Hairdresser and Me

I don't seem to be physically appealing to too many people.

Wait. Stop. Let me rephrase that.

I am totally clueless about how physically appealing I might or might not be to most people. I'm not fishing for compliments, though it really sounds like it right now.

Occasionally it's glaringly obvious, though. For instance when I got my haircut and my "stylist" was sweeping up, he said, "What should I do with all this hair? Maybe I should sell it. Maybe I should make a Philipp doll."

And I said, "Yeah, like a voodoo doll. I'll be walking along and, OW! Who did that?"

He laughed and then he stopped laughing and then he gave me a once over and laughed in a different way.

Let me just say it made me miss living in San Francisco.

cohohold

I didn't often feel sorry for cops, only having experienced them as the people who hand out speeding and parking tickets. But there's one who is patrolling the playground across the street and, man, I was freezing my toesies and fingersies (and, yes, gonads) while watching the kids play.

The cop had been there a while and was bound to be there longer. He was of substantial girth, so I can only imagine how huge is when fully thawed.

Granny Fleece Nose Shock

That's the note on my desk reminding me to write something about the gift that keeps on giving.

Julie got a fleece jacket from my mom for Xmas and likes to wear it around the house to keep warm.

This is well and good, except when I try to kiss her: invariably it results in a quick zap between the tips of our noses.

Interpretation A: My mom has hatched an evil long-distance plan to interfere with our kissing.

or

Interpretation B: It's not the fleece. We've still got the spark, baby!

(I prefer B)

The holiday

Julie reported that Conrad thought MLK was actually a king. And, when she told him MLK wasn't, Coco said that he acted liked one because he wanted things to be better for his people.

Just shows that he hasn't learned about the American Revolution yet. Or French or Russian or ...

But still, sweet.

On a different note, I'd never given much thought to Juniors - in the sense of sons burdened by (or blessed with) the name of their father - until I read Roy Blount, (surprise, surprise) jr.

I think I remember him making a point about a higher percentage of Juniors becoming something (president, maybe?) than the percentage of the independently named population. Sounds fair. Bit of an Oedipal challenge going on in the naming process, I guess. One step short of calling a son "Sue" (like that Shel Silverstein - and Johnny Cash, yes - song).

But with today's holiday the whole thing flips the whole JFK / JFK jr. thing on the head, because we tend to celebrate the father whom we don't actually know by being too lazy to append the whatever-it's-called: suffix, postnymic, diminuator, take your pick (or look it up and tell me in the comments).

Happy MLK, jr. Day.

Fun with first grade dictation

Coco has dictation homework.

I've noticed lately that the sentences sound like some Cold War spy code, and we've started reading them like that.

It's my free parenting tip to you. Makes it more exciting, especially if you make your kid write it like it's a secret and you keep looking furtively over your shoulders as you're whispering the sentences.

For example (these are from his homework):

The kids will nap on the cot. I repeat: on the cot.

or

The shells are red. I repeat: The SHELLS are red.

or

The dogs have been fed. The DOGS have been FED.

And yesterday I added the flourish that, when I see him crossing out a word, I jump up and shout, "Abort! Abort!" and run away.

Ah, good times.

Daddy's weird songs

I have so many soft spots for so many things, I feel like an old banana, ready to be mashed up and baked into Daddy-bread.

One of my many soft spots if for witty, yet maudlin country songs like "The Last Word in Lonesome is Me."

Another is this one:

I was playing it on the guitar tonight but was struggling to remember the second verse, so I went through the beginning a few times to see if I could get the hang of it, and after the second time, Madge started singing along. And believe me, it's strange to hear your daughter sing, "It was always to easy to find an unhappy woman till I started looking for mine."

I asked her if she knew what she was singing and I think she said something about there being a lot of unhappy women, but you can't find them or some such, it didn't make much sense to me. But, then again, the actual lyrics and the explanation I gave (which is clearer in the second verse) didn't make much sense to her. Luckily.

I drove to the park

Lord I searched all the bars

where I made out with love too many times

It was always to easy to find an unhappy woman

Till I started looking for mine.

Some beer-drinking devil

is holding my angel*

and I know what he'll do if he's my kind.

It was always so easy to find an unhappy woman

Till I started looking for mine.

Her note on the door

said, "I warned you before

"what I'd do if you cheated one more time."

It was always so easy to find an unhappy woman

till I started looking for mine.

Some beer-drinking devil

is holding my angel

and I know what he'll do if he's my kind.

It was always so easy to find an unhappy woman

till I started looking for mine.

*At this point Coco said, "Ha-ha. Get it? Devil - angel. Like the two figures on your shoulders." Works for me.

Zing! White(r) Teeth!

This New York househusband has the secret.

Go to your dentist. When she asks if you have any concerns, tell her that you don't really, but you wouldn't mind having whiter teeth.

Then wait.

At some point she will say that their dental office is trying out different bleaches and you seem to be a good test subject.

(I forgot to mention that you might get indirectly insulted about your yellow teeth along the way.)

Say, "Okay," and forget about it.

At the next cleaning she'll tell you they're ready with the bleaches and you can come in the next day if that works for you.

(I also forgot to mention that it involves bleaching half your teeth with one brand and the other half with another, so there's a potential of coming out of it looking like you're wearing a mouth guard of some team whose colors are off-white and off-off-white.)

Bring your iPod, doze off in a chair with your mouth held open for two hours, and tadaaah!

(I also forgot to mention that she will say some things about potential temporary chemical burns on your gums in a very offhand way, making the initial sitting still period a little difficult.)

And you're done! Total cost: two subway rides and a handshake.

I went from an A3 to a B1. (Does that sound right? It's what I remember, anyway. Does that mean anything to anyone? Those were the colors of teeth that she thought matched mine.)

But if I'd been told beforehand that I'd have to sip my coffee or tea through a straw because they are sensitive to staining for a while, I'm not so sure I'd have agreed.

If I seem extra grumpy, it might be the *&%$!! caffeine withdrawal.

ripped off again

I don't know what to do now. We're not going to make another kid, but neither of our kids lost a first tooth in our presence.

Madge lost hers in first grade during class and so did Coco, today.

Lithp theathon hath commenthed.