What Netflix has Done to Me, or The Summer without Satellite

As an adult, I’ve never been much of a TV watcher.  Sure, I like to find something to entertain myself while I’m eating lunch, but in general I feel like watching TV is too unproductive.  When I did watch a program, I usually found myself on the edge of my seat, but not because the show was suspenseful.  No, I was waiting for the next commercial, when I would hop up and commence a hyper-speed cleaning session in the living room.  Why?  Because watching commercials is such a big fat waste of time, even worse than watching the shows themselves.  If I wasn’t doing commercial cleaning, I was busy in some other way.  I would cross-stitch during comedies, paint my nails during the news, or blog during ball games.

This makes me sound like I’ve got adult ADHD, doesn’t it?

No, the truth is just that I hadn’t found much that made me feel it was worth wasting my time for.  Even during all those DVR’d episodes of Once Upon a Time, I held my finger on the fast forward button in anticipation of the ads.

Then we decided to suspend our satellite service for the summer.  (There’s a tongue twister for you!).  The kids were mostly watching Netflix and  the satellite channels were only showing reruns for the billionth time, so why pay the $100+ per month?

Even though we’d had Netflix for forever, I never bothered clicking over to it and using it.  Why?  Well, because I’m not much of a TV person, right?  But that is swiftly changing.  My next book is going to involve time travel, so I decided I needed to watch shows and movies that revolved around that theme as well.  First up was Continuum.  I’d never even heard of the show, but it turns out that a story about a policewoman who accidentally travels back in time and has to use her knowledge of history to prevent crimes makes for a darn good story.  There were a few good movies, some other series that I tried out and got bored with.

Then.  Came.  Doctor Who.

I know, I know.  How on earth could I not have watched this show before?  How did I not check into this fantastic series earlier in my life?  How can I not have been a Whovian all this time?

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Well, I don’t know.  Perhaps it’s because I spent my childhood as a Trekkie (not convention-level Trekkie, just enjoyed the show and had a huge crush on Will Wheaton) and thought I was done with sci-fi for awhile.  Perhaps I figured I could never love any time travel story that didn’t start with the words “Back to the Future” (still huge on those movies, by the way).  Perhaps I should just claim ignorance.

But it’s all changed now.  I’m only in the second season, but I’m completely hooked.  My latest fish is named The Doctor.  I have a huge crush on a TARDIS teapot I found at Barnes and Noble.  I have a feeling this is only the beginning…

And it’s all your fault Netflix!

(Oh, crap.  Now I found Sherlock.  And Torchwood.)

What’s your favorite thing to watch on Netflix?

 

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Shelter Snobs, or The Many Ways to Save a Life

 

Adopting a pet from a shelter is the popular thing to do these days.  I’m not saying that makes it a bad thing, not by any means, but it’s becoming compulsory.

“Hey, check out this picture of our new dog!” is immediately met with “Did you get him from a shelter?”

They say that adopting from a shelter saves the lives of two animals:  the one you adopted and the one that can take his/her place at the shelter.  There’s no denying that logic, but it seems that people are becoming so skewed towards shelters that they don’t realize there are numerous ways to save an animal.  The brief conversation cited above is one I’ve had before, and it’s amazing how hateful people can get when they ask if your animal is from a shelter.  I understand the passion, folks, I really do, but you don’t have to make me feel like I did the wrong thing because my pet didn’t come from a rescue.

Nermal was found trying to cross four lanes of rush hour traffic when she was only three weeks old.

Porkchop was left at a foreclosed home in an outdoor pen so covered in weeds it was barely visible.

Porkchop was left at a foreclosed home in an outdoor pen so covered in weeds it was barely visible.

Annie was shuffled through five different homes before she was four months old, a series of people who didn't want her because she wasn't the 'right kind' of dog or who couldn't keep her.  I don't have her original Craigslist photo anymore, but she looked absolutely terrified and miserable.

Annie was shuffled through five different homes before she was four months old, a series of people who didn’t want her because she wasn’t the ‘right kind’ of dog or who couldn’t keep her. I don’t have her original Craigslist photo anymore, but she looked absolutely terrified and miserable.

You can’t tell me these animals weren’t rescued.  When we found them they were frightened, undernourished, and homeless.  I shouldn’t have to justify having them simply because they didn’t spend any time at a shelter.

There are many ways to save a life.

 

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Home, a new short story by Ashley O’Melia

I’m very pleased to announce that my short story “Home” is featured on The Penmen Review today.  Please go take a peek and let me know what you think!

http://penmenreview.com/ashleyomelia/

This story was inspired by very true events.  I have to think my dear sweet Porkchop, without whom this story and this opportunity would not have been possible.

 

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Why Senior Shelter Dogs Piss Me Off

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This is Leo. He’s eleven years old and very much feeling his age. He has arthritis so bad that you can hear his hips cracking and popping when he walks. He only has three legs, so when you throw in the fact that we have hardwood floors the poor guy moves at a pretty tortoiselike pace. The other day he lost his balance and fell off the porch into the gladiolas (he was fine). Yesterday evening he fell out of the front door and face planted into the concrete porch (again, he was fine).  He has horrible skin allergies that make him greasy and stinky. I have to lift him in and out of the bathtub when it’s time for a wash.  Leo can’t stay in the same room with my other dog, Porkchop, because they are both extremely territorial. He’s going deaf, so he randomly barks at the cats when they walk through his room and scare him.  Or, we think sometimes he’s barking at his own foot.  He’s old; he’s allowed to do that.

Recently, Leo had to have surgery. He’s at that point in his life where he’s covered in tumors. Most of them really don’t bother him, but he developed one that was hanging off his lip. The vet determined he was healthy enough to undergo surgery and removed the one from his lip, one by his ear, and one from his leg while I waited. Half an hour and several hundred dollars later I hefted all 54 pounds of him into the back of my Subaru and headed home.

There is an amazing amount of room back here!  (Don't judge me on my dirty car, just look at his cute tractor bandage instead. :) )

There is an amazing amount of room back here! (Don’t judge me on my dirty car, just look at his cute tractor bandage instead. 🙂 )

I had to give him his antibiotic every day (as well as his allergy pill and arthritis medicine), wrapped in a slice of American cheese. I checked over his stitches on a constant basis to make sure he wasn’t picking them open.  I ran to PetCo and got him this super cool (and expensive) collar to help keep him from scratching at his wounds, and apparently to humiliate him.   I once woke up in the middle of the night with this panicky feeling that I just had to check on him (once more, he was fine).  In short, I fussed.

I must be the meanest dog mommy ever to make him wear this awful thing.

I must be the meanest dog mommy ever to make him wear this awful thing.

Are you exhausted yet?  Cause I’m pretty worn out just thinking about it, and I live it. I absolutely adore my animals, but I’ll still admit that they wear me out sometimes.

But you know what? I’m not going to give them up. I’m not going to dump Leo off at some shelter and tell them I “just can’t take care of him anymore.” He might take up lot of my time, but he needs us. He needs to have my youngest daughter curl up in his bed with him even though he stinks. He needs to know that once the kids have gone to bed, I’ll let his grumpy butt come into the living room and lay in front of the couch while I watch reruns of Doctor Who (he’s not allowed on the couch for safety purposes; see above notes about falling all the time). He needs someone to tell him he’s a good boy just for being there, and to give him a treat just because.

He wouldn’t get that in a shelter. We have some great shelters here in Southern Illinois, and they do their best, but there just isn’t enough time for all that.  How could there be?

So if you’re one of those people that “just can’t handle” your dog when he gets old, don’t be surprised if I tell you just what I think about you.

He’s been part of your family since puppyhood. He’s guarded your house, laid his head on your lap when you were sad, and been a playmate to your children. He not only needs love, but deserves it.

Leo with one of his favorite girls!

Leo with one of his favorite girls!

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Tempted by the Re-read…Lev Grossman and the Chronicles of Narnia

Generally speaking, I’m not a re-reader.  Yes, I did read Treasure Island somewhere around three times in junior high, but that was then.  There are just too many books out there that I haven’t read yet.  I love to go to the library and wander through the aisles until a book jumps out and begs me to read it.  I love the smell of an old, musty book that has been in the library for thirty years and the brand-new ink-and-paper smell of a fresh book from the bookstore.

Yesterday I finished reading The Magicians by Lev Grossman.  It follows the story of Quentin, a young man who feels a bit lost in life and is about to enter college.  Even though he ends up stumbling upon a college for magicians, he still finds himself dreaming of Fillory, a world he read about as a child.  Basically, Fillory is Narnia.  Grossman changed the names to protect the innocent, but it’s all there.  Instead of a lion there are two rams, the Watcherwoman takes the place of the White Witch, and there are fantastical creatures galore.  The young boy in the books even gets to Fillory through an old grandfather clock, which is just a bit reminiscent of the wardrobe.  While I can’t say that The Magicians was my favorite book, it was good.  The characters were very well fleshed out, the imagery was great, and I wanted to see what happened.

Take a peek at my personal library, won't you?

Take a peek at my personal library, won’t you?

There was just one problem:  I finished it, and I didn’t have anything else to read.

This isn’t a problem that I’m usually faced with, since I usually have something lurking around the house that I’m interested in.  There are a few books on the shelf that I haven’t read yet so I scanned through them, but they just didn’t appeal.  What I did have on the shelf was The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis.

I’ve read them before.  I loved them.  Several times I’ve thought about re-reading them but have always resisted.  Reading about the pseudo-Narnia that Lev Grossman created made me want to re-read them even more.

I went to bed without deciding.  Today, when I’m done with writing, working, cooking, cleaning, and the general chaos of life, it will come down to the final choice:  Narnia or the library?

Which would you choose?

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Summer Writing…or Lack Thereof

Hello.  My name is Ashley O’Melia, and it has been at least three weeks since my last writing session.  You know why?  Summer break.  Oh, it isn’t a break for me, not by a long shot.  No, summer break means my kids are home all the time to ask for snacks, fight with each other, and basically keep me thoroughly distracted.

Don’t get me wrong.  I love my kids and I love spending time with them.  Cereal in the living room while we have a My Little Pony marathon on a Wednesday morning?  Well, who could resist that?  Spontaneously deciding to bake chocolate chip cookies on a Thursday afternoon?  Heck yeah!  But all of this means that my writing schedule has been thoroughly, utterly blown off course.  And I NEED a schedule.

So after far too many days of floating along and promising myself I would do it tomorrow, I finally sat down at my computer this afternoon to write.  I edited the first chapter of my most recent novel.  I hated it.  I attempted to write a funny and poignant blog post.  It was humorless and pointless.  I did some freewriting.  I usually do this on my laptop because my brain can’t keep up with my typing speed.  I didn’t even save it.

So here’s to another writing session tomorrow (hopefully).  Here’s to finding the time to take for myself and write all the horrific drivel possible in the space of an hour, just to get it out of my system and dig back down to the good stuff.  Here’s to that moment when my brain says, “Oh, so THAT’S what you wanted me to do? Okay, cool.”  Here’s to recognizing and appreciating that moment when it happens, whether I’m at my desk, squashed under a pile of children on the couch, or hiding in the basement.  Here’s to summer writing.

Portrait of romantic young woman writing in a diary lying down over the grass. Relax outdoor time concept.

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Why Smartphones and Tablets Aren’t as Antisocial as We Think (or at least they don’t have to be)

My daughters, whose birthdays are only a couple of days apart, both got tablets this year as their gift from us. I worried about this, as we stood in the desolation of a middle-of –the-week Best Buy. A blue shirt couldn’t be seen for miles in the sea of sober grey displays of electronics, so I had plenty of time to contemplate the decision.

Was the price right?

How were the reviews?

Are my kids ready for tablets of their own?

What will I do when they shut themselves in their room and never wish to snuggle with me again in preference for their new electronic lives?

But we bought them anyway. The girls were thrilled, of course. After putting every parental block imaginable in place, I waited for the mind-numbing solitude of personal electronic devices to take over my house. I waited for the realization that I hadn’t seen my kids all weekend because they had been blissfully enveloped in the world of My Talking Tom, Subway Surf, and Agent Alice.

I know what you’re thinking. Just tell them they have a certain amount of time on the tablet, and that’s that. Yes, I can do that. Yes, I will and I have done that with all sorts of electronic entertainment, such as their Nintendo DS’s and television. But that’s not my point. Have you seen those pictures of a couple out at a restaurant, each of them on their smart phones and not talking to each other? That’s the kind of lifestyle I fear for my children: one where they are so involved in their screen time that they forget about face time. The time limits I set are only going to apply while they’re under my roof, after all.

Here’s what really happened: Once I had their tablets all set up and ready to go for them, I found myself in the middle of the couch between two girls. They were each on their own tablet, but they were doing something unexpected: continuing to interact with each other and with me! They talked to each other about the games they were playing. My youngest had (with my permission) downloaded a coloring app and wanted me to play it with her. My oldest talked to me in detail about the mystery she was solving on Agent Alice, and asked me to help her find clues. In short, we were spending just as much quality time together as we ever have.

Tablets and smart phones don’t have to be as isolating as we often think. The incident with my daughters made me think about how my husband and I interact around personal devices. Imagine its Friday night. He’s on his iPad, and I’m (most likely) reading. Sounds like two boring parents who have nothing better to do and nothing to do with each other, right? Wrong. He’ll be watching YouTube and sharing his favorite videos with me, or shopping for campers on Craiglist and telling me about them. Even though I’ve been called ‘inaccessible’ while I’m reading before, he knows that he can stop me any time he wants to because I’m more than happy to step back out of the fictional world to spend some quality time with him.

In short, smart phones and tablets (and anything else) are what you make them out to be. You can use them to keep yourself separate from the world, or they can be a whole new conversation starter.

happy mother holding her child

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The True Anti-Feminism in the Meghan Trainor Debate

Have you seen Meghan Trainor’s new video yet?  “Dear Future Husband” borrows heavily (and successfully) from Dion’s 1961 hit “Runaround Sue,” creating a super-catchy number that you won’t be able to get out of your head.  Many have criticized both the song and the video for being anti-feminist.  Simply google the title and you’ll find plenty of articles slamming the singer for setting women back several generations.  Unfortunately, these critics are spending so much time being defensive that they’re missing out on what has the potential to be a great girl power song.

Let’s address the lyrics first, shall we?  Radical feminists have latched onto lines such as “Don’t forget the flowers every anniversary” and “Buy me a ring.”  But what this group isn’t doing is taking these phrases in context.  Snatching at these phrases alone, out in the cold without the rest of the verse, is unfair and short-sighted.  Meghan starts right off with telling her potential man just exactly what he can and can’t expect from her:

You’ve got that 9 to 5

but baby so do I

So don’t be thinking I’ll be home and making apple pies

I never learned to cook

but I can write a hook.

I think the message is pretty clear here.  Meghan is stating that her job is just as important as her man’s.  She yanks herself even further up the scale of importance when she sings “You know I’m never wrong, why disagree?”  You’re seriously going to tell me this is anti-feminist?  She even tells the guy that “We’ll never see your family more than mine.”  She is wearing the pants in this relationship and making sure he knows it.  If anything, Trainor is a feminazi.

As for the video itself, the complaint I’ve seen the most is that Meghan is seen scrubbing the floor.  Gasp!  How dreadful!  Everybody knows that feminists don’t want to have clean floors!  Okay, okay, I know that’s not what they’re getting at.  It’s the idea that a woman should be home and scrubbing the floor.  It’s the idea that it’s supposed to look sexy while she’s rolling around on the bubbly floor.  But find me a music video that doesn’t have some sort of sex-sells element in it.  Besides, are you going to tell me you wouldn’t enjoy it if a man was scrubbing your floor?  Have you not seen those Porn for Women calendars, full of men cleaning the house?

Again, we need to look at the entire picture, not just the part that serves your particular point of view.  Yes, she’s making pies, but did you notice that they’re all burnt? Let’s pretend she’s doing a good job cooking and cleaning that house.  It seems to me like a true feminist would believe that a woman has the right to choose to be a housewife (can I even use the h-word anymore?) if she wants to.  The guys she dates go to great lengths to impress her, but the one she’s finally happy with shows up at her door with a take-out pizza.  Sure, she ‘pouts at the camera,’ but if this is something that offends you then you shouldn’t ever watch any music video by any artist.  She’s wearing tight-fitting, sexy clothes…But what is she supposed to wear?  Must she don a t-shirt and sweatpants to suit the feminist agenda?  Or is she not allowed to show that a curvy woman looks just as awesome as a skinny one?

To call Meghan Trainor anti-feminist is to categorize nearly all female singers.  Those of you who believe she’s a detriment to the women’s movement might want to analyze what’s really going on in the world around you.  Taking arbitrary stabs at another woman’s artwork without considering the entire thing is just as shameful and discriminatory as anything you have accused her of.

 

 

 

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Dear Novel-in-Progress

Dear Novel-in-Progress,

I was thinking about you last night while I did the laundry, ate a snack cake, and watched a M*A*S*H marathon.  I was thinking about how I should be working on you, but that I didn’t want to.  I was thinking about how the last several times I sat down to work on you, I was so darn tired that I fell asleep over my keyboard.  I hadn’t slept much, but part of me was worried that it was you, not me.

I was thinking about how hypocritical you are.  Just when I start to get really worried that you’re super boring and could never be a good sequel, I tell a trusted friend about your plot and they tell me how exciting you are.  I should be happy about this, but I feel betrayed.  I mean, why do you have to wait until there’s someone else in the room to let your beauty shine forth?  Don’t I count?  The one who created you?  Or is this one on me?

I was thinking about you this morning over breakfast.  I have this horrible tendency to fall asleep over a good novel after the kids get on the school bus.  The house is so quiet, and is so perfect for writing…or for catching up on sleep.  I was thinking that today would be just like any other.  I would sit down, read the last few paragraphs, and either fall asleep or just get angry.  Angry at the idea that maybe I’m not going to get this done after all.

I’m thinking about you right now, and how happy I am with you.  (Who’s hypocritical now,  you ask?)  The hour I set aside in the mornings just to spend time with you absolutely flew by.  My characters made progress.  And they weren’t boring.  They were exciting!  They did things that I hadn’t planned out for them when I’d laid out your outline lo these many months ago.

Sometimes it’s you, sometimes it’s me.  Okay, it’s probably mostly me.  But let’s have mornings like this more often.

Love and kisses,

Ashley

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Snow Day…I Mean, Week

“Are you ready for the kids to go back to school?” the cashier asks me.  I know she’s just doing her job, making small talk, but as my three kids swarm around the cart, two of them arguing about god-knows-what-this-time, I reply “Yes!” with enough enthusiasm that it embarrasses me.

You see, there has been a much larger winter storm around here than we normally get, and the kids have been out of school for an entire week.  It goes like this:

Monday:

It’s President’s Day, and the kids are out of school! Yay!  I still need to try to get some work done, but I’ll at least be able to snuggle with them on the couch while I write, and then take them out to play in the snow later.

Tuesday:

Neat, the kids have another day off! I will cherish this one just as much as I did yesterday!  After all, the school will surely not be closed for a third day in a row.  Who wants to play Life?  And build a snowman?

This is Mr. Fuzzy!  Yeah, we don't have the greatest snowman-building snow.

This is Mr. Fuzzy! Yeah, we don’t have the greatest snowman-building snow.

Wednesday:

Okay, I’ve seriously got to get some work done.  Working from home is awesome,  except that nobody seems to realize you actually have to work.  I’ve relented to far too much video game time already, and they are still bored.  I knew when I became a parent that it was my job to keep them clothed and fed, but why is it my job to keep them constantly entertained?  Somehow, they’ve decided it’s too cold to play in the snow all of a sudden.

We get the automated call that school is out again tomorrow.  I groan audibly, not even bothering to hide it from the kids.

Thursday:

As soon as breakfast is over, the girls are whining (again) about how bored they are.  I respond by shipping them off to their room.  I have a paper and a presentation to do that I’ve been trying to get done all week.  Fortunately, the girls share a room and LOVE to build forts.  I don’t care if they use every single blanket they own (which they do, and it’s a considerable amount) and build a castle out of it, as long as I get this done!  My stepson has never been under the illusion that I’m cool, so he’s perfectly content to spend some time alone in his room.  By 2 pm, both my paper and my presentation are completed.  We celebrate with a trip to the library.

“You probably have school tomorrow,” I tell the kids on the way home from the library.  “It’s already four and they haven’t said they’re closed yet.”  They whine and moan, but I’m not really sure how I feel.

At seven, my phone rings.  I hit the speaker button so the kids can hear the robot lady’s voice say, “There will be no school tomorrow.”  They jump of the couch, shouting and dancing.  I smile a little.

Friday:

I take the day off.  We spend the morning watching TV and playing board games.  When the girls leave to go to their dad’s for the weekend, the house feels so empty I don’t know what to do with myself.  I sprinkle some salt on the sidewalk and wish for more snow.

Not my car, but it may as well have been!

Not my car, but it may as well have been!

 

 

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