Believe in the Flowers.

Carol of the Zombie Jesus!

Yes, like so many others, I have something to say about this interview.

I was incredibly excited about watching this live on the Today Show. I'll selfishly admit that it wasn't particularly because I thought it would be awesome to see the profession and usefulness of blogging finally brought to the forefront in such a public, all-encompassing way - the meeting of television and the Internet always seems to finalize the point that the web has taken over the media spotlight - but because I totally thought it would be fun to watch Heather Armstrong kick ass on national television again. Like she has on Good Morning America, Nightline, and even a - gasp! - local station in Utah.

So when the time rolled around, I grabbed Gabe and sat down in front of our old gifted TV - circa 1750 I'm pretty sure - as if I was back watching Saturday morning cartoons. Which I never watched. Col came by and laughed as I sat there, having done little else so far that morning past get up and feed Gabe breakfast, excited and even a little bouncy because that is my IDOL, man, screw you, you're just my husband and I only married you. This woman INSPIRED me. To, you know, do stuff! Jesus!

So there I sat, and with every passing second I became more and more disappointed. I've not seen much of Hota Kotb and have never had a personal problem with Kathie Lee like so many others profess to have, but I could feel that sense of utter dread the moment the live interview started.

There was Heather, looking gorgeous and composed, and there were Hota and KLG, sitting around and acting like badly-prepped ditzes. Hota was okay, KLG was disgustingly uninformed and it was fairly obvious (come on, she's "afraid" of computers) that she had done absolutely no research herself. Not to mention that a fear of computers and the Internet made her a kind of bad choice for this sort of interview. She seemed to still be feeling the fallout from all of the time she discussed her children on TV years ago, and thus gave Heather some psychic grief for basically doing the same thing and being able to better handle the negative criticism she unfortunately suffers daily. Overall, the interview did a great job of totally missing all the positive points of blogging - either about your family and children, or about whatever you want - and instead made Heather look like a woman that encourages stalkers to come rape her husband's clogs. And give her daughter enemas.

Afterwards, I was still psyched that I had gotten to see Heather on LIVE TV DEAR SWEET GOD, but was disappointed by the interview. I went on her site, got to read the impressions of other viewers, and finally - today - got to read what the experience was like for her. It's good to know that her followers weren't suffering alone.

Meanwhile, we had tri-color rotini for lunch yesterday. In cream of mushroom soup with chicken, all baked together with that cool cheese stuff that you can get now that's in the Parmesan cheese shaker from Kraft. It was really good, and that much preparation can only mean one thing: I did NOT cook it. You know that's quality. Everyone was enjoying lunch until we noticed that Gabe was eating the white and red pastas just fine - but the green spirals had been left behind on his tray. After they had been there long enough, or if we didn't give him anything else once his supply had dwindled to just green, he began to toss them on the floor. It was his reminder to us that green is evil, and we are horrible parents. For some reason, seeing a one-year-old (okay, thirteen months and a little) make this kind of distinction threw me off. It didn't occur to me that he would be able to tell the difference between the three pastas when there wasn't a change in flavor, and watching him separate them out and only eat what he wanted astounded me.

He's also doing more walking than crawling - how awesome is that?

As for me, I had a dream last night. I was at my mom's house, and while I was in the back room she handed me four pieces of paper - two were typed on special paper from the place she works, and two were handwritten transcriptions of other letters. The typed letters were obviously copy/paste versions of something else, or hand typed by her or someone else. When I read the handwritten versions - in her writing - I realized that they were supposed to be letters from my father, one of which claimed he was in town looking for me and wanted to meet up with me. I asked her when it was from, and she replied that it had come last September. She had failed to pass these letters along to me, although all professed an extreme want to see me and get to know me if I was willing to do the same. There were no return addresses, no phone numbers, no envelopes, all of which indicated to me that the originals had been destroyed. Upon asking, she confirmed it, and I accused that she had "probably burned them or something". Just so I couldn't see them, just so I couldn't get to know my father, because she didn't want me to. As she went around doing things, pretending afterwards like nothing had happened, I was crying and trying to yell at her for having hidden away the letters, but I could never get my voice above a rasping, angry whisper, and thus I was sure she couldn't hear a word I said.

I'm not sure what any of this means, or what it might be indicating, but that's really all there was to it. I know I had other dreams, but this is the only one I remember. I've been having a lot of dreams lately where I've been crying, or sobbing, or screaming (or trying to). Odd.