The gilding of the Indian summer mellowed the pastures far and wide.
The russet woods stood ripe to be stripped, but were yet full of leaf. The
purple of heath-bloom, faded but not withered, tinged the hills...
Fieldhead gardens bore the seal of gentle decay; ... its time of
flowers and even of fruit was over.
- Charlotte Brontë



Did I mention this was my favorite time of year? I did, didn't I. I'm just so freaking happy, I could bust a button.

This weekend, we're going to Oktoberfest in our little downtown. Horse drawn hayrides, oompah music, beer, big pretzels, a bratwurst-eating competition between the Downers Grove North and Downers Grove South football teams (go, Mustangs!) -- trust me, people, it's heaven.

Unfortunately, I'm not sure we'll be able to make this Oktoberfest this year. That means my title's up for grabs.

It's only 2 minutes. Stay through the end. C'mon. You know you want to.

What's more fun than Halloween? Not much, I say. But people can still go too far, as the above picture illustrates. Remember, October starts on Sunday. I'm starting my Halloween countdown a little early.

Also, read all about poor Charlie and his problems with Halloween costumes.

I'm such an idiot. I keep falling in the perfectionism trap. Granted, it's usually my mother who pushes me into it, but I stupidly stand right in front of it like a moron. My house is never neat and clean enough, the food I make never delicious enough, or if it is delicious, it's not healthy enough.

I should give myself a fucking break. God, I'm such a bitch to me sometimes.

This is part of the reason I called myself ÜberMilf. Because I think everyone wants to have sex with me? No. God, no. PLEASE, no. I'm tired enough as it is. It's the whole idea of perfection that both attracts and disgusts me.

To the misogynist voyeour who I imagine judging my body harshly: "Oh, I'm sorry, I gave birth twice and my stomach isn't taut as a twenty-year-old's. Shut up, you fucking idiot! Can't you respect my womanly body!" To myself: "Oh my God, I can't believe I ate potato chips. I better work out tomorrow. God, I'm such a lazy slob. I'm so fat. I'm surprised they make clothes that still fit me. I wonder how much pressure my girdle can withstand."

Now I was thinking about all the perfectionism thrust upon us on a daily basis. Sure, there's the constant barrage of products meant to make us more attractive and inoffensive-smelling. But think about the whole process of feeding one's family today.

Once upon a time, tacos and spaghetti were considering exciting cultural adventures in eating. People actually ate boiled potatoes or plain white rice and canned vegetables with maybe a little butter and salt. You breaded and pan-fried your chicken or pork chops or stuck a roast or meatloaf in the oven.

Nobody expected ethnically-diverse, expertly-seasoned, gourmet-quality meals every night. Maybe they still don't. But I expect myself to thrill everyone with dinner every night. Why? I don't know.

But I feel guilty about my detox-dinner of salmon, brown rice and broccoli tonight. I tried to put a little dill in the rice, but...

Sigh. I am a failure. An utter, abject failure.

And I haven't even broached the subject of the disorderly mass of shoes by the door. Or the laundry. Oy, the laundry. Somebody call DCFS; I am a complete loser.

First, I am cleansing my aura and becoming a better person. Or not. I've tried it before with limited success. Anyway, I'm kicking out some bad habits and attitudes. Hence:




and, since some of you asked:

I am contemplating a haircut, which I need desperately. Many women turn to celebrities whom they resemble for ideas. I chose Audrey Tautou, not because I am as beautiful as her but because I have dark brown eyes and Gallic features like her. But she changes her hair often. I like this one with the soft tendrils:



This is me with that hair, in a very poor photoshop job that I don't feel like fixing right now:



Also, I need to fix my eyebrows, it seems. Dilf, if you feel like fixing this picture for me, have at it. You know the password.

I hope Thomas Dolby approves.

I was fully prepared to write about my Alton Brown infatuation, when I came across a disturbing question imbedded in one of Mr. Brown's fan sites: were Alton Brown and Thomas Dolby seperated at birth?

This adds to another conundrum. My family has noticed a striking resemblence between Dilf and Alton Brown. Has my entire life been the manisfestation of a heretofore unacknowledged and submlimated infatuation with... Thomas Dolby?

I was 13 when "She Blinded Me with Science" came out, a ripe time for a young girl to develop a crush.

I have spent a lifetime in love with geeks.

Alton, Thomas and Dilf all have expressed love for their Mac's.

I leave it to you, readers. What do you think?

Thomas Dolby:



Alton Brown:



Dilf:



It's true, isn't it? ISN'T IT?

I'm in love with Thomas Dolby. I've always been in love with Thomas Dolby. It's time I came to terms with it.

I've already complained about Frontgate, but they keep sending me catalogs anyway. Now, I'm going to bitch about Grandin Road.

What fluffs my feathers about Grandin Road is their tagline: "Affordable Style." They often preface their prices with "only!" as if that makes it true. Well, guess what, Grandin Road? Your full of shit. High-priced, potpourri-scented shit.

Take this "art" for example. "Create a garden on you wall!" they urge. It's created with "advanced giclée printing techniques." Do you know what that is? Me neither. I guess it's good, though. Anyway, it better be for $779.

What's that? You don't want to stick a bunch of ugly flower prints on your wall for almost 8 hundred dollars, you say? You need to make your car payment and buy some groceries, you say? Well, I guess you just don't know "affordable style" when you see it.

It's...well, it's from Finland. In the early 1980's. And, um, well... it's... entertaining.

Cheer up!



Halloween's coming!

For obvious reasons, I couldn't decide whether this birthday wish belonged here or on Übermilf Dark.

But since they're happy birthday wishes to my dear friend Sysm, I leave them here. Since I turned 28 this year, Sysm must have turned 29. It's the big 3-0 for you next year, buddy!

Last night, the Über Family attended our school district's annual fund-raising event, a small, travelling circus that fits on the broad shared fields between one of the grade schools and one of the junior highs.

As I watched, I thought, where do they buy their circus clothes? Obviously you can't just walk into Men's Wearhouse and pick up a satin jumpsuit dotted with sequins. It turns out there is an online catalog called EverythingShiny. They serve many diverse entertainers, including showgirls and KISS tribute bands!

The only problem is, they appear to have some sort of technical difficulties, at least for this Mac user. So, I can't get any pictures for you. Instead, enjoy a picture of a man with a bucket on his head.

Last week, I was feeling a bit under the weather with a sore throat and general ickiness. I took medicine that made me a bit less than lucid.

Big mistake. That's when they attack. They sense your weakness and exploit it for their own nefarious purposes.

By "they," of course, I mean children. They wait for any diminished capacity at all on your part, any crack in your usual vigilance, to wreak havoc of untold porportions.

I had but one child at home with me that day, since ÜberElder goes to school all day, so the damage was mitigated somewhat. But the tally was still impressive. It was as follows:

* One brand new tube of lipstick

* One barely used mascara container

* An entire roll of toilet paper

* One toilet seat top (not permanently damaged; merely imprinted with lipstick red fingers and palms. I didn't need the detective kit to analyze the fingerprints.)

* One formerly white sink, counter and cabinet combination

* One television screen

She had gotten into my makeup, obviously. Also, her sister's clothes. Why get her own clothes dirty? Her intention became clear as she crept stealthily down the stairs and attacked me.

She began clawing at me madly, and announced with a growl, "I'm going to EAT you! I'm going to SUCK YOUR BLOOD and PUT YOU IN A POT and COOK YOU FOR DINNER!"

My first thought was, "Cool! I don't have to make dinner tonight." My second thought was, "I just bought that lipstick!" My third thought was, "What does it look like upstairs?"

ÜberYounger grinned malevolently at me. "Did I scare you, Mommy? I want to be TERRIFYING!" She succeeded.

__________________________________

In other news...

I've decided to start a new blog called Ubermilf Dark for my political and depressing ranting. I will add it to my links bar.

I have a message for the Heavenly Chicken Casserole Lady:

Listen, bitch, when you name a casserole you'd best be more specific. I spent valuable "me" time trying to find this little whore again. You're fucking lucky I did; I went through several websites and a number of recipes titled "stuffing-topped chicken casserole" or some shit before I came across the right one. This better be one tasty fucking casserole, lady. Damn straight it better be "heavenly."

And another thing. What the fuck do you mean by this: "Mix stuffing together and put on top"? Do you mean make the stuffing, then put it on top? Mix up the croutons in the little bag? Mix it up with the seasoning? Mix it up with something else? Bitch, you gotta be PRECISE. What's wrong with you? Now I have to guess. And if I guess wrong, I'm coming back, and I'm gonna rate your casserole. That's right; I'm coming back and I'm going rate it "one star" and I'm going to say, "Tasted like cardboard and the raccoons who dug through my garbage wouldn't even eat it."

Would you like that, bitch? Would you? You're not going to win any bake-offs with THAT on your record, now, are you? So next time, when you're writing a recipe, I want you to think, THINK. Otherwise, I'm going to have to hunt you down and shiv you with the sharpened end of my wooden spoon. You understand that, Betty Crocker?

Sometimes, I look at an ad and think, "Is this a mistake or subliminal advertising? Or did the ad agency have leftover layouts from a previous client on which they just changed the product info? This ad doesn't seem to match the product. What's going on here?" Consider the following coupon I found this week:

There is a photo of an older, yet still active, couple. They are smiling, touching foreheads, obviously in love. This isn't the picture, but it's similar so you get the idea:

To the immediate right of this image appear four small, round, pill-like tablets; two are light blue and two are light green. Written on the light green are the names "Dave & Esther"; on the light blue, "45 days 6 hr 7min."

Whoa! That's some powerful stuff!

That's what I was thinking until I read the ad header: My M&M's. Create a memory that will last long after the candy is gone.

I'm not sure what memory Dave and Esther are creating, but I'm sure it would make their twenty-something children retch.

I heard something about the Pope saying something that upset the Muslims. I tried to find out exactly what was said. I looked in the paper. I looked on websites. I found a lot of stories about just how pissed off the Muslim world was, how they were going to protest, and a vague sentence or two about the Pope "Quoting a 14th century Byzantine Emperor."

I wanted to know exactly what was said, and in what context. Finally, a found a Reuters link to the Pope's speech so I could read it for myself. The Pope was not speaking about Islam; he was speaking about using violence to foist religion onto people. Here's exactly what was said:

"There is no compulsion in religion". According to the experts, this is one of the suras of the early period, when Mohammed was still powerless and under threat. But naturally the emperor also knew the instructions, developed later and recorded in the Qur'an, concerning holy war. Without descending to details, such as the difference in treatment accorded to those who have the "Book" and the "infidels", he addresses his interlocutor with a startling brusqueness on the central question about the relationship between religion and violence in general, saying: "Show me just what Mohammed brought that was new, and there you will find things only evil and inhuman, such as his command to spread by the sword the faith he preached". The emperor, after having expressed himself so forcefully, goes on to explain in detail the reasons why spreading the faith through violence is something unreasonable. Violence is incompatible with the nature of God and the nature of the soul. "God", he says, "is not pleased by blood - and not acting reasonably (F×< 8`(T) is contrary to God's nature. Faith is born of the soul, not the body. Whoever would lead someone to faith needs the ability to speak well and to reason properly, without violence and threats... To convince a reasonable soul, one does not need a strong arm, or weapons of any kind, or any other means of threatening a person with death..."

Okay. Was this a denouncement of Islam by the Pope? Because this is how I read it: when Islam was in its infancy and not very powerful, Mohammed preached that religion can't be forced upon someone, using violence or coercion. Later on, "holy" war becomes okay according to the Qu'ron, coincidentally when Islam happens to develop more political and military strength. This is wrong because you cannot use physical means to affect a spiritual change.

I'm not a historian; I don't know if it's true or not. I would leave that debate to people who know what they're talking about. But is it "hate speech"? Is it cause to burn someone in effigy, burn down churches, become angry and violent? I'm sorry, I don't think so. And the reporting doesn't help diffuse the situation, bring reason to the situation -- it seems almost bent on ignoring the Pope's actual words and fanning the flames of violence.

Check out the first paragraph of this story:

"Protests were witnessed in all parts of the state on Friday as Muslims came out in defence of their religion and against the remark of the Pope, who had reportedly termed Islam as a religion that protected terrorists."

Huh? Is that what he said? Did he mention terrorists at all? He's talking about forcing religion with violence and he used an example from the 14th century. True, that guy's first quote is bad, but he's from the 14th century. People said all kinds of stuff back then. The point was about power and politics influencing religion. Nobody knows better than the Catholics how bad that gets.

The Pope has apologized that his comments were open to misinterpretation, but it's "not enough" to some people. I'm sorry, but people need to chill. Nobody burnt down Tom Hank's house when "The DaVinci Code" came out, and that movie questioned Christ's divinity and Christianity's validity. Maybe if our riotous inclinations received a friendly push from the media, we would've.

UPDATE: Here's a quote from ABC News: "PETER MADROS: This is the very thing that his holiness had denounced, mainly violence in the name of religion. And here you go, it is in order to react to his criticism that you exactly apply what he had actually criticised. I don't think this is very smart." That's for you, Todd.

Also, I am tired of the Crusades being portrayed as some sort of one-sided conflict. Muslims gave as good as they got. It was a war. Not the proudest moment for Christianity, a religion whose members are told to "love one's enemies" and to find non-violent ways to stand up for yourself, but a two-sided conflict nonetheless.

I'm not sure what it has to do with September 16, 1969, but it works for me.

This is from the TV show "Fame":



Click here to watch it. I guess the owner is afraid other people would make fun of it.

I used to watch that show every week. How could my parents have allowed such a thing? This is the worst, creepiest thing I've ever seen on broadcast television.

Well, I haven't gotten it yet. Actually, I doubt I will. But a girl can dream, can't she?

Things I would like on my birthday:

Michigan Football to lose. Evil ex-husband is a Michigan fan, so I indulge my petty disgust of him once a year.

To get my hair cut; but to have it cut by the world's greatest stylist, who, through my newly-acquired ability to foresee the future, I absolutely 100 percent KNOW will cut my hair EXACTLY the way I want it.

Todd and Nick to find love. Not together, unless they're into that sort of thing.

Have a "mom" take care of my household for me. And, while she's at it, me.

The Clean Sweep team to re-organize my house from top to bottom. Then, a new kitchen and two new bathrooms added to my home. And the downstairs remodeled. I'd like a bar and a poker table for Dilf.

Anything else? Oh, landscaping.

And live music playing in my backyard, and an impromptu party. With good food. And gin and tonics.

I think I'm done.

For creepiest birthday song ever, click here.

The fashion mags have warned us for months, but I've been repressing the news for my own mental health. Finally, I can ignore it no longer: fashion-wise, the 1980's are back.

What a feeling!

Now, I'm not sure exactly how to take this trend. Do I dress like I did in high school, which is where I spent the last half of the 80's? If so, I found an example of that look, but I found it in a Halloween costume catalog:



Or, do I dress as someone roughly my age now dressed back then? Something like this?




Either way, one thing's for sure. Stirrup pants...



... will be unavoidable.

Halloween's coming!

Remember this lady? She was a symbol of our can-do spirit during WWII. We were plucky, we rolled up our sleeves, we worked together.

Fast forward to today, and I don't see Rosie anywhere.

We're too busy trying to pin the blame on our perceived enemies. And who are our enemies? If an outsider was to view all of the docudramas produced about the event, he or she could only conclude that it was either George Bush, Bill Clinton, or some combination of both.

Does anyone have any evidence to show that either of these gentlemen were in cahoots with Al Qaeda? Phone calls? Memos? No? Did they provide planes? Manpower? Instruction manuals? No? Then neither one of them were responsible for the attack. Sitting around trying to pin the blame on either Clinton or Bush is an exercise in vanity we can't afford. This is no time for us to smugly point our fingers and say, "See, I was RIGHT about 'that guy.'" Does it really matter anymore? Is that what's most important here, having our opinions validated?

We need to get our heads out of our asses, pronto. Our media seems bent on whipping up our emotions, not informing us. Our politicians seem bent on defeating each other instead of leading us. It suits their purposes to scare us with a bogey-man, not cheer us on to victory. Why are we cowering every few months like my cat during a thunderstorm? Why aren't we finding a solution? Why are our choices either "vulnerable" or "violent"? Why can't we just be capable and responsible and calm? Because those in power don't like it that way.

Let's face it, across the globe people are in power because they craved power. They'll do what it takes to keep it. I'm talking EVERYWHERE, including our country. The rest of us are just trying to raise our families or make the world a little more liveable or exist just one more day. Why are we listening to any of them? Are we getting anywhere? If you put together a bunch of farmers from every country, do you think they'd try to kill and conquer each other, or would they talk about seeds and soil and the best way to grow things? They'd talk about growing things, because that's what they care about.

Pick any profession except politics, and you'll get similar results. But the politicians all care about power and ruling and crap like that. So let's round them up, give them their own little island and a Risk game, and let them kill each other if that's what they want. Then let the rest of us figure out how to manage living together and sharing this planet peacefully.

Ah, the coupon section of the Sunday paper -- so glossy, so voluminous, so chock-full of scary new products. Every week, manufacturers try to bribe me to try their newest craptastic innovation, 40 or 50 cents at a time. It's a coffee-fueled nirvana for me every week.

I find extra joy when I can gross out Dilf with the stuff I find. This week, while I was nervously pondering the "new" organic Similac (whatever was it made from before?), I came across Hamburger Helper Microwave Singles. Betty Crocker is betting 50 cents that I'm too big a coward to try it. She's right; she can keep her money. Reconstituted freeze-dried beef? Isn't that the stuff they give to prisoners, or people trapped in the wilderness who have eaten all the nuts and berries and whose choices become narrowed to starvation, eating their hiking companions, or freeze-dried meat? Betty, you're gonna have to offer me a hell of a lot more than 50 cents, honey.

Healthy Choice Beef Pot Roast Soup sounded pretty disgusting to me as well. I mean, "pot roast soup" sounds vile, let alone a de-fatted, reduced-salt Healthy Choice version. And they wanted me to buy TWO soups before I got saved my 50 cents. That's not gonna happen.

But coupons aren't limited to items commonly found in grocery stores. This week, I somehow resisted the marketer's call for me to purchase a farting teddy bear. Somehow, I doubted their "guarantee" that the bear would provide "laughs for everyone." And you tell me, since you can see for yourself, is he "adorable?" Would you be "so charmed" that you wanted to "hug him again" after he farted in your arms?

I thought there were truth-in-advertising regulations in this country.

That's it for now. Although that's hardly it for the coupons.

The migraine is gone. The cramps are gone. I'm feeling perfectly fine!

And what better way to celebrate than with Bad Music Thursday? Now, Todd performed admirably for me; he even drew the elusive Dr. Sardonic out from his musty laboratory to comment. But I came across this "jam session" on You Tube, and it must be seen. And heard. Just get past the part where Olivia Newton John babbles about nothing of interest for the first couple of seconds. It is historical, a meeting of musical giants of such astounding proportions that we mere mortals are first able to view it now, through the mists of time:

I'm re-writing what I wrote.

Just so no one thinks Egan is nuts, I was writing about the state of the world.

I just want to moon everyone and I think this scarecrow's the perfect way to do it.

I just suffer every month (yeah, THAT'S why) and Dilf always seems to go out of town at the same time and I'm just tired and achey and miserable and I can't take it any more.

So I put makeup on the ÜberGirls to entertain myself. Elder is a witch with a spider on her cheek and Younger is a vampire with blood dripping down her chin.

Dirty dishes are stacked up at the side of the sink while I haven't unloaded the clean ones from the dishwasher. I haven't folded the laundry, of course. And I need to make Younger's bed because she had an accident during the night and I stripped it.

I'm having a garage sale tomorrow whether I like it or not because I put the ad in the paper. I haven't priced anything but that's just tough shit for those weirdos who frequent garage sales. I swear I saw a couple drive by checking out my house number just to make sure they knew which one it was tomorrow.

I don't wanna and I'm not gonna. That's my attitude today.

Ubie was upset that the Index of Funny Looking Germans site was taken down, so in her honor I give you Heino, definitely German and I'll let you be the judge about funny looking.

Heino is how all of our rock stars would look if Hitler had won the war.

In all fairness, I've never been fortunate enough to hear a Heino album so I can't say for certain the music is bad; but really, how could it be good?

Not in a depressed, woe is me, life isn't worth living sense; nor a soul-scorching, unfulfilled longing manner; nor in a hopeless sea of uninterrupted ennui which can only end in the sweet pain of death sort of way. I am not despairing, nor grieving, nor driven insane by the meaninglessness of it all.

It's because my head hurts like a motherfucker.

Todd, please write Bad Music Thursday for me. I was thinking Whitney Houston's "Saving All My Love for You," but do what you will.

I will be taking to my fainting couch with an ice bag on my head.

Okay, there's this guy with his bad jeans, worse shirt and embarrassing collectibles. But I'm not happy, and I never will be again, because the Index of Funny Looking Germans is gone, and I just found out it existed.

Life just isn't fair.

I've got an idea. Let's throw out every preconceived notion about what "works" in government and what doesn't. Forget political and economic theory. Let's get wild.

Instead of a BILL Clinton and Al GORE ticket, let's elect GEORGE Clinton and Al GREEN to run things for a while. How much worse can they be than what we've got already?

Think of the unifying message of George Clinton, laid out so simply and elegantly in One Nation Under a Groove. Their slogan could be "Getting Down, Just for the Funk of It." I think it's time, people. We've been wound too tight for too long. We need to let loose. George Clinton is just the man to show us how.

Now, for the other half of the ticket, we have Reverend Al Green. That's right, REVERAND Al Green. He'll appeal to the religious people in our country. And while his lyrics from his mega-hit Let's Stay Together were meant in a romantic sense, couldn't they also be used to heal our broken and contentious nation? "Whether times are good or bad, happy or sad... we oughtta stay together..." Amen, Al, amen.

I'm going to get started hammering out the rest of the campaign. I'm telling you, this is exactly what our country needs right now.

I put on the funk. And everything's okay.

Bootzilla's here!

In Roman times, people needed salt to live, thus they were paid in salt. That’s how we got the term “salary” and the idiom “worth his salt.” Salt was the big carrot on the end of the stick to keep people obedient and working toward someone else’s objective, like the expansion of the empire, and keeping the recently conquered in line.

Why am I thinking about ancient Romans and their salaries? Because we have our own salt, and it’s called “utilities.”

The rate cap on electricity is about to expire, and we are told constantly we should “expect huge increases”. This comes on top of the yearly huge increases we should expect every winter, because it gets cold in Chicago. Does that shock you? Apparently it shocks our natural gas provider, who is caught by surprise every winter.

As the cost of non-discretionary items continue to skyrocket, so does the willingness to do ANYTHING to keep a job, to keep money coming in, to keep our houses heated and our children eating food and the water flowing out of the faucet.

Of course, you could open your own business instead of choosing corporate indentured servitude. Then, you will still run into utility and insurance costs and all other sorts of problems. Does that sound like freedom? We just get to choose which master, but it’s still slavery.

I would say the free market is failing us, but we don’t have a free market. There is no competition, only coercion. And for this I pay taxes?

Okay, even I realize this is an overly bleak view of things. I'm being morose. But there is a grain of truth in there. It's only an illusion that we have it better than the peasants of old. I'm sure they grumbled, just like we grumble, but they still had their good times, too, that made it seem not so bad.

I just don't think we should kid ourselves that the human race has "progressed."

ÜberElder to Dilf: "Daddy, what do they call the thing that YOU go potty out of?"

Dilf: "A penis."

ÜberElder, slightly confused: "Oh."

Pause.

ÜberElder, in a "Eureka!"-type voice: "Oh! I know why! Because it looks like a peanut, right?"

(Mommy hides her face in towel so daughters don't see her laughing.)

I feel so much better about things since talking to Mrs. Kathy, I've decided to do a weekend pin-up.

I would have preferred to find a scantily-clad union organizer, a leggy labor leader or a nearly nude striker to honor the true spirit of the holiday, but apparently activism isn't sexy to some people. Harumph! Instead, enjoy this happy barbeque gal.