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Did I ever tell you about the time I met Billy Mays?
Yep. I met Billy Mays.
Several years ago hubby and I attended a grocery trade show in Lincoln, NE. It was just the trill ride it sounds like. Every other industry in the world has trade shows in places like New York, or even Las Vegas, where there is a damn thing to do. But the grocery industry seems to favor places like Lincoln or Tulsa. While I suppose it does make doing things like buying chewing gum and detergent seem more interesting by contrast, it’s not something that you look forward to all year.
This trade show went like all the others, everybody wanting to offer me a deal on their fantastic new products that were about to set the consumer world on fire. People mainly just mill around at these things and wait for the prize drawings. Nobody at all would show up at these things if there were not prize drawings.
As we wandered through we did notice that there were a lot of people gathering around one booth. As we got closer we could see that people were acting excited about whatever was going on. Turns out that Billy Mays was there, live and in person. Grocers are a simple people who tend to not get out much.
We exchanged a giggle about folks getting so worked up and moved on to the Tide booth.
Later that day as we were walking toward the exit, tired from a full day taking advantage of specials deals, Billy Mays, the man himself, walked up to us.
“Hi, I’m Billy Mays”
“Yes, you are.”, I say.
“I’d like to talk to you about OxiClean.” He conveniently had a container of OxyClean with him.
“OK” Whatever.
then he launches into the full spiel, the one you saw about 10 million times on TV. For just my husband and I. I’m not kidding.
He did not stop.
We finally went over to his booth and ordered some damn OxyClean just to get him to leave us alone. He also wouldn’t let us leave without an autographed picture. I had him make it out to my dad, it still hangs up here at the store. It reads, “Keep it clean, Dad” signed Billy.
All I’ve got to say is that Billy Mays did work for what he got. Can you imagine running down individual folks at a trade show to sell a few lousy cases of your product?
Yeah, now I’m wondering who is going to be next too.
Oh and watch this, it’s funny…
No not THAT camp.
The girls at Grown In My Heart have put together a book about cultural enrichment for adoptees, if they like it or not.
Here’s the official announcement..
Traditionally, a culture camp brings together adopted children from around the world so they can share their experiences with each other. Some camps offer sleep away camp settings while others only offer day camps.
Children and adults learn about culture, history, adoption heritage, and intolerance and character. Most culture camps enrich cultural literacy include physical activities, world music and crafts. By nature they accommodate different learning styles.
But what happens when your children are just too young to attend a culture camp and are seriously interested in learning about their culture or making friends from the same region or orphanage?
Perhaps your child yearns to know children who “look like them” because they are the only child in their class with dark skin or Asian eyes. This is still common in today’s society no matter how much we try to pretend it is not.
How do you integrate culture into your children’s lives when they don’t want to have anything to do with it? Do you sneak it in with fantastic cooking? Do you read great literature with them? Or do you make them sit down and learn about their history?
We have just the solution for you. Introducing a new resource for adoptive parents: a Culture Camp for Kids; What to do when they can’t do (or they don’t want to)
This e-Book features countless activities suitable for young children from around the world. Once your focus is determined, it’s time to gather supplies. A trip to the library should yield plenty of books (and we have also supplied a fabulous list in our Literature Section).
Price is only $9.95 and you will receive over 25 crafts, 27 recipes, and 18 games. You will also get links to countless cultural books and coloring pages. The best part? A portion of your purchase will go to NDFH, a special needs orphanage in China.
Click on the Add to Cart to go directly to the purchase site.
It was back when he wasn’t too big a deal. After the Jackson 5 had kind of cooled off and before Michael’s career as a solo artist really took off. It must have been 1974.
My family was on vacation at Disney World, we were staying in the Royal Palace Hotel. Michael and at least some of his brothers were also staying there. We wouls see them by the pool. One evening my sister and I, being bored with the pool, ventured into the game room to see what was going on. This was before video games, so about all there were pinball machines and a Foosball table.
There were a few other kids around. All of us wet from the pool and undoubtedly overstimulated from our day at the theme park. There was one kid who was taller than the rest of us, other than that, he seemed just like the rest of us. Just another kid passing some time in the game room with the other kids. He asked if anybody wanted to play Foosball.
Several of us gathered around and we played a couple of games. Nothing special. I knew who he was. I’d seen him on TV and even had a couple of his records. One kid did ask if he was Michael Jackson, he said yes, and everyone left it at that. I think it was because we were in the realm of kids. You know, away from adults, going by the unspoken, but well understood rules, of kids gathered together. We were playing and that’s all.
After a couple of games, Michael left. He thanked us for playing with him and he was off.
Nothing was said among us kids after he left. We just kept playing Foosball.
Not long after this Michael Jackson would become the pop icon everybody is remembering today. All the fame, all the craziness, an existence beyond the imagining of most of us.
I was only a casual fan of his music. I appreciate good pop, but it’s just not my thing. When I would see him on television, especially in recent years, with all the surgery, all the strangeness, I would wonder what exactly happened. He really was, at least sometimes, very much like a normal person once.
Today I’m remebering the kid I played foosball with. He was alright.
Thought I’d share this with you guys. Very well worth reading.
The National Council for Adoption: Mothers, Money, Marketing, and Madness, Part 1 – DivineCaroline
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Also check out Worst Person In The World…
And this...Free Whores In Missouri
Now why would I post this?
I’ll let you figure it out for yourself.
The New York Post has reported that it cost Madonna 19 million dollars to get the go ahead to adopt Chifundo “Mercy” James.
19 million dollars.
Do you know what you can get for 19 million dollars?
1900 diamond encrusted pointy bras from Harry Winston
3,800,000 bottles of Miss Clairol Sunny Blonde
1,900,000 books about Kaballah from Amazon
190,000 limo rides with full entourage and security
12,666 nights at the Grosvenor House in Dubai
8,236,452 “special” spa treatments for “exhaustion”
289,193 chef’s table dinners at Ramsey’s in London
12,360,458 airings of your new record on corporate radio stations
63,333 Crocodile Hermes Birkin hand bags
1 major role in a motion picture released by a name studio, if your name is Madonna.
So nobody tell me that Madge didn’t give up a great deal for her new adopted daughter. She did. Just look at the above list. That money could have kept her going for at least 6 months. I sure hope that little Mercy understands the lengths her new mother went to.
As an adoptee I sure wouldn’t want to have that kind of pressure. Can you imagine knowing that you were worth the grand total of the contests of your mother’s closet? That your mother could have loosed the ultimate evil of another starring film role on the world, but adopted you instead?
I wonder how Mercy will feel one day when she is aware of this? Will she be grateful? Will she take the humanitarian view and know that she at least saved the public from 19 million dollars worth of her mother’s talent? Will this occur to her at all?
Considering that children of celebrities have what seems to be about a 30% chance of turning out anything like normal, adopted or not. I’m hoping that she will decide to honor her own adoption by spending an amount equivalent to the cost of her adoption establishing a breed of glow in the dark llamas to make her designer line of sweaters out of. It would make about as much sense as anything in her life has to this point.
Most adoptees have been asked, always indelicately, how much they cost. It just seems to be something that comes up when you find yourself discussing adoption with some idiot. I didn’t cost much. I’m from the days when paperwork was kept to a minimum and babies didn’t cost much. I think I came in around the $300 dollar mark. Heck they were practically giving babies away.
Things have changed since then. I read somewhere that the average cost of an adoption is around $30,000 these days. Imagine telling someone that.
Now imgaine this…
The New York Post has reported that it cost Madonna 19 million dollars to get the go ahead to adopt Chifundo “Mercy” James.
19 million dollars.
Do you know what you can get for 19 million dollars?
1900 diamond encrusted pointy bras from Harry Winston
3,800,000 bottles of Miss Clairol Sunny Blonde
1,900,000 books about Kaballah from Amazon
190,000 limo rides with full entourage and security
12,666 nights at the Grosvenor House in Dubai
8,236,452 “special” spa treatments for “exhaustion”
289,193 chef’s table dinners at Ramsey’s in London
12,360,458 airings of your new record on corporate radio stations
63,333 Crocodile Hermes Birkin hand bags
1 major role in a motion picture released by a name studio, if your name is Madonna.
So nobody tell me that Madge didn’t give up a great deal for her new adopted daughter. She did. Just look at the above list. That money could have kept her going for at least 6 months. I sure hope that little Mercy understands the lengths her new mother went to.
As an adoptee I sure wouldn’t want to have that kind of pressure. Can you imagine knowing that you were worth the grand total of the contests of your mother’s closet? That your mother could have loosed the ultimate evil of another starring film role on the world, but adopted you instead?
I wonder how Mercy will feel one day when she is aware of this? Will she be grateful? Or will she just pull another bottle of Cristol out of her Hermes Birkin and belch when asked? Will she take the humanitarian view and know that she at least saved the public from 19 million dollars worth of her mother’s talent? Will this occur to her at all?
Considering that children of celebrities have what seems to be about a 30% chance of turning out anything like normal, adopted or not. I’m hoping that she will decide to honor her own adoption by spending an amount equivalent to the cost of her adoption establishing a breed of glow in the dark llamas to make her designer line of sweaters out of. It would make about as much sense as anything in her life has to this point.
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Here I’ve gone and wandered off again. For those of you who know me, I’m sure you are not surprised. If you want to read about my further adventures in Adopteeland you can check me out here.
Yeah, yeah, I know, thew place is lousy with adoptive parents. Relax, Claudia is over there too. Please direct all complaints to the comments section where they will be ignored.
I’ll still be here. Let’s face it, there are just somethings that I can’t really say anywhere else.
Like this…
Somebody told me that I didn’t look like an adoptee the other day.
What the heck is an adoptee supposed to look like?
I have a feeling I know.
I think I don’t look like an adoptee because I’m much too tall. We are supposed to be big eyed waifs looking up to the world for help. Like this…
Well we are not supposed to be so furry, but you get it.
You will notice that the kitten isn’t very tall and could easily be trod upon.
Once you look like it might be a problem to squash, you no longer look like an adoptee.
I’m thinking about that one.
Monday was a bad day. I lost my faithful Buster Cat, drove over 400 miles, and saw a really sucky concert. I don’t want to repeat anything like that again, ever.
It all started a week ago Tuesday. My big Buster Cat spent the day under the bed. We didn’t think too much about it. It had stormed that day and even at almost 30 libs., he was frightened by thunder, and the vacuum cleaner. these were fears he shared with his mother Rochelle, who was 5 lbs. of badass when it came to anything but thunder and vacuum cleaners.
I did have a cat once who showed no fear of the Hoover, she would to the awe 0f the other cats even take a swipe at the machine when you came too close. for this she was considered a minor Goddess in the cat world.
But back to Buster, he wasn’t an adoptee. He was an orphan, but not an adoptee. His dad didn’t stick around and his mother being a sesible cat deposited herself on our doorstep ready to be an indoor cat when she found out that she was pregnant. So Buster Cat knew the joy of biological attachment. Anyway, we didn’t get concerned until he didn’t come out from under the bad the next day.
I got Buster to the local vet, who in all his wisdom, declared that he was sick, gave him some pink stuff, and left on vacation for a week. This was about what I expected, that seems to be what he always does. Usually the pink stuff helps. It didn’t this time.
By last Friday we knew we had to do something. So we took him to a new vet, about 20 miles away, that did run some tests and gave him a new prescription. Buster got worse over the weekend. I made him an appointment for Monday. I was pretty sure I knew what was going to happen.
There just wasn’t anymore to do for Buster. He had an autoimmune disease the wasn’t any treatment for. He was suffering. I said my goodbyes. I took him home in a box.
We buried him beside his mother.
I miss him. Buster was always calm in the storm that is my house full 4 of cats. He was the one that always slept with us and was there with us for morning coffee. He was my sense of home. I always thought of Buster beside me purring when I was too long at work, or too far away from home. He was wise and calm and my center. I don’t now what I’ll do without him.
He was the skinniest runtyest kitten in that litter. All legs and tail. We told him that he was going to have to do a lot of growing if he was going to fit in all those stripes. He did. He was a huge cat, and not at all heavy until the last couple of years. At his best, he weighed 25 lbs. and was hard as a brick. People would be amazed when they saw him. They would even bring people over to see him. Buster took this in stride, more loving for him, seemed to be his attitude.
Now I have 3 cats.
I don’t know what I’ll do without my Buster Cat.
..I don’t feel adopted at all.
I do have a life. All of my days aren’t spent in front of the computer fulfilling the role of adoptee angst referee. For instance, right now I have over 300 heirloom tomato seedlings on my sunporch just waiting for the soil to warm enough to be planted. Mortgage Lifter, Pantano Romanesco, Pineapple, Principe Borghese, Cour Di Bue, etc.
I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do with 300 tomato plants. I have enough room in my garden for maybe 100 of them. I may have to set up with a sign at my town’s only stop light and sell them. Let’s see, if I can get a dollar a piece for them that makes how many Bloody Marys? I’ve always figured my garage sale profits in Margaritas, so I’m using Bloody Marys in this situation.
Oh course my gardening may not be as enjoyable as I had anticipated, my neighbor has obtained a pack of foxhouds. Baying, cat chasing, foxhounds. My neighbor seems to as unaware of leash laws as his dogs are the subtle differences between a cat and a fox. The scene in my yard over the last week has consisted of hearing a disturbance, seeing the cat run by, followed by the pack of fox hounds, followed by every other stray dog in the county. This display followed by my husband, whatever he may be up to, doing a fairly good impression of The Old Man in A Christmas Story. ”Damn Bumpes’ dogs!” It begs a yakkity sax soundtrack.
Efforts to contain the dogs are underway. In an ideal scenario they would decide it would be much more fun to chase my neat freak neighbor around (you know the one who powerwashes his roof and vacuums his yard) but I’m doubting this pack of hounds is trainable. Pity.
And then there’s the whole pepper situation…..but that’s another post.
I’m achy, tired, and think I have a fever. I feel like whining. Whine, whine, and whine.
Thank you for your understanding.
