GOD. WHAT were we thinking? A leap of faith all around.)
One year ago, I badgered all my friends to come hear you play.
I still haven’t gotten a response to my May 2019 plea. I didn’t really expect one, but I DID hope.
Here’s the thing: What I really want are not material things.
Instead, I want experiences.
Like a blogger friend of mine (edyjournal), I’m not so concerned with status symbols. In fact, sometimes they come with more baggage than they are worth.
For example, I drove a BMW convertible for a while. I bought it used for $4K under the Blue Book value because the seller had already ordered a brand-new one for his kid as a replacement (!).
It was in great shape, and I take care of cars. That’s how my current car (a 2008 VW Eos) has managed to last and still look good.
Anyway, I got so sick of comments like this:
A BMW? Insert name of employer at the time must be paying you well!
[Eye roll]
It was a fantastic car, but I didn’t seek another BMW after it was totaled when I was broadsided at an intersection.
I feel myself growing apart from another friend whose job working with the 1 percent has her chasing the same Richie Rich tokens of success to keep up.
Edit: Having brunch and getting my hooves shaved down with a long-time friend.
When I travel nowadays, I tend not to come home with tokens. (I Marie Kondo-ed my life since moving to Atlanta.) I come home with consumables: snacks for the kids, chicken hoops for me (when I can find them), random condiments, etc.
I don’t add to my physical footprint (not even in weight as I’m still maintaining).
So I’m asking again, Lottery God: Please smile upon me. These experiences aren’t free.
One of the best things about my job is meeting new people and finding cool opportunities for students. As a result, I’m getting to know my hometown of Atlanta and its residents even better.
There is a big difference in terminology in the higher education world versus the professional world. I go back and forth between the two, so I hear plenty of jargon in both.
I went to a presentation about Atlanta’s workforce last week. Plenty of discussion of past, present and future.
While it was interesting and productive in general, I heard a ridiculous amount of lingo.
Here’s a taste:
“We have to incent someone to learn new skills.” Please. No. Can we just provide an incentive? Or encourage someone?
“I talked to someone offline.” Good LORD. Can you just talk to someone? Let’s leave “offline” for tech.
“We wanted to internship these students.” Internship is a noun, not a verb.
“Pre-skilling,” “re-skilling,” “up-skilling” and “out-skilling.” Oh. My. God. Can we just say “training” instead?
“Workstream.” I’m OK with “workforce” (barely) but not “workstream.”
“Internal ecosystem.” Really? This is unnecessarily complex. Company culture is slightly better.
In fact, one of my dissertation advisors yelled at me for not “elevating my language” like standard scholarly journal writing. I replied that the “elevated language” is why most people don’t like to read these journals. Especially professionals in the industry of interest.
Black Flag performs in Hell at the Masquerade in Atlanta.
Dear Show-goers,
Auntie Beth is here to make sure you have a good time at a punk concert. Your favorite aunt went to see Black Flag this week, and noticed that some of you need some guidelines.
Lest you think Auntie Beth doesn’t know what she’s talking about, be assured AB is an OG.
Here are some rules to follow to ensure a good time for all:
DO wear comfortable clothes, including shoes that can withstand stomping — yours and others. Auntie Beth was practically in her pajamas, but wore steel-toed boots.
DO dress for the crowd. Concert Ts from the band you are seeing and similar are fine. Auntie Beth saw bands such as The Cramps, Suicidal Tendencies and the Misfits proudly represented.
DO prepare for loud music and contact with other humans.
DO NOT go to the front if you don’t want to slamdance or be slamdanced on. Auntie Beth took her old ass straight to the balcony.
In this crowd is no place to be if you don’t want to be jostled and shoved.
Look how angry this girl is! She should have joined Auntie Beth in the balcony.
DO NOT throw punches. Look, the mosh pit is a place for folks to get out some aggression by flinging themselves at others. No need to get upset or start a fight. If you don’t like it, don’t go near it.
If you aren’t ready to crowd surf, DO participate by standing on the outer edge and pushing the “dancers” back in when they are flung out.
DO pick up your fallen comrades. It’s just the nice thing to do, plus you won’t trip over them.
DO take your children (and proper ear protection) to see bands that are important to you. Auntie Beth’s boys saw The Police when they were still in Pampers.
Some of you may disagree with Auntie Beth that it’s OK to bring kids to a concert. Of course it depends on the children and the concert, but Auntie Beth is a fan in general.
DO appreciate bands that start and end earlyish on a school night. Auntie Beth was home by 11. (That’s still past her bedtime, though. Look. Listen. She’s elderly and needs her beauty rest.)
DO support live music. It’s good for the bands, the venue, the economy, the arts and your soul. Think of it as community service!
So I decided to see for myself. It was indeed slimy. And cold.
Observe and report 