APPARENTLY, I AM A VERSATILE BLOGGER

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Stephanie Neighbour has nominated me for the Versatile Blogger award, which means I have won the versatile blogger award, according to the versatile blogger award Web site, which you can find HERE.

I'm supposed to nominate 15 bloggers I've discovered recently or follow regularly for the versatile blogger award, which means you are a wiener if you find the address of your blog below this paragraph. Here's where it goes haywire. I don't think anyone ever accepts an award I've passed on. Oh, well. I'll try anyway. After I nominate you 15 who can't be bothered, then I'm supposed to tell Stephanie Neighbour seven lies interesting facts a buncha bullshit things about myself. You are welcome to stick around for the seven lies interesting facts a buncha bullshit things about myself.

Okey-dokey. Whom shall I harass this time?

1. http://1makingadifference.blogspot.com/
2. http://thestephanieconnection.blogspot.com/
3. http://crystalcollier.blogspot.com/
4. http://shadydell.blogspot.com/
5. http://bmariede.blogspot.com/ V
6. http://delusionsofingenuity.blogspot.com/
7. http://ilovetoreadyourbooks.blogspot.com/
8. http://eseckman.blogspot.com/
9. http://jo-annemotherandnanna.blogspot.com/
10. http://www.justinappropriate.com/
11. http://shellysm.blogspot.com/
12. http://nickielson.blogspot.com/
13. http://www.skanthony.com/
14. http://quillfeather-blog.blogspot.com/
15. http://when-a-lion-sleeps.blogspot.com/

I betcha a dollar that not one of these bloggers will accept this award.

Well, maybe Rachel at When a Lion Sleeps, Let It Sleep (#15) will accept it because she's my buddy. So I betcha 75 cents. But maybe Shelley and Sir Shady and Vebbie and a couple other people will accept it, so the bet is off.

Now I have to think of seven things about moi to tell Stephanie Neighbour:

1. Wednesday night I went to my neighborhood restaurant to have dinner, and it was closed, as in everything is dark and all the signs are gone and the people who work there have probably been selected to go on a little visit with some aliens. I am bereft, utterly bereft. I met Willy Dunne Wooters for the first time in that restaurant. I went to a different restaurant for dinner and my food and drink were utterly tasteless. Then I got home and found out Maya Angelou had died and I felt as if the bottom had dropped out of my world, especially because Willy Dunne Wooters has to work extra this week and he'll have to work over the weekend so I might not see him for another week or so. I texted Favorite Young Man about Maya and about the restaurant. He was sad about Maya, too. He asked if I was sure the restaurant was closed because they're always so busy at breakfast time and maybe they just aren't open evenings now and I told him I'd gone to their Web site and next to hours it says "Now Closed". I am bereft, utterly bereft. Where will I go in my neighborhood when I want a nice, inexpensive little meal, in a place where everyone says Hey, Janie, when I walk in, and I can sit and read a book while I eat? I remain bereft and without a clue. I am concerned about the servers, too, because I think they got dumped with little to no notice. I always befriend the servers where I eat. When I broke my back, the only person who called me to find out where I was and what was wrong was a server at my favorite restaurant (in Illinois).
2. Although I have dogs, I am cat-like in much of my behavior. I sleep for about 20 hours a day. When I wake up, I alternate between organizing stuff, kind of like a cat pushing around poop in a litter box; eating; rubbing up against Willy Dunne Wooters when he's here; and playing with a piece of string or some bubble wrap. I am easily entertained and a cheap date.
3. I majored in English. I'm not sure how I became a newspaper reporter. I went to a job interview and the executive editor asked where I had gotten my training in journalism. I said that I didn't have training in journalism, that I only took a Journalism 101 class. She said, Then where did you get your training in writing? I told her I went to Shepherd University. She held up a special issue of a small newspaper where I was the managing editor and asked, Did you do this? I said yes. They hired me. Those people were nuts. I didn't know what I was doing. Maybe that was the key to my popularity with the public.
4. Now that we're on the subject of popularity, I was never popular while I was growing up, and I didn't have a lot of friends during the early years of our marriage. We always had to move because X screwed up at something or got mad at somebody at work and he'd quit his job. Every time we moved, I lost my friends. Then I finally went back to college, and it was weird because everybody except this one jerk named Kevin seemed to like me. I always sat in the same place in Dr. C's class. The other students told me they knew where to sit based on my seat because the world is Janiecentric. Dr. C told me that he always saved my essays to read last because they made him feel he'd accomplished something as a teacher. At most of the jobs I had, if they had taken a vote for Miss Congeniality, I think I would have won. I get to be popular without every doing the rah-rah cheerleader thing. It's fun to be popular. I just read what I wrote in this paragraph, and it makes me feel good.
5. Recently, I fell in love with the TV show Nurse Jackie. I don't have Showtime so I'm getting it on DVDs from Netfix. I think it's wonderfully funny because it's so real. At the beginning of the first episode, Jackie says something to the effect of What do you call a nurse with a bad back? She answers herself: Unemployed. Jackie doesn't have any problem with bending or breaking rules if it will help her patients. I used to steal stuff out of the supply closet when I knew patients couldn't afford to buy something. Occasionally I ignored positive drug tests because what difference does it make if somebody who can't get any other job is working as a housekeeper in a hotel and she smokes some pot? Jackie and I are addicts, too.
6. Um, er, hmmm, snrt. Oh, I know! I'm editing a book for someone. A certain blogger recommended me for the job and apparently told the writer that I am "a scream". I usually only think I'm funny when I'm with my kids so I laugh at my own jokes until I'm about ready to fall down or pee my pants and they just shake their heads and say, We know you think you're funny, Mom, but you are so not funny. What kind of a bug do they have up their asses? How can they be my kids and not think I'm funny? Well, it's okay because Middle Child thinks I'm funny, and fishducky says that her daughter doesn't think she's funny and everybody knows that fishducky is hilarious. 
7. I have a new family member, and that's all I'm going to say about that for now.

Thank you, Stephanie Neighbour, for the award. I likes you a whole big bunch, and you is my friend.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

MOVIE WEEKEND: AMERICAN HUSTLE

Gentle Readers  . . and Maxwell,

American Hustle (2013, Rated R, Available on DVD) is worth watching just to see Bradley Cooper with his hair in little pink curlers.

This very loosely based-on-the-facts film fictionalizes the Abscam scandal of the late 1970s and early '80s. Con man Irving Rosenfeld (Christian Bale) and his mistress, Sydney Prosser (Amy Adams), are dragged into the world of FBI agent Richie DiMaso (Bradley Cooper). DiMaso involves them with the mafia, and especially with politician Carmine Polito (Jeremy Renner).  DiMaso's wild plan to catch politicians taking bribes from Arabs could all be ruined by his own craziness and the intervention of Rosenfeld's wife, Rosalyn (Jennifer Lawrence).

It says a lot about this movie that it was nominated for all the major Academy Awards, including the four acting categories: Christian Bale, Best Actor; Amy Adams, Best Actress; Bradley Cooper, Best Supporting Actor; and Jennifer Lawrence, Best Supporting Actress. Jeremy Renner also is outstanding, as is Louis C.K. as DiMaso's much put upon but ultimately triumphant boss.

American Hustle is character driven, and I like that in a movie as well as in a book. The plot is a little wild, but it can be followed. It features some very funny moments, especially between Bradley Cooper and Louis C.K., and Jennifer Lawrence with anyone or by herself.

It did not win any Academy Awards, but I favor Amy Adams over Cate Blanchett, though Judi Dench should have won Best Actress. I like just about anybody instead of Cate Blanchett in Blue Jasmine. I could have beat Cate Blanchett for my role as craziest person in Jacksonville, Florida. It's not that Cate Blanchett isn't a good actress. She simply didn't deserve this particular win.

Jennifer Lawrence singing Live and Let Die while she cleans house is quite a sight.

This movie is not for children. Older teens? It's up to you.

I thoroughly enjoyed American Hustle, which earns The Janie Junebug Highest Seal of Approval.

Happy Viewing!


Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

THE PHENOMENAL WOMAN HAS LEFT US

Maya Angelou died earlier today. I am sad, but she was 86 years old and lived a life full of hardships and honors.

BULLY FOR YOU: RACHEL'S STORY OF A STOLEN EDUCATION

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Today we begin with our guest posts on the subject of bullies. The young lady who starts us off is Rachel, of When A Lion Sleeps Let It Sleep. Rachel has had a very rough time with bullies so I count on all of you to give her the tender loving comments she deserves. I hope you'll also visit her blog and consider following her. I'm very fond of Rachel.

Take it away, Rachel:


Hello! Let me start off by saying that my name is Rachel and I have never done a guest post before. I saw Janie's request on Twitter for guest posts about bullying and I asked to do one without a second thought. There are a lot of things that are important to me, but this is at the top of the list.

I've been bullied most of my life. In grade school, there were mean girls who would tease me because I was too quiet or I was friends with the labeled "bad kid". The "bad kid" was my neighbor. He used to come over to my house to hide when his mother got loud, drunk, and invited different men over for parties in the middle of the afternoon. We hid him so that he wouldn't get any more bruises than he already had and I became his friend. At school, he just needed somebody to pay attention to him so he played harmless pranks and spoke out of turn. Can you blame him though?

In middle school, I was in a new state. I wanted a new start, away from all of the teasing, but that wasn't what I got. In my new school, I was shoved against lockers, pushed down the stairs, had my gym locker broken into multiple times only for the gym teacher to tell me to stop lying about forgetting my uniform at home. Rumors were spread and boys started grabbing at me more and more.

The halls were so crowded that I was only able to catch one boy who did it. I had him pinned up against the wall and all my anger came out in words: "If you EVER touch me or anyone else like that again, I will make sure you end up in prison for molestation and sexual harassment. My mom is friends with half the cops in this town so I can guarantee that will happen. If I don't make you pay myself." Dramatic pause while the color drained from his face. "Don't come near me again." He didn't-–he just had his friends come after me instead. I knew that because I would see him smirking and watching when I was grabbed by some unknown pervert.

"Why didn't you go to the teachers?"

In that school, I only had two people on my side. One was my English teacher and the other was the school guard. The English classroom was the only place where I was safe, because she would hand out detentions like candy on Halloween night if anyone messed with me. She was also the only one who didn't yell at me if I stood up for myself. She was the only person who believed that I wasn't faking the incapacitating stress-stomachaches that put me in the hospital at least once a week. The school guard would escort me to classes when he could, but he could never get too close because the two times he spoke to me, I left with bruises on my side and a sprained ankle from being pushed down the stairs. They both stopped my mom the day that she told them I "moved away" (code for: "dropped out at thirteen") and asked her to wish me luck and to stay hidden until I was legally allowed to leave school.

The PE coach was already mentioned, but she wasn't the worst, despite yelling at me for having my things stolen. (Because, you know, I asked for that to happen?) The reading teacher was a nightmare. Thanks to her, the target on my back ended up a flashing neon sign that said, "Sic her!" and pointed to me. She stopped class and walked around the room one day. "Now, I've recently learned that our school counselor has been talking to students, learning their secrets, and telling a certain somebody in this class, who has then been spreading the rumors." She looked at me, faced me, and everyone followed her eyes until I was the center of attention. "I expect you all to stop speaking with the counselor unless you want everyone to know your secrets." It only got worse. I still don't know who the counselor was-–I never met her or him.

Snitch. Bitch. Whore. Loser. Skank. Liar. Dork. Nerd. Geek. Slut. Rat. Idiot. Stupid. Fat. Ugly.

I heard those words and more on the daily basis until that was all I could believe about myself. I only made it half the school year before I left. Now, I'm twenty years old and still trying to graduate, while trying to function as a normal adult. I wanted to kill myself and I got close to it many times. I cried constantly and became an angry, hateful person to the only people who supported me. I used to get into fist fights with my own mom because I was positive that she would turn against me too. I lost the line between being a strong person and being a broken person hiding behind a spiked wall. I'm still trying to find it, seven years later.

I still have nightmares. I'm still insecure. I still have days where I don't want to get out of bed. I can't trust anyone until they prove themselves to me repeatedly. Generally speaking, the depression is under control now. I don't want to kill myself anymore, but I still have days where I want to just disappear. I still have anger problems, which I'm not sure will ever just go away. But if I see somebody being bullied, you can bet your life that I will jump in front of the victim to save them from it. I would do anything to protect somebody else from going through what I have.

The worst part? I got off lucky. Just think about how many people kill themselves every year (thousands) and then think about how many are results of bullying (Rebecca Sedwick and Amanda Todd, to name just two). Think about how much worse it's gotten for people with computers (which I didn't have while in school) because it's so much easier to be anonymous. Think about how many people turn to alcohol, drugs, eating disorders, cutting, or other forms of self harm just to escape the pain (tens of thousands). Think about how many turn into bullies themselves so that they won't be a victim anymore (the number one cause of bullying). 

I will probably be recovering for the rest of my life and I'm one of the lucky ones. Talk to your kids, your grandkids, your nieces or nephews or friends. Ask them how they get along with people, ask them how they're feeling. Talk to them about how one little action can either save or ruin a life. For all you know, that could cause a butterfly effect and save a life.

Thank you so much for opening up to us, Rachel. This post calls attention to how severe bullying can be. I know Rachel is working very hard to try to finish her GED, and I wish her all the best.

She's an unusually sympathetic and intuitive person. I'm not happy about what happened to her, but we are shaped by our experiences and Rachel puts what she's gone through to good use by making people aware of bullying whenever she has the chance, by being willing to stand up for other people, and by offering kindness everywhere she goes. 


Infinities of love to you, and especially to Rachel,

Janie Junebug

IN MEMORIAM

Daddy

Daddy swears in Bubby to the Air National Guard.

JANIE JUNEBUG & WILLY DUNNE WOOTERS WORK IN THE YARD

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Last weekend I asked Willy Dunne Wooters if he would help me with some yard work. I have big pots on the concrete below my deck that mostly have dead stuff or grass growing in them. I proposed that we dump out the dead stuff and the dirt where the swamp is at its worst in the backyard, and put potting soil and new plants in the pots.

We had to go to Lowe's first to buy potting soil and plants and weed killer.

Here's what I looked like before we went to Lowe's:

Yes, I dress like that to go to Lowe's.  You wanna make something of it?

Here's what Willy Dunne Wooters looked like before we went to Lowe's:

Yeah, that's pretty much what he always looks like.

So we went to Lowe's and I remembered I needed a flashlight so I got one. Then we found potting soil and a couple of plants on sale. I said, I'm going to get some weedkiller.

And I walked away.

Big mistake.

I found the weedkiller and couldn't find Willy Dunne Wooters. I called his phone and got voice mail. I sent him an email.

No response.

So I sat down in a nice patio chair with the weedkiller.

After about 15 minutes, WDW came along from a completely different direction than the one I'd left him in. I thought you left without me, I said. I've been sitting here waiting for you to find me and you didn't answer your telephone, I said.

My telephone is in the car, WDW said. And if you're not moving and I don't go in the right direction, then I'm never going to find you, he said.

We paid for the stuff and went back to my house. WDW carried all the heavy stuff to the backyard.

We changed our clothes so we could work in the yard. I looked like this:

Willy Dunne Wooters looked like this:

We tried to move the pots to the yard so we could dump out the dirt and stuff. I rolled a pot, and it cracked and dirt spilled out all over the concrete. Willy Dunne Wooters tried to lift a pot, said "uuuuuunnnnngggggggghhhhhh", and put it back down. We finally pushed a couple of pots into the yard.

Then we did our thing of dumping and refilling.

We finished, and I said, We were not meant to do this kind of work.

WW: Yeah.

JJ: We were meant to sit at computers and tippety-tap away.

WW: That's right.

JJ: If we were migrant workers, they wouldn't even give us the 50 cents a day. We'd only get 25 cents.

WDW: No, they'd fire us and wouldn't pay us anything.

JJ: Yeah, you're right.

WDW: People like us are the reason America needs migrant workers.

JJ: Let's get a drink and sit on the deck.

So we got some water and sat in the wrought-iron chairs.

I looked like this:

Willy Dunne Wooters looked like this:

I don't think we should work in the yard again. But after we got cleaned up, we looked like this:

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

MEMORIAL DAY MOVIE WEEKEND: THE RAPE OF EUROPA & THE MONUMENTS MEN

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I watched a documentary on Netflix Screaming that I think is excellent. It's The Rape of Europa (2006, Unrated, Available on DVD and Screaming and Amazon).

I knew that the nazis stole works of art during WWII, but I had no idea how extensive the pilfering was. Occasionally, a stolen piece still turns up for sale at an auction house. Some people continue to fight for the return of the art that was stolen from their family.

Hitler's plan was to have a huge museum in his hometown in Austria. He was going to fill it with this art that was taken from museums, cathedrals, and individuals––who, of course, were Jewish.

Hitler didn't like modern art so a Picasso might be destroyed.

Art "collecting" became all the rage among the nazi hierarchy because everybody wanted to be like Big Daddy Hitler.

This outstanding documentary, which earns The Janie Junebug Highest Seal of Approval, describes how the nazis stole the art, where they stored it, who "shopped till he dropped" to pick up pieces of art, and then it goes into the story of The Monuments Men. I'll tell you more about them in a minute if you'll just hang on and quit complaining so much.

I would watch The Rape of Europa with any child who's old enough to understand that there was such a time as World War II and that nazis are just one big arschloch.

Right after I watched the documentary, I learned that a movie called The Monuments Men (2014, Rated PG-13, Directed and Starred in by George Clooney) was about to be released on DVD, so I put it in my Netflix queue. The Monuments Men isn't a brilliant movie, but along with the documentary, it's a great way to teach kids something about the war and the importance of culture and history.

The Monuments Men were a real group of art curators, architects, art historians––you know, people like me––who went to Europe to rescue stolen art and to try to protect historic buildings and works of art during battles. One of The Monuments Men who was still alive, at least as of 2005 or so, is interviewed in The Rape of Europa. 

It wasn't a big group, but they recovered a lot of stolen art. They weren't the kind of guys who were meant to be soldiers, but they got right in there and worked hard to save the cultural history of the world.

This movie could be better than it is. It's predictable. Clooney tried to insert some humor and some pathos. He didn't really succeed, but I still think you should watch The Monuments Men with your kids. I just watched it two nights ago. If I recall correctly, it has some profanity that didn't make a big impression on me. Anyway, if you don't have children, I don't care if you don't watch The Monuments Men as long as you watch The Rape of Europa.

Clooney is joined by some other big stars, including Matt Damon, Bill Murray, and Cate Blanchett. Oh! and Lord Grantham is in it for a while. I know his name is really Hugh Bonneville, but for the rest of my life I'll think of him as The Earl of Grantham. If I ever see him in person, I'll probably drop a curtsy and offer him a cup of tea.

Clooney looks kind of silly because he's made to appear older than he is. I suspect it was done so he'd seem more distinguished and more of an intellectual. Dumb idea. Gorgeous George shouldn't look like anyone other than himself.

The Monuments Men earns The Janie Junebug Seal of Approval (with misgivings).


Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug