Category Archives: Kevinsylvania

Men We Love month at Uppity Rib!

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writing-a-love-letter.jpgAs regular Rib readers may know, one of my pet peeves is the all-too-persistent myth that “feminists hate men.”

I am sure some women do hate men, just as they also hate brussel sprouts or the color mauve or silly hats that look like doilies. This hate has nothing to do with feminism, because feminism has nothing to do with hating anyone and it never has.

One of the reasons I started my blog 2+ years ago was to crusade valiantly against such back-lashing myths. I’ve had a Men We Love category for a while, and if it doesn’t have tons of posts associated to it, it’s due more to my own lack of organization than a scarcity of love-worthy men.

So this month it’s all about the mens here at the Rib (or mostly, anyway). I’ll be posting on other topics, to be sure, but this month’s content will be guy-heavy. Call it my Valentine to Righteous Ribs of the male persuasion, my love letter to equality-loving stem-people everywhere. 1

Longtime readers and a certain person’s Fan Girls & Guys will be happy to know that this month the Rib will also feature sporadic guest posts from the #1 mens I love: the President, Commander In Chief, and King of the United States of Kevinsylvania, Kevin Potpie, who, by the way, admits freely to his conflicting feelings about the use of the plural in this month’s dedication.

[tags]feminism, men we love[/tags]

  1. For those of you who read the Rib by feed, drop by the site and check out the sensuous-yet-basically-SFW new men-loving header! Sculpture: Cupid and Psyche by Rodin. [↩]

Vampires in Kevinsylvania

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He: Why are you grumpy?

Me: Because my story isn’t working.

He: Write another story, then.

Me: I don’t have any other stories.

He: Well… [thinks] Write about an exploding cat.

Me: That’s the kind of thing YOU write about.

He: Ok, well…Then how about you write about an anorexic vampire. An anorexic vampire who won’t eat.

Me: If a vampire doesn’t eat, it wastes away.

He: Just like in real life. An anorexic vampire and the trials of finding a therapist that works at night. Poor vampire with a terrible body image. [pauses] Which is weird because vampires can’t see themselves in the mirror. How would they get a bad body image?

Me: [can't talk, laughing]

He: Bambi the Anorexic Vampire.

Just because it might ruin our lives doesn’t mean it can’t be funny

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Chances are very good that sometime soon, those of you with sweeties may end discussing with them the recent national economic, uh, downturn.

Your sweetie may remind you rather anxiously that one or both of your jobs depend on the “luxury economy,” and that if there is no more luxury economy, he will probably not be able to continue supporting you in the manner to which you would like to remain accustomed.

This, of course, is where you do not look deeply into his eyes and tell him that love means never having to say ‘refrigerator box.’

Sigh. Some people have no sense of humor.

While listening to The Tavis Smiley Show on NPR

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Uppity: Tavis Smiley is awesome. And what a great name. I wish my last name was Smiley.

Kevin: Rachel Smiley?

Uppity: I would be happy all the time. My family crest would be a bright yellow happy face. I would –

Kevin: Rachel Smiley?

Uppity: Well, it’s better than Rachel Frownie.

Kevin: I wish my name was “Kevin Fuckstain.” Paging Mr. Fuckstain. Mr. Fuckstain, please pick up the white courtesy phone. I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Fuckstain –

Uppity: That’s Mrs. Smiley-Fuckstain, thank you very much.

Kevin: Fuckstain, party of two, your table is ready…

Today I am thankful for Saintly Supporters.

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Or: The Novel That Almost Wasn’t

As of 1 pm, Friday, November 30, 2007, I have written 50,092 words and am an official NaNoWriMo winnah. It is a brilliant novel cleverly disguised as a terrible novel, as only a novel written at breakneck speed can be.

In due time, when it’s published in its true, award-winning form, the following will be the author’s Acknowledgments:

I would like to thank Kevin, my primary Saintly Supporter,1 without whom this book would quite literally never have been written.

On the eve of the long Thanksgiving weekend, at precisely 18,202 words, I quit. Gave up. Said goodbye to NaNo and its ridiculous expectations.

This did not sit well with my primary Saintly Supporter. He takes his job extremely seriously and apparently, I was making him look really bad.

An argument ensued. It went on for probably an hour, but in the end, only two things were said. I insisted that doing NaNoWriMo was, for various reasons, “too hard.” Kevin said, “It’s the hard that makes it great.”

Turning point. (Cue moving music.)

For those of you who haven’t seen A League Of Their Own, go rent it. Tom Hanks plays Jimmy Dugan, a former major league baseball coach-turned-alcoholic loser women’s baseball coach. When his players whine, he comes out of his stupor long enough to give them a necessary what-for. His “It’s the hard that makes it great” is the best line in the movie.2

That afternoon, Kevin was doing his best Coach Dugan, minus the chew lip-bulge and Jack Daniels smell.

There may be other parallels than just dialogue. Coach Dugan may want his players to win so they will become famous and support him in the way to which he wishes to become accustomed. He may want them to win so he’ll look good. He may want them to quit whining so he can enjoy his Thanksgiving weekend.

But the truth is, Dugan doesn’t want them to win so much as to do the best they can with what they got. To do what they said they would do, even when the going got tough – to step up to the plate, as it were. Because that’s what winning really is. That’s the hard that makes it great.

My book is dedicated to Kevin, the Saintliest of Supporters and most beloved of sweeties.

I would also like to thank the following players on Team Saintly Supporters:

Michael, MVP, for writing tips and pom poms and unflagging faith in me.

Ribsis, for pre-orders and not giving me any shit for not coming down for Thanksgiving dinner.

Jo, for sage advice and Dad, for the writing genes (even if you are a hard act to follow).

Lachlan, Bayou, and Amaya, for steadfast encouragement, true friendship, and link love.

The bodacious babes of Beautiful_Us, for the healing power of listening and virtual hugs.

Mushell, Kellie, James, Jennifer, and all the righteous Rib Readers, for giving me the best reason in the world to write.

And Kevin, again, for talking-tos, space heaters, turkey sandwiches, inspiration,3 coffee delivery, back rubs, and the freedom to rediscover my love of the game. I love you.

NaNoWriMo 2007.jpg

[tags]writing, National Novel Writing Month[/tags]

  1. Term coined by Chris Baty, NaNoWriMo creator, for those family and friends who support the mad writer as she huddles over her computer, writing like a bat out of hell, shirking all responsibilities, throughout the month of November. [↩]
  2. Except for maybe “There’s no crying in baseball” which I also heard a few times this month. [↩]
  3. Woodchipper. You’ll see. [↩]

In Flanders Fields

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Poppys1.JPG

IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Lt Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army

Happy All NaNo’s Eve

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candy.JPG
Kevin and I have handed out candy every Halloween since we bought our house. The first year was a kind of milestone: our first trick-or-treaters in our first house together. Awwwww.

Of course, this new warm-fuzzy didn’t come without a price – specifically, the big fight we got into earlier that day in grocery store.

It went something like this: I felt one can never have enough bags of Halloween candy, and Kevin disagreed, suggesting that I was an impulse-buying spendthrift. I countered loudly that he was a party-pooping tightwad. Soon the bags were flying in and out of the shopping cart with increasing violence and nearby children were crying into the backs of their mothers’ knees.

The fight ended with me grabbing the cart and ordering Kevin to “just go away and let me buy the fucking candy.” He stomped off, disappearing into the dairy section to mollify himself with free cheese samples.

We reconvened later at the register, Kevin glaring in stony silence as the cashier rang up approximately 300 bags of mini-Snickers. He stayed mad at me for the whole rest of the day, until the first trick-or-treater showed up at the door, which is when warm-fuzzy kicked in and all was forgiven.1

We’ve managed to make it through subsequent Halloweens without arguing, mainly because I say “Yes, dear” on the shopping trips and then supplement the candy stash on my own time.

This year it may be a moot point, however. Tonight Kevin will be helping a friend move into a new place, and I will be hard at work worrying about the story I’ll begin writing in just twenty-four hours for NaNoWriMo.

My brain is crowded with vague characters elbowing each other and staking out territory and badgering me for a plot. How can I court the muse with the constant interruption of needy, masked midgets at my door?

Then again, if I hide in the dark all night, I’ll be stuck with 300 bags of candy. And with my luck, all my characters will be doing Sugar Busters.

[tags]NaNoWriMo, writing, Halloween[/tags]

  1. And for the record, even with all the extra bags of candy I bought, we still ran out too early. Let that be a lesson to all party-pooping tightwads. [↩]