Redneck Review

Saturday, August 20, 2005

Audio Blogging?

I gave it a try. I really did. And it was very easy. Now I know why.
Do you see an audio post here? Me neither.

I went to Audioblogger. I registered. It was very simple. I followed
the instructions. I even had my resident 10-year-old computer genius
looking over my shoulder. I went out on the porch to call in my audio
post on my cell phone. That's because it was not an 800 number, and
because my cell phone doesn't work very well in the house.

I dialed, put in my phone # and password #, stated my message after
the tone, hit the pound key as instructed, and VOILA! Nothing. I
phoned in my audioblog at 9:55 am central daylight time. It is now
3:38 pm central daylight time. So after 5 and a half hours, I don't
know where my audioblog is. Have you seen him? If you do, tell
him to come home for supper. No wonder it was so easy--because
I got nuthin', folks.

I did some Googling, and found out that over 24 hours had elapsed
before some people had their first audioblogs show up. And that
must mean I am one of them, because often I hear people say,
"Some people" as they look at me intently.

I may give it one more try. Or not. I can not let it interfere with my
Big Brother TV-time tonight. Even if my audio post magically appears
later, audioblogging is not for me. I need instant gratification, baby!

Minister of Education

It looks like Rebecca has started her own country, the Nation of
Beclakia. Hurry on over, she's offering a 2-for-1 deal on citizenship.
I have decided to immigrate there and appoint myself Minister of
Education. I will educate the adults, not the kids.

My Department of Beclakian Education will need a faculty. So I
am appointing the following people to instruct the new Beclakians
in Hillbilly Education. I'll bet a Sonic Large Cherry Diet Coke that
Rebecca did not know the citizens of her country would turn out
to be hillbillies. Here are my faculty, and what they will teach:

Kristin: Half-naked Posing, History of 55-gallon Barrel Killers,
Free Cheese Smorgasbord, Gambling. Kristin will also be directing
Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, our school play.

Miss Ann: Which Wine Goes With Hot Dogs, How Not to Start
a Lawnmower, Which Came First: the Ferret or the Crack..

Rachy:
Internet Research for Bizarre Yet Compelling Items,
Why Possums "Playing Possum" Do Not Make Good Pets.

Raehan: Art Appreciation: emphasis on poker-playing-dogs-on-
black-velvet. How Much Sleep Do You Really Need?

Alexandrialeigh: Landlords, the Law, and You

Bert: Cooking Critters: things normal people won't eat (cats, chitlins,
coon, chicken feet). Bert will also serve as principal, as he is a
no-nonsense kind of guy.

Babs: Why We Should Get Rid of this Hillbilly School and Educate
Ourselves.

Karen: Sugar Beets: the New White Meat. Cell Phone: Don't Leave
Home Without It: especially if you are driving on a road with ruts.

Misha: Psychology of the EMO, Dancing ala Mosh Girl.

Melina: Relationships 101.

Hmm...it looks like we are lacking in a few areas. I might have to
rethink this education thing. No math, no language, no science.
Oh, yeah. It's Hillbilly Educatioin. We're fine.

The school uniform will be overalls, with shirts and shoes being
optional. There will be breaks at 10:00, 2:00, and 4:00 for corn-cob
pipe smoking. The school song is John Denver's "Thank God I'm
a Country Boy." Lunch will be provided, providing somebody runs
over a critter on the way to school. Students must drink the milk in
little cartons, or Miss Ann will smack them. Even if you bring some
moonshine from home, you must still drink the milk.

I think that just about covers it. I will be teaching a class in audio-
blogging tomorrow, if I can get some tutoring in it from a 10-year-
old boy. If not, there will be NO tuition refunds, people. So don't
even think about it. Read my lips: NO REFUNDS!

Friday, August 19, 2005

I'm so lonesome, I could cry.















Thursday was the first day of school for the kids. This is
Little Bear, #2 son's favorite companion. Not just at bedtime.
He carries Little Bear to sit in the living room and watch TV,
propped on a pillow beside him. He takes Little Bear with
us to Wal-mart, but I insist that he remains in the car (the
bear, not the boy, because I'm pretty sure there are laws
about that kind of stuff). Little Bear lays on his shoulder
while he plays GameBoy.

Little Bear is looking kind of haggard. He has been rolled on
and slobbered over for only 6 months. He came attached to
a box of Valentine candy that Hillbilly Husband gave me.
The box laid around for a while with just those one or two
pieces that nobody likes, but you don't want to throw away.
#2 son timidly asked, "Mom, if you don't mind, could I sleep
with your bear one night? I will take really good care of him."
So I cut him off the Valentine box with a steak knife (the bear,
not the boy, because I'm pretty sure there are laws about that
kind of stuff), and deposited him in the waiting arms of my
just-turned-7-year-old son. The next morning he brought the
bear back and said, "I could take care of him for a while if you
want me to." So I told him he could adopt my little bear, and
that's what he named him.

I have seen Little Bear riding on the armrest of the car. I
have seen him in a seat by himself. The most touching thing
was one morning after dropping the kids off at school, I
had to get something out of the back, and saw that #2 had
buckled Little Bear into his seat belt. Every morning when
he got out, he said, "I know you will take good care of
Little Bear while I am at school."

This summer they were inseparable. #2 walks through the
house with Little Bear on his shoulder. He can do almost
anything without putting down the bear, though he does
leave him out of the bathroom. "I wouldn't want him to fall
in the toooiiiiiiillllllllet," he says with his funny little drawl.

So Little Bear looked quite forlorn the first day of school,
what with his worn-out little face, sitting alone in the car.

I guess he's better than an imaginary friend.

Thursday, August 18, 2005

My Affair

I think I am having a fling with the Sonic boy. (Shhh...don't tell my
Hillbilly Husband.) Those of you who have been reading my blog
all summer might recall that I have an addiction: Sonic Large Cherry
Diet Coke.

There is a kid at Sonic who seems to favor me when I go through
the drive-thru. I have been cutting back with school about to start,
and getting a medium instead of a large. The other day this kid took
my order, and repeated it back: a medium cherry diet Coke, and a
large cup of ice. I love the ice--gotta have extra. So I drove around,
and he gave me a large soda and large ice, and only charged me the
price of a medium. Believe me, going there every day, I've got the
prices memorized. He grinned, and told me to have a really nice day.
He's about 18 or 19, tall, kind of chubby, stubbly whiskers. But he
seems to like this old hillbilly lady.

Wednesday, I ordered medium and large cherry diet Cokes, and
a large ice. My Hillbilly Mama was babysitting for me, and she
wanted a large. I drove around, and my suitor gave me the medium
and large sodas, and a Route 44 ice. But he only charged me for the
sodas and a large ice. There is a $0.15 difference, you know. Again,
he was very friendly. He knows the way to Hillbilly Mom's heart is
though her cherry diet Coke. He makes the best ones, too. Just
enough ice, cherry, and soda. Now that school has started, we've
got to stop meeting like this.

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

Top Ten Tuesday: Back-to-School Edition

Top Ten Tuesday was brought to me by Redneck Diva, by way
of April. I'm glad, too, because what I wanted to write about was
too long, and now I have a shorter way to gripe. So here it is:

Top Ten Things I Hate About Going Back To School


1. A two-hour-and-forty-minute meeting

2. No Sonic Large Cherry Diet Coke

3. My aching feet

4. The mother of all headaches

5. No afternoon nap

6. Parents who show up at 5:30 for the 6:00 to 8:00 Open House

7. Fellow teachers who hog the copy machine

8. No time to work in rooms because we have MEETINGS
every day for 3 days

9. People who are standing in the hall talking at 8:21 at the
6:00 to 8:00 Open House.

10. Parents who come to pick up their child's schedule at 1:20,
(which is prime no-meeting work time), drop in to chat with the
teacher, and stay until 2:40, instead of coming to the 6:00 to 8:00
Open House.

Monday, August 15, 2005

Rebecca's Challenge

In the comments to my August 14 post Hidden Talent, Rebecca
said she was up for a challenge. I do plan to follow through on
her suggestion to put my whiney ol' hillbilly voice on an audioblog
for you, but it might have to wait until the weekend.

Rebecca has volunteered to sing a song of my choosing. Be careful
what you volunteer for, I always say. No need to make it easy. So
here it is, Rebecca. I challenge you to sing the second verse to "It Goes
Like It Goes," the 1980 Academy Award winning theme song to the
1979 classic movie, Norma Rae, directed by Martin Ritt, and starring
Sally Field. You know, the movie that proved we like her, we really
like her.

"It Goes Like It Goes" goes a little something like this:

Ain't no miracle bein' born
People doin' it everyday
Ain't no miracle growing old
People just roll that way.

So it goes like it goes and the river flows
And time it rolls right on
And maybe what's good gets a little bit better
And maybe what's bad gets gone

Bless the child of the workin' man
She knows too soon who she is
And bless the hands of a workin' man
He knows his soul is his

So it goes like it goes and the river flows
And time it rolls right on
And maybe what's good gets a little bit better
And maybe what's bad gets gone

Now I know you might be tempted, Rebecca, to sing the whole thing.
But the problem is that my computer will time out, and I will not get to
hear it. So just sing the part I've highlighted for you. That is my favorite
part. Of course, I don't know where you can find this if you haven't
seen Norma Rae. But you know movies, so I think you have seen
Norma Rae. Anyway, the music and lyrics are by David Shire and
Norman Gimbel. It was sung by Jennifer Warnes. Good luck. Oh,
and you don't have to sing a capella. You can even have Norma Rae
playing in the background if you'd like.

Hillbilly Mom Wants...

I've been Googling again. A while back we found out what I am...
now let's see what I want. If you want to try this for yourself, just
go to Google and type in "(your name) wants." Let's see if you
can help me with my wish list:

Hillbilly Mom wants...a good old patagonian tooth fish. Yeah,
doesn't everybody? And no young ones or toothless ones,
either, you cheap ********!

Hillbilly Mom wants...to pull a Quint and bonk one over the head,
but the water is too choppy. And we wouldn't want bonk anything
over the head in choppy water, because I guess that would hurt
worse than a regular calm-water head-bonking.

Hillbilly Mom wants...to lay a smackdown on Susie. I mean
business, Susie, and don't think that just because you have the
same name as my Toe Story Susie that I will cut you any slack.
Count your lucky stars, girly, because if this water wasn't so
choppy I'd have bonked you on the head by now.

Hillbilly Mom wants...you to know she loves cats and does very
well with household pets. She can fry them up in a pan, roast them
slowly over hot coals, freeze them to make pet pops, liquefy them
in a blender for smoothies, or use Bert's recipe for a good casserole.

Hillbilly Mom wants...in, and Lester wants out. OK, Lester, I know
you don't like me, but could you be a little less obvious about it?

Hillbilly Mom wants...to find a way to say, "No, Sattar, Iraq is not
my country." Just in case some guy named Sattar finds his way to
the Hillbilly Mansion and asks me if I am from Iraq.

Hillbilly Mom wants...the tarp, the blanket, and the parachute for
Ego Ego. Yes, I want it all for me me me me me!

Hillbilly Mom wants...to know if you like toes, in general. Or
specifically, for that matter, the ones with long black hairs growing
out of them that you would need to use tweezers to pick up if
someone chopped off a toe and you had to put it in a baggie with ice.

Hillbilly Mom wants...to know if you and Billy can come back over
tonight. Oh, the **** with you, I just want Billy. HILL Billy.

Hillbilly Mom wants...to lose weight, but her daughter Kimberly doesn't
--she's thin as a rake, anyway. Well let's see how you feel about that,
Miss Kimberly, when I'm a-draggin' you through the just-cut wet grass
and you get all clogged up with mulch and can't lift your spindly little
rake bone arms and legs any more.

Hillbilly Mom wants...to place a picture on the wall that is 228 inches
long. Which is too **** big because that is the same as 19 feet, people!

Hillbilly Mom wants...to tour the apartment and make sure I'm not
living in a rat hole, and she mentioned something about giving me a
credit card to...pay people to say I don't actually live in a rathole,
and to get fake bushy tails for any rats I see so I can pretend they
are cute little squirrels.

Hillbilly Mom wants...us to have monthly dance parties at the Literary
Cafe. So people will think we read and are smart and cultured, but
really we will be line dancing like a bunch of tobacco-chewin' yahoos
on a Friday night.

Hillbilly Mom wants...to move the toilet across the hall, working out
the details to...see if it is a good idea, what with some people not
wanting to take a dump in the hall with no running water and everyone
watching from the living room.

Hillbilly Mom wants...to know how many pillows there will be, and
Gen says, "500"...which seems to be a bit excessive to me, even
though we are using them as padding on the roof in case the Space
Shuttle falls on the Hillbilly Mansion.

Hillbilly Mom wants...to stop playing Rosie secretary and go home,
so Rosie lets her be a coming attraction by singing The Awful Truth
as Mrs. Dracula. And doesn't that make you want a little snort of
whatever we'd been into earlier in the evening?

Hillbilly Mom wants...to put her hands on Mona's shoulders and
steer her like a bumper car in fun. But not steer her like a bumper
car in anger, that would be just wrong. And if I wasn't so cheap,
I could go steer an actual bumper car, and stop this embarrassing
charade, and send Mona to a chiropractor to fix her back that is
sore from me riding the bumper autoMonabile.

Sunday, August 14, 2005

Hidden Talent

I am an accomplished car singer. That's OK...I'll wait for your applause
to taper off. Now don't think that means I am a talented car singer--it's
something that I do any time I'm driving. My students say, "Hey, Mrs.
Hillbilly Mom, didn't you see me wave at you this morning over by the
middle school?" Well, no, kids. I was in the middle of a concert and
couldn't be distracted. I tell them, "Oh, I don't pay much attention to
who's in the other cars. I sing along with the music sometimes." By the
looks they give each other, I think maybe they have noticed.

I prefer to be alone in my SUV echo chamber. I sound really good
when it's cranked. Most of the time I have to make do with my boys
as passengers. I don't say audience, because one lives in the Pokemon
land called his head, and the other says things like "Can't you turn that
down--I can't even hear my music through these headphones!"

I am really good with Fleetwood Mac. Stevie, Lindsay, and Christine,
I blend really well with y'all. Say You Love Me, guys. I could have
replaced any of you who didn't want to go on tour. OK, so I am not
as freaky as Stevie. And then there's the little matter of not being able
to play keyboards or guitar. But hey, it took two guitarists to replace
Lindsay anyway. I'm So Afraid that secretly you're all hissing "Go
Your Own Way," but really, I Don't Want to Know. Give me a chance
if you reunite. I will even sing your songs from Tusk, the double album
that nobody but me likes. Hey, I have my Dreams.

Oh, I know that I'm not a very good singer anywhere but the car. I
would never sing karaoke, or even sing in the car with real passengers
other than my kids. I don't sing in front of my Hillbilly Husband, either.
Sometimes even my car serenades leave something to be desired.

No matter how hard I try, I can not blend with you, Shery Crow. I
don't care how many times you tell me "C'mon, C'mon--It's So Easy,"
I just can't walk that Diamond Road with you. It's a shame, too, you
being a good ol' southern Missouri gal and all. Picture this: I actually
blend better with Kid Rock than with you. Glad you did that song
with him.

And Liz Phair, don't think your music is safe from my mealy-mouthed
mutilation. The blend is great, but I've got to get the hang of that odd
phrasing you use, cause sometimes I have to take a breath.

Now that you are sufficiently tranquilized from my boring story today,
mosey on over to Misha's. Seems that work dealt her a road trip, and
she's looking for ONE (I repeat ONE) song from everybody to put
on CD for the trip. That means ONE, people. Don't make me come
over there! And maybe, just maybe, that's where I got the idea for
this car music post.