An unfiltered fire hose of flaming condemnation

How I start my day, this plus a bucket of coffee

Jon and I recently discovered the Bryant Park Project on NPR, and I am including his name here even though he is emphatic that I am the target audience for the program, not him, but he says that about all his guilty pleasures, including his fascination with “The Hills” which he will not let me watch without him. Even though all he does is moan throughout the entire show about how IT’S NOT REAL, THIS CAN’T BE REAL, and I’m all, dude, neither is the color of my hair and you still have sex with me, so shut up.

We catch snippets of the Bryant Park Project on the satellite radio in our car as we drive Leta to school in the morning, and then when I get home I download the podcast and listen to the entire thing while I’m working. It’s an incredibly smart and funny radio talk show out of New York City that covers the news, yes, but so much more, and every program is full of the most fascinating interviews and stories. And I think I may be in love with the hosts, Alison and Rachel, and if it’s not love then it’s a really intense crush that makes me all warm. IN MY BRAIN.

A few days ago they talked to two of the writers and editors of the Obama and Clinton Wikipedia pages, and this morning they interviewed the world’s greatest rattlesnake sacker, Jackie Bibby, a man who sounds like he could make a mean pot of okra and probably drinks beer with breakfast, that featured this brilliant exchange:

BPP: “How often have you been bit, Mr. Bibby?”

Mr. Bibby: “Well, I’ve been doing this for 40 years and I’ve been bit eight times seriously enough to require hospitalization.”

BPP: “Do you stop when you’ve been bit, do you just say, I’m out, or do you keep going?”

Mr. Bibby: “One of the worst bites I ever received I received on Saturday and I wouldn’t go to the hospital until after I completed the contest on Sunday… because… I was, uh… I was winning.”

If Mr. Bibby gives religious sermons, I’m going back to church.

Where they found this guy, I don’t know, but next time Leta starts to whine that she can’t clean up her toys because they’re all so heavy, I’m going to go, whatever, I don’t want to hear it, until you jump into a ring with 10 rattlesnakes, lose a finger and then refuse medical help, I just can’t be all that impressed with your dilemma.

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Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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