Research Randomizer Results
1 Set of 1 Unique Numbers Per Set
Range: From 1 to 51 -- Unsorted
Range: From 1 to 51 -- Unsorted
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Monday, February 6, 2012
Winner of The Ruins of Us
Saturday, February 4, 2012
The Moth
Have you heard of The Moth?
The Moth is a New York City based nonprofit organization dedicated to the art and craft of storytelling: It was founded in 1997 by poet and novelist George Dawes Green, who wanted to recreate the feeling of sultry summer evenings in his native Georgia, when moths were attracted to the light on the porch where he and his friends would gather to spin spellbinding tales.
The Moth now travels around the country hosting storytelling events in New York City, Los Angeles, Chicago, Detroit, and other cities. I have my tickets for the show in Milwaukee on May 17. I can't wait.
The Moth offers a weekly podcast, which provides free audio of stories from all types of Moth events.
You can pitch your own true story in a minute or less right there if you'd like to take the chance at having it put up for listening at the site.
Two months ago, I recorded my pitch at The Moth, and waited. And waited some more.
I found out today that my story, 1 minute 53 seconds long, has been posted for listening and voting.
In one minute and 53 seconds, I tell you what I remember of the last day I had with my father, up until the moment he decided to take his life the day before Thanksgiving. It's told from the point of view of a 6 year old child, and what she makes of the day as it built up to be my father's last day with us.
I remember every second.
I'm going to ask you to please click over to The Moth, spend the less than 2 minutes listening to my story, then voting by clicking on the row of stars next to my name. It's called A Child's Point of View and the author is me, Alexandra R. *MOST IMPORTANTLY, if there is anyone you know that has thought of taking their life, please have them listen to this -- I hope it sends waves of insight on how far and for how long the ripples of a suicide extend.
Thank you so very much.
Photo
__________________________________________
The Moth is a New York City based nonprofit organization dedicated to the art and craft of storytelling: It was founded in 1997 by poet and novelist George Dawes Green, who wanted to recreate the feeling of sultry summer evenings in his native Georgia, when moths were attracted to the light on the porch where he and his friends would gather to spin spellbinding tales.
The Moth now travels around the country hosting storytelling events in New York City, Los Angeles, Chicago, Detroit, and other cities. I have my tickets for the show in Milwaukee on May 17. I can't wait.
The Moth offers a weekly podcast, which provides free audio of stories from all types of Moth events.
You can pitch your own true story in a minute or less right there if you'd like to take the chance at having it put up for listening at the site.
Two months ago, I recorded my pitch at The Moth, and waited. And waited some more.
I found out today that my story, 1 minute 53 seconds long, has been posted for listening and voting.
In one minute and 53 seconds, I tell you what I remember of the last day I had with my father, up until the moment he decided to take his life the day before Thanksgiving. It's told from the point of view of a 6 year old child, and what she makes of the day as it built up to be my father's last day with us.
I remember every second.
I'm going to ask you to please click over to The Moth, spend the less than 2 minutes listening to my story, then voting by clicking on the row of stars next to my name. It's called A Child's Point of View and the author is me, Alexandra R. *MOST IMPORTANTLY, if there is anyone you know that has thought of taking their life, please have them listen to this -- I hope it sends waves of insight on how far and for how long the ripples of a suicide extend.
Thank you so very much.
 |
| Everyone's got a story |
__________________________________________
Friday, February 3, 2012
Down To The Last Three
We're down to the last three.
For the past two weeks, I've been doing a series featuring the bloggers in my life I call The Great Depression Slayers of 2010. These bloggers are the first I ever followed. There are only three left to tell you about. I call them the The Great Depression Slayers of 2010, because though they didn't know me, they were there for me. They didn't know who I was, yet each of them pulled me through a year that just about knocked me flat.
Before I tell you today about the fabulous blogger I followed home after being smitten with her from an appearance on a morning talk show (I no longer remember what show -- Kathie Lee? but I do remember her), I have to say here that these bloggers I came to know by far reflect what the majority of the blogging community is: reachable, supportive, encouraging, truly the best of humanity.
I've been so very fortunate that my life intersected with the lives of these women I've been highlighting this month. I have relied on them for the past four years to hold me up with their humor, their honesty, their willingness to toss away false fronts. Some I love because they make me laugh out loud, others because they understand, and ones I adore because I feel accepted and understood by them.
I remember a winter morning two years ago, as I wiped off the kitchen counters from the jelly and toast my kids had just finished, I heard this woman "finslippy" being interviewed on a *mommy blogging* segment of a talk show. That was her blogging name: Finslippy.
Finslippy was being interviewed by I don't remember who anymore but oh, this *finslippy* looked as innocent as a church lady, but when she opened her mouth there was a Side B to this choir angel's Side A. Quirky and quick as lightning with her answers back to the interviewer's questions on *mommy blogging.* Finslippy dropped her Mensa IQ bombs so fast right and left that I almost felt sorry for the interviewer when I saw the look of panic on her face at the thought of how in the world was she supposed to keep up with this guest. It was aweSOME. Verbal slight of hand so deft and velvety that the poor talk show host had to sneak a Xanax, I swear I saw it.
After the interview, the host wrapped it up with You can follow our guest today at her mommy blog, "Finslippy." And then the screen text flashed www.finslippy.com . I grabbed the closest crayon and paper towel and scribbled in green "FINSLIPPY -- funny!"
A few hours later I logged on to her site. Finslippy was Alice Bradley. I read this post here, about FEAR. Ho my god but if fear holds you back in your life, YOU MUST READ THIS. I clicked on to "previous post," even more Ho my god. She was wonderful. Self aware and popping up her hood for all to see. I fell in deep deep wordgirl love. Woman could WRITE and be the kind of funny where you slap your mouth over your hand aghast because she looks so sugar sweet but she had the balls to say whaaat? Sweet angel face lady ripping people a new one if they needed it done. My kind of human being.
I went to her contact page and emailed her. Alice, I wrote, I saw you this morning on xxx morning show. I thought you were deliciously neurotic then and I've just spent 30 minutes on your blog now and you are even more wonderful than I could have hoped for and I would cancel cable and take that money and pay you $89 a month to read your blog. You are that fantastic. Thank you so much for making me laugh to the point of side aches and tears. Thank you.
She emailed me back. I yelped out loud when I saw her name in my in box. She said, Thank you so much. But now that we have a relationship you must know that I will wonder what has become of you if a day goes by and I don't see you. Yes, it's come down to that. Love, Alice.
I still have that email.
Alice Bradley is woman whose humor can only be described as genius. It is. She is hilarious and unpredictable on twitter and her blog posts are about so much more than just making you laugh. Her writing makes me feel like it's safe and okay to be who I am: which is anxious, concerned, obsessed with non issues, and up to my neck in over dedication and borderline clinical in devotion to my children.
I was able to meet Alice at BlogHer '12, while she sat with the equally superwoman Eden Kennedy of fussy.org, as they both signed copies of their beyond hilarious book Let's Panic About Babies. I saw angelic faced Alice sitting behind the table, in the middle of stacks of her book that tell you in Chapter 5 how to have sex for the first time after giving birth (spoiler alert: get a bottle of wine and just bite the bullet), and I stood there smiling like an idiot, all glisteny eyed with emotional tears at finally meeting her. She recognized me right away -- I have no idea how she did that -- and stood up to give me a hug that no words can describe.
Alice Bradley, I don't know how you grew up to be as special as you are, or what it is inside you that makes you be so good to people, but I am here, thanking you, for being one of the Great Depression Slayers of 2010 for me. For all the sweet laughter during a very difficult winter, and for all those you have made feel *normal* by showing us through your vulnerable and authentic blogging that it's more than okay to let your freak flag fly; it frees you. I thank you.
I love you, Alice Bradley.
____________________________________________
**This blogger was one of the handful so implicit in my making it through the winters and the seasonal depression they bring, before I began my own blog in 2010 and became a part of this incredible online community. During this month, I'll be highlighting the bloggers I call "The Great Depression Slayers of 2010." To the crucial ones I clung to before I began blogging, the ones that pulled me through, I thank you.
For the past two weeks, I've been doing a series featuring the bloggers in my life I call The Great Depression Slayers of 2010. These bloggers are the first I ever followed. There are only three left to tell you about. I call them the The Great Depression Slayers of 2010, because though they didn't know me, they were there for me. They didn't know who I was, yet each of them pulled me through a year that just about knocked me flat.
Before I tell you today about the fabulous blogger I followed home after being smitten with her from an appearance on a morning talk show (I no longer remember what show -- Kathie Lee? but I do remember her), I have to say here that these bloggers I came to know by far reflect what the majority of the blogging community is: reachable, supportive, encouraging, truly the best of humanity.
I've been so very fortunate that my life intersected with the lives of these women I've been highlighting this month. I have relied on them for the past four years to hold me up with their humor, their honesty, their willingness to toss away false fronts. Some I love because they make me laugh out loud, others because they understand, and ones I adore because I feel accepted and understood by them.
I remember a winter morning two years ago, as I wiped off the kitchen counters from the jelly and toast my kids had just finished, I heard this woman "finslippy" being interviewed on a *mommy blogging* segment of a talk show. That was her blogging name: Finslippy.
Finslippy was being interviewed by I don't remember who anymore but oh, this *finslippy* looked as innocent as a church lady, but when she opened her mouth there was a Side B to this choir angel's Side A. Quirky and quick as lightning with her answers back to the interviewer's questions on *mommy blogging.* Finslippy dropped her Mensa IQ bombs so fast right and left that I almost felt sorry for the interviewer when I saw the look of panic on her face at the thought of how in the world was she supposed to keep up with this guest. It was aweSOME. Verbal slight of hand so deft and velvety that the poor talk show host had to sneak a Xanax, I swear I saw it.
After the interview, the host wrapped it up with You can follow our guest today at her mommy blog, "Finslippy." And then the screen text flashed www.finslippy.com . I grabbed the closest crayon and paper towel and scribbled in green "FINSLIPPY -- funny!"
A few hours later I logged on to her site. Finslippy was Alice Bradley. I read this post here, about FEAR. Ho my god but if fear holds you back in your life, YOU MUST READ THIS. I clicked on to "previous post," even more Ho my god. She was wonderful. Self aware and popping up her hood for all to see. I fell in deep deep wordgirl love. Woman could WRITE and be the kind of funny where you slap your mouth over your hand aghast because she looks so sugar sweet but she had the balls to say whaaat? Sweet angel face lady ripping people a new one if they needed it done. My kind of human being.
I went to her contact page and emailed her. Alice, I wrote, I saw you this morning on xxx morning show. I thought you were deliciously neurotic then and I've just spent 30 minutes on your blog now and you are even more wonderful than I could have hoped for and I would cancel cable and take that money and pay you $89 a month to read your blog. You are that fantastic. Thank you so much for making me laugh to the point of side aches and tears. Thank you.
She emailed me back. I yelped out loud when I saw her name in my in box. She said, Thank you so much. But now that we have a relationship you must know that I will wonder what has become of you if a day goes by and I don't see you. Yes, it's come down to that. Love, Alice.
I still have that email.
Alice Bradley is woman whose humor can only be described as genius. It is. She is hilarious and unpredictable on twitter and her blog posts are about so much more than just making you laugh. Her writing makes me feel like it's safe and okay to be who I am: which is anxious, concerned, obsessed with non issues, and up to my neck in over dedication and borderline clinical in devotion to my children.
I was able to meet Alice at BlogHer '12, while she sat with the equally superwoman Eden Kennedy of fussy.org, as they both signed copies of their beyond hilarious book Let's Panic About Babies. I saw angelic faced Alice sitting behind the table, in the middle of stacks of her book that tell you in Chapter 5 how to have sex for the first time after giving birth (spoiler alert: get a bottle of wine and just bite the bullet), and I stood there smiling like an idiot, all glisteny eyed with emotional tears at finally meeting her. She recognized me right away -- I have no idea how she did that -- and stood up to give me a hug that no words can describe.
Alice Bradley, I don't know how you grew up to be as special as you are, or what it is inside you that makes you be so good to people, but I am here, thanking you, for being one of the Great Depression Slayers of 2010 for me. For all the sweet laughter during a very difficult winter, and for all those you have made feel *normal* by showing us through your vulnerable and authentic blogging that it's more than okay to let your freak flag fly; it frees you. I thank you.
 |
| Finslippy |
____________________________________________
**This blogger was one of the handful so implicit in my making it through the winters and the seasonal depression they bring, before I began my own blog in 2010 and became a part of this incredible online community. During this month, I'll be highlighting the bloggers I call "The Great Depression Slayers of 2010." To the crucial ones I clung to before I began blogging, the ones that pulled me through, I thank you.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
That's What I Wanted
Over the past two weeks, I've been spotlighting the first blogs I ever read way back when I discovered blogging in 2008. I didn't start a blog until two years later, in 2010, but there were a handful of blogs I read in the beginning. In my first post in this series, I mentioned I never commented on the blogs I visited then because I thought you had to have a blog to comment. Shocker, huh?
What that means is that for two or so years, I followed blogs without posting any remarks and wishing I had a community of people around me to talk to; at 3 a.m. or 11 at night, like they had. What a great feeling of belonging that must bring, to have people around you, all different kinds of people, to be in your life and part of your life. I wanted that community. Instead, I'd watch with my nose pressed up against the window, wishing I could be part of all the fun and friendships I'd see.
A blogger that I followed silently, and I say followed silently not lurking because since I didn't know you could comment it can't be called lurking if you have no idea you're doing it, was Ann Imig of Annsrants.
I followed her home from a comment ( a VERY clever, smart ass-y one) at another blogger's place (that blogger will be spotlighted also).
After reading Ann for awhile, she-- knowing nothing about me since, again, the no commenting rule that I thought existed that didn't exist -- celebrated her first year of blogging, a blogging anniversary. A blogoversary, she called it. It was the first time I heard that word and I thought she came up with it herself. So dang creative.
This post on her one year from 2009 still makes me laugh. Aside from how very funny and representative of Ann's delicious humor this is, the best part of this anniversary post were the comments. I read all the bloggers commenting on her site that day in celebration of knowing her; all the love, the high fives, the (((( )))) which I didn't know WHAT THE HECK that was *I thought it was bewbs*. But, still, I could decode enough to figure out virtual hugs and sincere happiness that Ann was a blogger.
I scrolled through all the comments on her first *blogoversary* post (Ann, I thought this was your word and you were so wondrous to think of it), and I wanted that. What she had: people to share my life with. People that I would be happy to know, and that would be just as happy to know me.
Ann Imig kept me in her cozy, sweet internet world, even when she had no idea she was doing that.
I enjoyed her so-good-she-should-be-in-a-magazine humor, her sharp, quick essays, *my favorite of her posts: the middle school columnist series*. She had me smirking with her total deep shenanigan nonsense on occasion. Her skillful writing on current issues made me think about my position on things political. Ann was that someone to sit and share my morning coffee with over a lonely winter.
I finally grew tired of being too scared to start a blog, so in 2010, I began blogging. Which meant I could comment on blogs now! (shuttup)-- naturally, I began commenting at Annsrants. She had no idea I had been reading her for over a year when I did show up.
And you know what? Even though I was a year late to the party, Ann Imig and the kind of people that follow Ann Imig, made me feel like I had been there since the beginning.
Thank you, Ann, for giving so much to so many.
As the creator of the inspiring National Listen To Your Mother Shows, you have helped us find our voices; you gave me my voice to tell my story on May 8, 2011, at the LTYM show in Madison -- a day that felt like I was in someone else's life. You've kept us warm with laughter from some of the best tweets in the twitterverse, undoubtedly why you were voted #1 funniest twitter mom by babble.com. It's happily sad that I smile on the nights when I am so beat I fall asleep with my clothes on and think just like Ann said on twitter, "Yesterday's clothes are the new pajamas."
Ann Imig: the world is a better place because you are in it. And I say that with grateful tears in my eyes.
Thank you.
__________________________________________________
**This blogger was one of the handful so implicit in my making it through the winters and the seasonal depression they bring, before I began my own blog in 2010 and became a part of this incredible online community. During this month, I'll be highlighting the bloggers I call "The Great Depression Slayers of 2010." To the crucial ones I clung to before I began blogging, the ones that pulled me through, I thank you.
What that means is that for two or so years, I followed blogs without posting any remarks and wishing I had a community of people around me to talk to; at 3 a.m. or 11 at night, like they had. What a great feeling of belonging that must bring, to have people around you, all different kinds of people, to be in your life and part of your life. I wanted that community. Instead, I'd watch with my nose pressed up against the window, wishing I could be part of all the fun and friendships I'd see.
A blogger that I followed silently, and I say followed silently not lurking because since I didn't know you could comment it can't be called lurking if you have no idea you're doing it, was Ann Imig of Annsrants.
I followed her home from a comment ( a VERY clever, smart ass-y one) at another blogger's place (that blogger will be spotlighted also).
After reading Ann for awhile, she-- knowing nothing about me since, again, the no commenting rule that I thought existed that didn't exist -- celebrated her first year of blogging, a blogging anniversary. A blogoversary, she called it. It was the first time I heard that word and I thought she came up with it herself. So dang creative.
This post on her one year from 2009 still makes me laugh. Aside from how very funny and representative of Ann's delicious humor this is, the best part of this anniversary post were the comments. I read all the bloggers commenting on her site that day in celebration of knowing her; all the love, the high fives, the (((( )))) which I didn't know WHAT THE HECK that was *I thought it was bewbs*. But, still, I could decode enough to figure out virtual hugs and sincere happiness that Ann was a blogger.
I scrolled through all the comments on her first *blogoversary* post (Ann, I thought this was your word and you were so wondrous to think of it), and I wanted that. What she had: people to share my life with. People that I would be happy to know, and that would be just as happy to know me.
Ann Imig kept me in her cozy, sweet internet world, even when she had no idea she was doing that.
I enjoyed her so-good-she-should-be-in-a-magazine humor, her sharp, quick essays, *my favorite of her posts: the middle school columnist series*. She had me smirking with her total deep shenanigan nonsense on occasion. Her skillful writing on current issues made me think about my position on things political. Ann was that someone to sit and share my morning coffee with over a lonely winter.
I finally grew tired of being too scared to start a blog, so in 2010, I began blogging. Which meant I could comment on blogs now! (shuttup)-- naturally, I began commenting at Annsrants. She had no idea I had been reading her for over a year when I did show up.
And you know what? Even though I was a year late to the party, Ann Imig and the kind of people that follow Ann Imig, made me feel like I had been there since the beginning.
Thank you, Ann, for giving so much to so many.
As the creator of the inspiring National Listen To Your Mother Shows, you have helped us find our voices; you gave me my voice to tell my story on May 8, 2011, at the LTYM show in Madison -- a day that felt like I was in someone else's life. You've kept us warm with laughter from some of the best tweets in the twitterverse, undoubtedly why you were voted #1 funniest twitter mom by babble.com. It's happily sad that I smile on the nights when I am so beat I fall asleep with my clothes on and think just like Ann said on twitter, "Yesterday's clothes are the new pajamas."
Ann Imig: the world is a better place because you are in it. And I say that with grateful tears in my eyes.
 |
| Ann Imig: stay at home humorist and 'Sconnie Jewess |
Thank you.
__________________________________________________
**This blogger was one of the handful so implicit in my making it through the winters and the seasonal depression they bring, before I began my own blog in 2010 and became a part of this incredible online community. During this month, I'll be highlighting the bloggers I call "The Great Depression Slayers of 2010." To the crucial ones I clung to before I began blogging, the ones that pulled me through, I thank you.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
You Can Blame Me
My husband is a good, decent man. Vice free. Dedicated to home and family. Wears his boxers till they look like lace doilies to keep food on the table.
Such a good man.
Being married to the last boy scout in America has made me realize I must set the record straight: any veering off the straight and narrow for this man is due.to.me.
I apologize (sort of) for what my husband's life has become. Here. At Aiming Low. Where we strive for the mediocre in parenting.
______________________________________
Such a good man.
Being married to the last boy scout in America has made me realize I must set the record straight: any veering off the straight and narrow for this man is due.to.me.
I apologize (sort of) for what my husband's life has become. Here. At Aiming Low. Where we strive for the mediocre in parenting.
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