7 Quick Takes: “Glitches Galore” Edition

Oh yes!   A Seven Quick Takes that is truly miscellaneous, like it’s supposed to be.  If there’s a theme at all, it’s that I found appropriate pictures for everything.

Or, I found pictures for everything.  UPDATE:   pictures which apparently didn’t show up this morning.  There’s a theme for you:  glitchiness.  Sorry about that!  If the formatting is still all weird, then we’ll know WordPress is just being terrible again.

Don’t forget to check out Conversion Diary for everyone else’s 7 Quick Takes, and then stick with Jen for the rest of the week, too — she’s always worth reading.

7 Quick Takes

I was halfway through Madame Bovary, because reading it makes me glad to be myself, instead of anyone who personally knows anyone in that book


But then it fell behind the bed (that happens a lot).   So I picked up I Am Jackie Chan:  My Life In Action.  You will really like it, if you like that kind of thing.  I came across this passage about his birth:

“Of course, my arrival in the Year of the Horse was hardly a coincidence; actually it took an awful lot of stubbornness on my part to pull it off!  Most babies are born nine months after being conceived.  I, on the other hand, stuck around an extra three months, until my mother was forced to go to a surgeon to bring me into the world, kicking and screaming, by caesarian section.”
He seems to believe it, too, because that’s how it’s always been told in his family.  Maybe it’s just clumsiness by the ghost writer, but somehow it struck me as an extremely Chinese kind of story — he’s just going along, talking about regular stuff, and then suddenly asking you to swallow this ridiculous, fantastic lie.  And then he just carries on with the story.  So crazy!
At 35 I don’t have any gray hair.  But it is suddenly mixed with about 40% coarse, black, wiry hair (my normal hair is brown and wavy) that hovers an inch over my scalp like concertina wire.  This bothers me because it was literally only a few months ago that I finally figured out what to do with my hair.  It involves mousse, a hairdryer, and a round brush — cosmetic devices that used to be as foreign to me as these:
19th-century eyebrows, spots, cheek plumpers, and breast pads.

“Cheek plumpers?”  Anyway, now I don’t know what to do with my hair again.  Not asking for advice, just complaining.

I love our mechanic very much.  He looks a little bit like Freddie Mercury’s responsible older brother.
Fat bottom girls, you make the suspension system wear out prematurely.
He pretends not to notice the oppressive pee smell in our van, and I pretend not to notice the overpowering, um, hardworking mechanic smell when he gets through fixing it.  He even drops the van off at our house when he’s done looking at it.  Today, he dropped it off and said the entire front brake system needs to be replaced.  I still like him, though.
In case anybody missed it:  Do yourself a favor and read A Right To Be Merry: Five Things That I Don’t Know How Non-Catholics Live Without by my talented and mostly merry younger brother, Joe Prever.  Oh, really, WordPress– now I can’t add links?  Fine, here is the thing:


Definitely worth copying and pasting into your browser.  I think this article ought to be made into a pamphlet and put in the backs of churches, where sullen teenagers hang out because they think they’re wasting a precious hour every week. It will cheer you up if you’re already Catholic, and if you’re not — well, what are you waiting for?  We got the goods.
If machines really did want to take over the world and enslave mankind,
then causing the kind of confusion documented in Damn You, Auto Correct (sigh:  http://damnyouautocorrect.com/ ) would be an excellent way to start.  I had to close it before my husband got home, because I was embarrassed to be laughing so hard.  Warning:  it’s full of dirty words and crass sexual and potty humor — but it’s the absurdity that’s so funny. 

Here’s one of the tame entries:

I’ve always pooh-pooh’d the idea that children from wholesome, spiritually-grounded families will be seduced by the glamors of evil if they’re allowed to go trick-or-treating. And yet how else do you explain this?

I’ve always weaned my babies at 15 months or so because I’m generally already pregnant, and can’t deal with feeling so surrounded.  It’s like the St. Patrick breastplate:  babies with me, babies inside me, babies beneath me, babies above me, babies on my head, babies crawling around in my pant legs; etc.  And then at the end, instead of “Amen” I go “Aieeeee!” and decide it’s time to wean.


You can tell by their glazed, roving eyes that an older baby is mulling over all kinds of strange and fascinating ideas when they nurse, but it’s a revelation to have a kid old enough (mine is 18 months old) to express those ideas. The other day, she unplugged for a minute to say, “Say ‘cheese,’ Mama,” and then chomped back on again.   Later, she interrupted her snack long enough to inform me, “Vvvvvvvvvvvvvv.  Sound hamat!”  (Hamat = elephant.)  And this morning we had the following conversation:

Her:  Mama!  Mama!  Mama!  Mama!  Mama!  Mama!  Mama!  Mama!
Me:       Here I am.
Her:      I wan’ noishe, Mama.
Me:       Okay, let’s nurse.
Her:     I so happy.

Ahhhhh.  Happy weekend, everyone!


  1. I don’t know what the heck is wrong with WordPress today, but all the broken links, the random boldface, the unevenly-sized pictures, etc., is the best I can do! Here are the missing comments from the original post:

    This is the one from Laura:

    Ahhhhh. Another wonderfully written piece – this, with my coffee, convinced me it’s worth living today. None of the pictures came through – just “image source,” but I sort of prefer it this way, because I can come back later when it’s fixed and it will be like a whole new post!

    I always nurse my babies too long because I have emotional problems. And they’ve all been early talkers, so we have lots of weird and lovely conversations. One of my favorite weirdnesses was my baby who would hum Suzuki piano tunes while nursing ( I guess the big kids were practicing, after all!) Another would pop off occasionally to request I sing specific hymns. Right before two we always have to have “the talk” which is harder for me than for them. “Now, you’re growing up, and you have teeth, and you sing in Latin, so now it’s time to move on, *sob!*”

    and this is the one from Sarah:

    when I was pregnant with this one and nursing the last one, and had those other monkeys hanging around, I would sing to my belly, “babies to the left of me, babies to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with you.”

  2. LOL!!! I almost peed my pants laughing at this today! Damnyouautocorrect.com is one of my new favorite sites. I was laughing hysterically at one of the less tame ones that involved the subtitle “yes, but tell us how you really feel.”

  3. Offering it up: “We can love people at a distance! It’s like a superpower. Pain is money in the bank that you get to spend on anyone you want.” Ha! I love it.

  4. Ugh. I just wasted like, an hour! on that stupid autocorrect website! But it was worth it! I laughed till I cried, so the kids are being extra nice to me (thinking I was just CRYING crying), and my stomach hurts, so it was like an ab workout! Too funny!!

    I love the halloween-induced “evil laugh” too!

  5. Oh thanks! These were hilarious! Regarding #1: actually cases of 12-month pregnancies have been well documented. Dr. Bradley writes about one in his book Husband-Coached Childbirth. I shiver in fear every time I get pregnant, thinking about that. Loved your brother’s article! And I hate auto-correct too. Every time I type “hahaha” it changes it to “Haitians”. What’s with that?

  6. re #5: Thank you SO much for posting about this. I was laughing so hard that my 18 month old began to get concerned. Totally made my boring Friday more liveable 🙂

  7. I’ve not commented before but I had to say THANK YOU for posting that autocorrect website– I just wasted an hour laughing but boy did it make my day so much better.

    also I love your blog.

  8. A good friend of mine recently weaned because the child in question was old enough to complain about her diet, i.e., “Your milk tastes gross, Mommy. No more broccoli!”

  9. One day my 2 yo told me my milk tasted like ice cream. I was so proud and touched (I’m like ice cream! Is anything better than ice cream?) until the next week when he solemnly informed me that he could “taste hot dog”.

  10. I had to research cheek plumpers a little more and it’s hard to believe that they were supposed to be held inside your mouth while you went about your business. Those look like the good kind though as the ye old dictionary also spoke about ball shaped ones you had to somehow hold in your cheeks…ugh!

    I have had two separate talkers inform me that my milk tastes like cookies…told my hubby that must be why they wait so long to wean.

    Love your version of St. Patrick’s prayer.

  11. Oh sheesh. I just read the caption on the top photo and now, ice cream, cold cream, benzene, gasoline will be on a continual loop in my head for the rest of the day.

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