nablopomo: or, how i learned to blog daily for a month

i love a good challenge. and every year, as november rolls around, its time for national blog posting month, aka nablopomo. (some people liked blogging daily so much, they decided to create themes for every. single. month that’s a little too hardcore for a free spirit like myself.)

last year, i picked a crazy theme: media mom month. you can read more about these reviews of books and music i loathe or love for kids simply by taking the wayback machine and plugging in november 2007. (kidding.) or, you can simply click here, start at the bottom, and work your way through..

this year, i pondered and pondered: what on Dog’s Green Earth can i write about consistently for a month? i know so many people (3) who are fascinated by the minutae that takes up space in my cranium, but what is something i adore (besides my family) and something i could rant about for 30 days… at least?

and my inspiration came from a least expected place: a recent heated email discussion with my brother larry, AKA the man politically to the right of Atilla the Hun. i don’t remember who started it, though i suspect i was the instigator; i always was, my brother will tell anyone within earshot. you see, my brother is the Dean of All Bad 1970s Music.  no one i know (including myself) has a more encyclopedic knowledge of bad 1970s music.

so there we were, flinging youtube videos back and forth, each song getting worse and worse. and it came to me: write about Blatantly Bad 1970s Music! It will be hard to pick the firm favorites, but someone has to do it.

thus, i’m suspending guilty pleasure mondays this month; probably writing little about the election (unless i achieve nirvana after the election is over); and certainly not telling any tales from Hellboy’s Realm. i’m focusing on the awfullest of the awful.

and i take requests, so bring them on.

so pull on your polyester. we’ll get down. we’ll get funky.

and then we’ll get back up again.

i'd be the counselor on the far right. 1978, and your 1970s opinionated queen.. note the wings in my hair. that's what we called them then, not mullets, children. (thank Dog i had just gotten contacts, or else you'd see the ohmygawd-sized glasses.)