Ah, the smell of spilled and burning blueberry juice all over the oven floor. . . . must be the day before Thanksgiving.

But much more important that that, the new Carnival of Education is up, over at NYC Educator, and for the first time in two weeks, I’ve been invited to dinner! Thank you. I was beginning to feel as though the cool kids at the popular table didn’t want me to sit with them at lunch any more. Not that they ever did when I was a kid, either. . . .

But do such things really matter, now that I’m old grown up? Surprisingly, yes, they still do. When does it stop? Enquiring minds want to know. And quickly, before all of the real news mags go belly up.

Although, when I stop and think that the vast majority of the “cool kids” got knocked up in their teens, arrested, dropped out, are fair regular customers at the liquor store, are featured semi-weekly in the newspaper under ‘domestic violence,’ and were still just as creepy and cliquy and full of themselves as they ever were at the first class reunion I attended, which was also the last class reunion I attended, maybe those kids weren’t really the ‘cool kids’ after all. Maybe it was those other tables that were the cool tables, all the time.

Yup.

And now, back to the kitchen. The oven should have cooled down enough, by now, that I can get down on my hands and knees and start scraping the burned blueberry juice off the bottom of the oven.

I apologize for the image I may have tatooed on your sensibilities.

Mamacita, Scheiss Weekly