Jess Banks schools you.

Dol sot bi bim bop. It tastes like it looks, not like it sounds.

Reverb Broads 2011, December 15: Did you taste any new flavors this year? Did you love or hate them or something in between? Will you incorporate these new flavors into your life? (courtesy of Bethany at http://bethanyactually.com)

I’m a slightly weird eater. I adore ethnic food and exotic spices, but I hate a lot of the foods that most kids subsist on: graham crackers, peanut butter & jelly, chocolate ice cream, bananas, applesauce. I’ve also got sensory issues with some foods; for instance, I hate the dry-mouth feeling cranberries give me. And I’m convinced some tastes are genetically keyed, too — it’s the only possible explanation for my utter inability to tolerate blue cheese.

But I love new things, and I found two new favorites this year. I also discovered the best way to taste one of Minnesota’s great food treasures.

I have this strange ordering habit which crops up from time to time; it usually happens when I’m equally torn between two choices. When it’s actually time to order, I’ll suddenly blurt out whatever my gaze snags on as I look up at the server. This has been mostly disastrous. I once ended up with some Southwest egg dish, at a breakfast with brand-new friends, from which I extracted at least a full cup of fresh jalapeño slices after I reached the point where I could take no more heat.

But for once, it worked out, when I visited Sebastian Joe’s for the first time with my good friend Karin. As always, there was a long line, which gave me plenty of time to ponder the offerings. I had pretty much settled on the raspberry chip, but at the last moment, I asked for a sample of the salted caramel. Yeah, I know salted caramel is Old News to foodies, but I’d just never had occasion to try it. The tiny spoon went in my mouth, and as they say, that was all she wrote. My heart even sank a little, as I tasted something so good that I knew it would drive me to eat too much of delicious, unhealthy treats well into the future.

The second new taste I got hooked on this year has one of the funniest names of anything I can think of: dol sot bi bim bop. It’s Korean food: a rice, veggie, pork and egg dish, served in a hot stone bowl (the dol sot) that sizzles and browns the rice it touches, making a gorgeous, slightly crunchy crust that’s a little reward for patience and finishing your supper. My dear friend Lana, who has a Korean sister-in-law and therefore knew all the secrets of Korean restaurant ordering, has promised me a return to the fabulous Sole Café soon, and I can’t wait to go.

Finally, I went to the Minnesota State Fair for the first time this year, and that’s a place that’s all about food. We didn’t bother waiting in line for Sweet Martha’s cookies — it was a quarter of a mile long, I swear. And my experience of deep fried foods at the fair began and ended with the fried pickles (surprisingly good, actually). No deep fried butter or candy bars; this isn’t fricking Iowa.

But what made the trip truly sweet was how I spent that day. My friend Heidi is a nurse at a facility for disabled adults, and her clients look forward to their trip to the State Fair all year long. They pretty much need a one-to-one volunteer/client ratio for that trip, so she asked if I wanted to come help during the day, and get my hand stamped so we could go back that night for a girls’ night out. I couldn’t think of a better way to experience the fair (what, like I was going to take my family?! Just kidding; we went together later that weekend).

I was assigned to a young man in his 20s who had cerebral palsy. We hit it off right away; he has a hilarious sense of humor, and we totally cracked each other up. He had his eye on barbeque for lunch, so I helped him get his fill of Famous Dave’s baby back ribs. I had sauce all over my fingers (not all over him!) by the time I was done, and when I licked them clean, I had to agree that it was outstanding. Later, when we were getting really annoyed with the crowds that kept cutting him off — seriously, if you see a wheelchair, get the eff out of the way, please — we consoled ourselves with freshly made fudge that tasted like the best hot cocoa you can imagine.

I loved being with a veteran, and I loved being with a person who really wanted to be there. The whole experience made everything taste better.

Snuggled up with my boys on the capitol steps for the Read-In For Civility, in support of Neil Gaiman and libraries, May 2011

Reverb Broads 2011, December 14: Is volunteering something you do regularly? If yes, where do you volunteer? If not, why not? (courtesy of Kassie at http://bravelyobey.blogspot.com)

I am a total philanthropy geek — so much so that, last fall when I helped admin an event called Speak Out With Your Geek Out, I wrote about loving philanthropy like some people love video games and stuff. I love helping, and I love geeking out about new ideas and systems for getting that help to the people and places that need it most.

And volunteering is something I was brought up to do. As I’ve mentioned before, my grandma taught Red Cross first aid and swimming classes, and led Girl Scout troops for ages. My mom ran a dozen things at our church, not least of which the Sunday School program for a while, and did a stint as PTO president, too. And they were both the kind of people who wrote little cards to sick friends, or drove old people to doctors’ appointments — in fact, by the time she stopped doing that, my grandma was regularly driving people a decade or two younger than her, who would tell her how horrible it was to get old!

So it should come as no surprise that I volunteer in lots of places, all the time. This year, my sons’ school is the main focus of my volunteerism, so much so that it’s actually made me cut back on my level of involvement other places. I had to give up my shifts at the library when I picked up more work hours, and when I got elected president of the PTO, something had to give, so I dropped out of church choir for the time being.

As I’ve said before, we are incredibly blessed with an awesome neighborhood school, and I absolutely love volunteering there. This is going to sound horrible, but I like my own kids better when I’m spending time with other kids. I read aloud in their classes, I chaperone field trips, I advise the Student Council, and I do a whole host of things for the PTO. The kids all know me by name, and they wave and grin and stop me to tell me new (horrible) jokes and Important Things about their lives. I get paid in spontaneous hugs and flattering adoration. It’s a pretty awesome deal.

At the March for Women's Rights in Washington D.C., April 25, 2004. My sign says "Pro-Choice, Pro-Child"

I’m also very active politically. There are few things I like more than puttin’ on my protest boots and pounding the pavement for a cause I believe in. I dragged my family down to the capitol steps on a bright spring afternoon for a Read-In for Civility, after a stupid state legislator insulted awesome author Neil Gaiman for taking public money for a library program. I helped a friend with his city council campaign. I marched with supportive signs in front of Planned Parenthood on Good Friday. I attended activist training with Minnesotans United for All Families to help fight the proposed “marriage amendment” next year. When I believe in something, I think it’s worth acting on.

All of this is to compensate for the fact that we have almost no money at all to spare for charitable causes. I struggle constantly with wanting to support every worthy cause I encounter, especially this time of year, when the appeals are coming in hard and fast. I’ve reconciled the fact that time and talent are just as valuable to many organizations as treasure, but my heart still hasn’t relinquished all of the guilt that comes from having to turn down so many appeals. It’s hard to esteem your gifts when you don’t always esteem yourself.

Kid hugs go a long way, though.

Reverb Broads 2011, December 13: What are three things you are better at than most people? (courtesy of Catie at http://catiecake.wordpress.com/)

I sure wish any of these three things were people skills. I wish these abilities could be leveraged to make the world a better place. But they’re really not. They don’t even make me particularly likable in many circles.

My first superpower is proofreading. I come by this skill genetically; my mom is the Supreme Goddess of All Secretaries. I’ve been proofreading for her since I was eleven years old. I’m also a grammar nazi, the kind of person Lynne Truss (Eats, Shoots, and Leaves) calls “a stickler.” And I’ve had a lot of fantastic English and journalism teachers who did unusual things, like make me memorize all the articles* in fifth grade.

I see spelling and punctuation errors like Haley Joel Osment sees dead people: They’re everywhere. Moreover, I usually see these mistakes within about three seconds, even on a full page of text.  Local TV ads, signs in grocery stores, and small-town papers (even large-town papers, more and more) make me flinch instinctively. There have been books (usually paperbacks are worse than hardcovers, for some reason) that I have been unable to finish without a marking pen in hand; my mom and I have both offered to various romance publishers to proofread for free, just to keep ourselves in trashy novels. And every time I let a publication go out that I haven’t given a pass, I inevitably find a dumb error, which really doesn’t help my general control freak-ness.

But if you ever need to hire an editor for something important, even just a résumé or wedding invitation? I’m your girl, and I work cheap.

My second superpower is quiz shows. I’ve written before about my weird feats of memory; in short, I’ve got a mind like a steel trap for trivia, and a sieve for useful things. And I’ve got a knack for abstract thinking — the more oblique the clue, the better. This combination allows me to be good enough at Jeopardy! that I was regularly kicked out of the lounge in my college dorm when it was on, but to graduate a few hundredths of a grade point shy of wearing honor cords. I can solve Wheel of Fortune puzzles without any letters. I’ve been told by more people than I can count on two hands that I would be their lifeline on Millionaire. I deserve Carl Kasell’s voice on my answering machine. I do, in fact, know Jack.

Finally, my third superpower is reading aloud. Frankly, I rock at this. I’ve got some mutant skills in this area: I can read text I’ve never seen before upside-down at full speed, which would make me the Most Popular Children’s Librarian In The World, if I wanted to be. And when I read aloud, I make it a full-on dramatic event. With me, you get different voices, accents, and a panoply of emotions. If it says, “She screamed,” I can make it sound throat-shredding without even getting that loud. If the character has a head cold, ids goig do sound lig id. Glaswegians sound like Glaswegians; goats sound like goats.

I don’t only do this for my kids and their classes at school. I’ve probably read a dozen books (including every word of Harry Potter) and a thousand articles aloud to my husband. Sometimes, as in the case with the Master Li and Number Ten Ox stories, reading them aloud in their entirety is just more coherent than reading out context-less passages every time I laugh aloud (which is almost every page). And sometimes, it’s because I want to fully convey my shock and outrage. He’s very patient with me, and I’d like to think it’s a value-added service.

In short, I’m a pedantic, overly dramatic know-it-all. But I’m the best one you know.

*a, all, an, any, both, each, every, few, many, more, most, no, several, some, that, the, these, this, those, which, and all number words like one, two.

One of my favorite unfortunate Amazon "Look Inside" arrows

Reverb Broads 2011, December 12: Name and explain the one guilty pleasure you can’t live without. ie: that cupcake shop you visit weekly, a book you repeatedly read to find solace in, etc). Then explore the idea of how you would feel if you gave that thing up for a year. (courtesy of Neha at http://whereyouarehere.blogspot.com/)

I’m never reading fewer than two books at any given time. That’s because I read in bed before I go to sleep, to turn my brain down from “day speed.” But I can’t fall asleep if I’m reading something that makes me think. So the book at my bedside is always a trashy romance.

I don’t need even two brain cells to follow and enjoy a good romance novel. But please don’t misunderstand: This isn’t intended as an insult to the genre, or any of its authors. Romance novels are Teh Awesome.

From a creative standpoint, romance authors have a unique challenge. What other genre dictates the exact same outcome for every book, but requires authors to reach that destination in infinitely varied ways? Not to mention the fact that they also have to construct at least two emotionally complex main characters, and chart a major, plausible path of evolution and growth, within that reliable framework.

And yet, they do, with style, humor, and attention to detail, over and over again. Romance authors deeply care for their characters, and their care makes us care. If you think about it, they’re performing an act of faith every time they set a couple on their path. It’s faith that we can be more than the sum of our parts, when we find the right person. It’s faith in the gracious, healing power of healthy partnership and reciprocated love. It’s a profoundly, sometimes inspiring work of optimism, bravely presented in a world that gives us reasons to be wary and disbelieve every single day.

The sexytimes are icing. Delicious, tingly icing. I have already waxed poetic on the joy of uncomplicated smut.

If I gave up romance novels for a year, I’d still read before bedtime, and I probably wouldn’t have to work too hard to find equally facile material that lets my busy brain key down after a long day. But I would really miss the anticipation of starting down that familiar road, time after time, knowing where I’m going but not how I’m getting there.

I’ve been married for 15 years now, and I’m constantly aware and grateful to be living such an epic romance. I’d be lying, though, if I didn’t say I miss the feeling of falling into brand-new, swoony, stupid, crazy love — there’s nothing quite like it. But starting a new romance is pretty darn close.

Reverb Broads 2011, December 11: In what ways are you like your mother? And if you’re a mother, how is/are your kid(s) like you? (courtesy of ME)

“My God, you’re just like your mother.”

I would be well-set for life, and still raking in nice dividends, if I had a buck for every time someone said that to me. And I’ve always taken that for the compliment it’s intended to be. My mom is one of the kindest, funniest, stubbornest, most frighteningly competent people you will ever meet. So, if I remind people of her so strongly that they exclaim whenever we’re in the same room, I can’t help but be flattered.

To be fair, she’s from a long line of them. My great-grandma moved west when she was eight months pregnant, and when she found that neither house nor job was as established as her deadbeat husband said, she carried my great-aunt Mary into a TENTH MONTH.

My grandma Nell in 1944

My grandma taught Red Cross first aid and swimming, and led inner-city Girl Scout troops for decades. When she came across a kid who’d been trapped with only his face visible in a sinkhole on the cliffs above Lake Michigan, she lay on the ground and gave him mouth-to-mouth until rescue crews arrived, saving his life. From them, my mom got her faith, her vision and drive to do what needs to be done, and her intolerance of bullshit.

So how am I like my mom? We tend to end up in charge of things. We’re both quick, intuitive learners, and we like teaching others what we know. That being said, we both tend to think it’s faster to just do something ourselves, so we’re terrible at delegating. We’re wizards at multitasking, and we’re crafty, so our hands are always busy. We’re unapologetic liberals. We love music, and we love singing, and we love to sing together, whether it’s to oldies on road trips, or duets in church on Christmas Eve. We’re both inclined to see the funny side of things, and we both get the giggles when we’re slappy-tired. We’re both very free and unashamed with our emotions, though I’m not quite as much a watering pot as she is. We both see typos everywhere, instantly and unignorably. We both see the best in everyone, but we’re incredibly unforgiving of ourselves. We’re both social chameleons, and we can adapt to fit into many (sometimes unlikely) groups and settings. We love to take care of other people, and blood ties are the least of our concern when it comes to family. We both snap into “terminator mode” when there’s a crisis, and woe betide anyone who gets in our paths.

And boy oh boy, do I look like her.

We never went through that awkward phase when teenage girls hate their moms. My mom was my best friend and accomplice well into adulthood. Distance and motherhood have undermined some of that closeness, but there’s a new honesty and respect that’s different than before.

I always imagined myself carrying on this amazing matriarchal tradition. When I found out I was having a second boy, I burst out into tears. The ultrasound tech quickly reassured me, “No no, he’s completely fine!” To which I replied, “I’m not worried. It’s just another goddamn boy.” I won’t be having any biological daughters; pregnancy is too rough on me, let alone sleep dep and potty training and all that again. And I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t still a disappointment. But the way I see it, boys are an endangered species, and I’ve been entrusted with two of the precious creatures to strong, smart, confident, non-asshole men.

But I see myself in my kids all the time. Sometimes, that’s awesome. I try so hard not to get irritated when I can’t get Connor’s attention out of a book long enough to answer a simple question, because I know it’s magical being that absorbed in a story. I love that Griffin watches Japanese monster movies with me, and wants to learn how to cook. They’re both born performers, and their imaginations are vast and complex, with galaxies of stories to occupy their every thought (and sometimes, like me, their sleeptalking).

And sometimes, that’s incredibly hard and heartbreaking. I wince when I catch myself yelling at them when insomnia strikes. Griffin can’t be anything but busybusybusy, and I wish we could both slow down and be still, and find joy in it. And if I could save Connor the pain of learning how to get organized, and not procrastinate, and not take every unkind comment like an arrow to the heart, I would.

Things grow differently in the shade than they do in unobstructed sun. And my mom casts a long shadow. As much like her as I am, I know I probably do too. Hopefully, I can be the kind of mom who gives her kids the shelter they need, and who gets out of the way when they’re ready to grow up.

My mom and my boys, this Thanksgiving

Me and my boys, circa 2010

Griffin as Thor (left) and Connor as the 11th Doctor (right). Did I mention they're geeks?

Reverb Broads 2011, December 10: What is the best and/or worst thing about your life right now? (courtesy of my dear friend Dana, who got me into all this, at http://simply-walking.com)

That’s easy:

MY KIDS.

But that’s just one, you say? Pish-posh, I reply. They are both the best and the worst thing in my life.

Here’s how they’re awesome:

They’re healthy. They’re smart. They’re funny. They’re adorable. They’re wonderfully geeky. They’re getting along better than ever before since Griffin started kindergarten this fall. Re that: they’re both in full-day school, which is an especially wonderful awesome thing. They love their school, and so do we. They lived to see another birthday, despite their best efforts. They ask interesting questions. They can take care of themselves a little more every day. They’re getting to be just the right ages (5 and 9) for me to introduce them to all the books and movies I’ve been waiting to show them. They have no allergies that interfere with daily life. They seem to be remarkably injury-resistant (knock wood). They’re adventurous and outgoing. They make friends quickly. They test well. Connor’s progress on his Asperger’s Syndrome moves forward by leaps and bounds every year. They still get excited, not embarrassed, when I show up to do things at their school. And they still like to cuddle, even though Connor doesn’t really fit on my lap anymore and I expect him to be too dignified to do that any day now.

And here’s how they’re not:

Connor’s progress with his Asperger’s isn’t even close to “done,” and the meltdowns and arguments continue. It drives me crazy and breaks my heart to see him making some of the same mistakes, and suffering the consequences, that I had to learn the hard way. Griffin is apparently “not school-ready” (in behavior, not in learning aptitude) and we just finished a HELL of a week, filled with calls from the principal and bus referrals for stupid shit. They’re functionally deaf, despite hearing tests to the contrary. They’re stubborn. They’re obnoxious whiners. They’re demanding. They can beat video games and dismantle electronics, but cannot apparently pour themselves a glass of water. They fit their pants and shoes for approximately 45 seconds after purchase. They still need to be reminded to change their damn underwear every day. They watch the Disney Channel and The Simpsons incessantly. They have no volume control. They can’t apparently pick up or find a single damn thing without parental supervision. They want the Next New Thing about 10 minutes after they get the thing they’ve been bugging us for. They have to be reminded that hitting doesn’t solve anything. They have to be told to wipe, flush, and wash Every Single Time, I swear.

And yes, I realize that both lists are nothing unusual. And I know it’s all par for the course, and that in the long run, the good stuff outweighs the bad. But on a two-Xanax day, when I haven’t had a moment to spare to take care of myself (even when I know that taking better care of myself would help me have more for taking care of everyone else), the tunnel vision distorts the view.

Do I want to strangle them them regularly? You bet. Would I take a bullet for them without a second thought? Damn straight.

I guess kids are all about extremes. And mine are the freaking X Games.

On my pilgrimage to the Seuss Landing at Universal Islands of Adventure

Reverb Broads 2011, December 9: What was your favorite children’s book? (courtesy of Niki at http://nikirudolph.com)

Pick a single favorite children’s book? What, are you people trying to kill me? No, I see it all now: you want me to do your holiday shopping for you…

I’m bad at the favorites game, no matter the medium. That whole “Ten CDs/Books/Movies/Games/Wombats On A Desert Island” meme is completely beyond me; in fact, the only thing I can do every time I say that, as soon as I post the list, I’m going to think of at least three I would have to change. So this is going to be more of a whirlwind tour than a deep reminiscence.

I literally can’t remember a time when I couldn’t read; I had maybe a hundred sight words by the time I was two. When they tested me for kindergarten, I was at a fourth-grade level. Pretty much anything I ever wanted to read, I just picked up and gobbled down. This doesn’t mean I didn’t love children’s literature. I did — I do.

So I’ll start in the place everyone who knows me would expect me to start: Doctor Seuss.

Yes, I spelled that correctly; please absorb that bit of knowledge and carry it forth into the world. And I know, I know you love him too. Who doesn’t? His stuff never gets old. But much like the Muppets, I just never let Dr. Seuss go as I aged. I memorized and did a dramatic recitation of Thidwick the Big-Hearted Moose for Forensics in high school; I went to State on that story. And when I got to college, the first club I joined was the KU Dr. Seuss Club. I was its president my sophomore and junior years. We used to go into Lawrence’s elementary schools and read to kids, to validate our weekly meetings and impressive membership. I was even featured in a story about the club that hit the Knight-Ridder newswire (FYI: my maiden name was Perinchief).

But when I was the age when most kids are enamored of Dr. Seuss and other picture books, I was all about the nonfiction, too. I had several phonebook-sized collections of weird facts that I recited to anyone and everyone (this particular sin is being revisited upon me even as we speak). And there was a biography of Dolley Madison that I checked out almost every time I was at the library, and must have read a hundred times. My grandparents took me to the Wisconsin State Capitol when I was four, and I argued with the tour guide that Madison was obviously named for Dolley, because she saved the White House and what had her runty little lump of a husband ever done. This was not the first, nor the last, time in my life I’ve been stared at like a freakshow.

As I got older, my tastes evolved pretty quickly — I was a rabid Sherlock Holmes fan by the time I was in sixth grade — but some children’s lit still stands out in my memory. I adored The Westing Game, and I’m so happy to still see it on regular middle school reading lists. And The Phantom Tollbooth is as fresh today as it was 25 years ago; I’ve been loving all the anniversary celebrations this year. I still read A Little Princess from time to time, just to relive the delight and wonder of that story, and the movie is a little-known gem. Sure, I read my share of Judy Blume, Beverly Cleary, Babysitters Club, and Sweet Valley High, too. I was truly ravenous, and I could chew through one of those “age-appropriate” books in under two hours. But my parents never restricted me to the short-shelved section of the library, for which I remain grateful.

And now I have new favorites, but they’re my favorites from reading to my own kids. Books like Oh My Oh My Oh Dinosaurs and Barnyard Dance by Sandra Boynton, the Charlie and Lola books by Lauren Child, and the Skippyjon Jones series by Judy Schachner are a riot and a joy to read aloud. In fact, there’s a thing called the E. B. White Read-Aloud Awards that’s been going for just a few years now that makes a great place to start finding those books you’ll never get tired of reciting at bedtime. And achingly sweet books like I Love You, Little One by Nancy Tafuri, God Bless the Gargoyles by Dav Pilkey (this one is NOTHING like Captain Underpants, trust me), and Polar Bear Night by Lauren Thompson still get me choked up, especially when my sweet boys fall asleep while I’m still reading quietly at their bedsides.

I read in my kids’ classrooms every few weeks, so I’m having to expand my repertoire to find short, funny stories that fourth-graders like. The Wayside School stories by Louis Sachar have been very well-received, but I’m always looking for new suggestions.

I figure, by the time I’m done reading aloud to my kids, their kids should be just old enough for some Doctor Seuss. And they’ll know right where to find Grandma’s copies.

Reverb Broads 2011, December 8: Why blog? Why do you or why do you like to blog (recognizing that these are not always the same thing)? (courtesy of Kristen at http://kristendomblogs.com)

I’ve only had this blog since this autumn, though I’ve been writing little essay-type things on LiveJournal and Facebook for several years. There are several reasons why I do this; I’ll leave it to you to figure out which motives lie behind which posts.

I blog because I can never find a therapist I like.

I blog because it is a joy and a puzzle to put words together in new, unexpected ways.

I blog because my soapbox isn’t high enough.

I blog because my family is tired of hearing the same old stories and opinions.

I blog because the world needs a married, maternal, pedantic, pagan, bisexual, midwestern, liberal, artistic, overbearing, articulate, exasperated, exhausted, ironic, hilarious, outraged, optimistic, possibly insane observer.

I blog because nobody will give me a TV show.

I blog because I’m a historian, and I can’t stand not being in charge of my own contributions to the historical record.

I blog because the lessons I suffer to learn might make someone else feel better (or at least laugh).

I blog because spitting into the wind just isn’t futile enough some days.

I blog because I’m an attention whore, and your comments feed my ravenous ego.

I blog because writing out the words that loop through my head lets me get to sleep.

I blog because it’s an expression of my First Amendment rights.

I blog because I’m determined to increase the incidence of correct punctuation usage on the Internet.

…and finally…

I blog because I have a voice, and it can push back the dark.

Reverb Broads 2011, December 7: Who or what makes you laugh so hard that milk shoots out of your nose and why? Slapstick, dry witty comedy, your kids, Monty Python? (courtesy of Kassie of http://bravelyobey.blogspot.com)

Me laughing. It ain't pretty, but it's really common.

It might actually be easier to write a list of things that don’t make me laugh. But I’ll give it a stab, if only so I can share some of my favorite funny things. In general, I’ll just say that I’m a complex person, so don’t judge me. 🙂

I am surrounded by hilarious people every day, even on the days when I don’t fully appreciate the humor of the situations they instigate. I’m married to one of the funniest people in the world, and I know many people agree with me. Part of this is because he’s so smart and creative — that kind of people are always the funniest. I often say that he’s got a direct line into the Primal Well of Story, which is what makes him a phenomenal storyteller, game designer, and GM. But he also has access to the same Random Closet of Weird as Eddie Izzard, and frequently delivers bizarre misinformation with the same deadpan style as John Hodgman. We have so many inside jokes, running gags, and one-liners that no one else understands. I’m sure it’s completely obnoxious, and some of them would prefer blatant displays of affection to our stupid giggly shorthand.

My three hilarious boys

I wish I could say it's only the crazy hair. But that's just Griffin.

And I know every parent thinks their kids are hysterically funny, but anyone who’s met them would probably be inclined to agree that mine are like cartoon characters; I swear they’re drawn by Tex Avery. They’ve got it all: killer comic timing, the Seinfeldesque capacity to observe the weirdness of their surroundings, a natural affinity for performance, and super-quick wits to come up with mad, clever responses. I’d like to think that they inherited their skills from us both, and that our efforts to raise them with lots of humor and quality entertainment are taking root, but let’s just face it — they’ve got it in spades, and they’re a mystery to me.

I’m an intellectual, and a geek, so I can have a pretty high-falutin’ taste in humor. Of course, I adore the Brits, new and old: Monty Python, The Goons, Douglas Adams, Little Britain, French & Saunders, and so many others. I like web comics like xkcd and Penny Arcade — the nerdier, the better. I love sight gags and cultural references and grammar jokes. Even math humor makes me laugh, because I know more about math than actual math. Musical humor, like P.D.Q. Bach and Flight of the Conchords, absolutely slays me. I listen religiously to NPR stuff like This American Life, Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me…, and A Prairie Home Companion (especially the joke show). I love parodies, the more cutting or absurd, the better — I’ve been reading The Onion since it was just a local Madison paper, I used to assign a reading to my World Religions students from the LOLCatz Bible, and Drop Dead Gorgeous is one of my favorite movies. And I’m completely wild about political comedy (probably because I’m wild about politics), so Bill Maher, Jon Stewart, and Stephen Colbert are must-sees. My eldest even had a Jon Stewart 3rd birthday party (all his idea; he used to put on a clip-on tie and do his impression of Jon Stewart in the bathroom mirror. When he was two.)

All this being said, lots of completely low-brow stuff makes me giggle and snort uncontrollably. Ever see that SpikeTV show back in the ’00s called MXC? It was a Japanese game show called Takeshi’s Castle, overdubbed in America by two ESPN-like “announcers” and a cast of others who ascribed the most bizarre dialogue and commentary to an already-bizarre spectacle. I used to regularly laugh until I cried, and I still miss it. Luckily, America’s Funniest Home Videos still does the job for me on a regular basis. And you can’t live in a house of boys without being a connoisseur of scatological humor.

I could go on and on with this one, but I need to wrap up, so I’ll just share two other gifts that were apparently bestowed upon me by the Comedy Fairy at birth. The first is that I see hilarious things that no one else around me sees. This isn’t like a Sixth Sense thing. It’s just that, if I’m standing in a crowd of people, and someone across the street falls down, it’s pretty much guaranteed that I’m the only one who’ll see it. Which always means I’m the idiot who busts out laughing for no apparent reason. Yeah, I’m that person.

The second is that, for no good reason that I can intuit, people feel the need to tell me their acid trip stories. I’m not sure what it is in my aura that compels this. I don’t do and never have done illegal drugs of any kind. I didn’t even have my first drink of alcohol until my wedding night, ten months past my 21st birthday, which I celebrated in Europe for gods’ sakes. But I’m a non-judgmental listener, and I’ve got quite a collection of other people’s weird LSD-induced memories. One in particular has served as genesis for a stable of characters who regularly appear in our household brand of humor. A college friend told me how he once drove a tripping friend around town while the friend had an intense three-way conversation with Seth (his left hand) and The Magic Vacuum (his right hand). I’ve got a long-standing comedy love affair with puppets, so it was natural that they’d just become part of my lexicon. And once you know about them? You see them EVERYWHERE.

Seth (left), Cam (middle), and The Magic Vacuum (right)

Reverb Broads 2011, December 6: List 10 things you would never do (courtesy of Katrina at http://katrinatripled.blogspot.com)

So, I’m a Unitarian Universalist, and we’re not that good at absolutes. My first reaction was to go all moral relativist on this one — I can’t say I wouldn’t kill or steal, because there are circumstances in which I’d absolutely do those things to protect or provide for my loved ones, or even just a person in need.

Then I decided I needed to relax.

But I won’t ever say I won’t try something new, especially food, because if someone serves me something, and I try it and like it, then find out it was something like monkey, I wouldn’t spit it out and throw up — I’d say, “Huh. Who knew I liked monkey?” and I’d finish it, especially if hospitality was on the line.

So this list is far from perfect, and it’s all asterisked and footnoted and however else I can indicate that you just never know.

That being said…

1) I will never live south of the Mason-Dixon line. I love my seasons, I get sick from the heat, and my natural skin color is that of a freshly drowned corpse. I like to get things done at a reasonably brisk pace, and I prefer my politics liberal and secular. I may visit cities I adore, like Charlotte, Savannah, Charleston, and New Orleans, but I cannot be convinced to live Down South.

2) I will never try to like the foods I know I hate. This isn’t the same as the food thing I already mentioned. I already know I hate bananas, pretzels, cranberries, blue cheese, Vegemite, and anything with aspartame in it. Some of them are sensory issues; some are just the way I taste them. I’m pretty sure there are genetic markers for some tastes, and I just don’t have a few of them, no matter how adventurous my palate in other areas. I’ve tried these things repeatedly, and every time, I just facepalm and yell, “Blech! I really do HATE this!” No more.

3) I will never live apart from my husband again. We did the whole long-distance thing when we first met for long enough that it stopped being cute and romantic, and was just tiring, lonely, expensive, and annoying. Sure, the tech for staying in touch is vastly better than it was in 1996, but I’ll take a warm body over care packages any day.

4) I will never hold a snake. Spiders=fine. Frogs=so cool. Lizards=love ’em. And I know snakes aren’t slimy, but I just don’t care. If you hand it to me, I will drop it on the floor.

5) I will never blindly follow the voice of authority. Call me Mary Quite Contrary. I was raised to question the status quo, and my protesting boots fit me way too well to ever take them off. I don’t fight things just to fight them, but I refuse to accept the idea that the world can’t be changed for the better.

6) I will never run for fun. In point of fact, I will only run if something pointy or heavy is speeding toward a child, or I am being chased by a large man named Bubba.

7) I will never go back to Christianity. Before I abandoned it, I read extensively, and since then, I studied Christian theology and Church history sufficiently that two universities have hired me to teach it as a subject. I know the faith means so much to so many good people, and it’s been a force for good in the world in many ways. I also know it’s just not what rings the Bell of Truth deep in my soul.

8 ) I will never stop messing with my hair. I’ve learned some valuable lessons on this score (no more perms; if I want curls, there will have to be heated implements involved), but I believe my hair exists to amuse me, and it just happens to amuse me more when it’s colors not normally found on mammals in nature.

9) I will never be a good sleeper. I’ve been an insomniac since I was a kid, and the analyst at the sleep center told me I had some of the worst sleep architecture he’d ever seen. I’ve made myself (mostly) at peace with this, even though a bad stretch has disastrous effects on both my pain and my mood. I even like the dark, quiet hours sometimes.

10) I will never get through my Reading List. Never, ever, never gonna happen. For every one book I knock down, three more go on the Pile o’ Shame. It’s not that I’m being guilted into reading anything — it’s just that there are thousands of people writing wonderful, necessary things. And there’s only one of me to read them.