See?
Madge aligns dolls and outfits, each goes with something predestined.
Coco sees that the farfalline (mini-bowtie-pasta) look like phones and gives one to Bob the Builder and keeps one himself.
They're a great team (Madge and Coco, not Bob).
Monday, March 26, 2007
Oh joy
My dearest Julie alerted me to this bit of news today, which, for my benefit, she phrased in the following way, “Did you hear they’re making a movie of Revolutionary Road?” All the headlines about it seem to focus on DiCaprio and Winslet reuniting for the first time since Titanic – I guess that’s the way to get more readers.
But Julie knows that it’s the other approach that’ll get my attention, as I care more about the novel than about the actors. And, because I do, they seem miscast, at least when measured against the Frank and April Wheeler of my mind.
The book is, well, not the most uplifting. I once made the “mistake” of suggesting it to a book club which I had recently joined, for the simple reason that it is a life-changing book. I neglected to mention that the change isn’t necessarily positive, at least not immediately. The immediate change is to make you cynical and morose at the same time.
Here’s the first sentence. “The final dying sounds of their dress rehearsal left the Laurel Players with nothing to do but stand there, silent and helpless, blinking out over the footlights of an empty auditorium.” In other words, if Shakespeare says all the world’s a stage, Yates says, “Yes. And we’re under-rehearsed amateurs without talent or audience.”
When Julie told me the news, I thought, “How on earth could Hollywood even try to make this into a movie?” But it turns out it’s a BBC production, so there’s hope.
SPOILER AND BAD PUN ALERT
Because Yates doesn’t go for a cliff-hanger ending, he goes for a coat-hanger ending.
But Julie knows that it’s the other approach that’ll get my attention, as I care more about the novel than about the actors. And, because I do, they seem miscast, at least when measured against the Frank and April Wheeler of my mind.
The book is, well, not the most uplifting. I once made the “mistake” of suggesting it to a book club which I had recently joined, for the simple reason that it is a life-changing book. I neglected to mention that the change isn’t necessarily positive, at least not immediately. The immediate change is to make you cynical and morose at the same time.
Here’s the first sentence. “The final dying sounds of their dress rehearsal left the Laurel Players with nothing to do but stand there, silent and helpless, blinking out over the footlights of an empty auditorium.” In other words, if Shakespeare says all the world’s a stage, Yates says, “Yes. And we’re under-rehearsed amateurs without talent or audience.”
When Julie told me the news, I thought, “How on earth could Hollywood even try to make this into a movie?” But it turns out it’s a BBC production, so there’s hope.
SPOILER AND BAD PUN ALERT
Because Yates doesn’t go for a cliff-hanger ending, he goes for a coat-hanger ending.
Equal time
I've been noticing lately that, while Madge likes keeping her toys segregated by type and brand and likes lining them up and organizing them (though not cleaning them up, for some reason), Coco likes to mix and match. So, for example, he might have a Playmobil figure talking to a FisherPrice figure, a possibility which simply wouldn't occur to Madge.
This is something he set up the other day. The toys are of the same kind, but the tableau is not one Madge would put together (or approve of, I fear).
(It also shows that he has some sort of working knowlege of agribusiness.)
Picasso, eat your heart out
Julie is out of town, so there will probably be more posts this week - not only because I'm without a conversational partner but also to keep her up to date with the issue (that's offspring in legal terms, I believe).
While I was cleaning (a little, don't get too excited, Julie - I'll save the cat box for you), I ran across this. A few weeks ago some Picasso paintings went missing in Paris. I don't think this was among them, though.
While I was cleaning (a little, don't get too excited, Julie - I'll save the cat box for you), I ran across this. A few weeks ago some Picasso paintings went missing in Paris. I don't think this was among them, though.
Madge Monday
On Saturday we were choosing movies to rent. Yes, plural, I’m weak. For some reason Madge, who is the one in our family who runs out of the room when eerie music imposes its will on the action, wanted “Haunted Mansion.”
Coco didn’t. In order to convince him, she said, “Coco, it’s from the same producers as ‘Pirates of the Caribbean.’”
To which, of course, he said okay.
What the? A) Where does she get this, and B) What did he think she meant?
Maybe it merely shows that the marketing on packages is aimed at 4-yr-olds, but still.
Coco didn’t. In order to convince him, she said, “Coco, it’s from the same producers as ‘Pirates of the Caribbean.’”
To which, of course, he said okay.
What the? A) Where does she get this, and B) What did he think she meant?
Maybe it merely shows that the marketing on packages is aimed at 4-yr-olds, but still.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Flea market
Trying to get to the playground by Madge's school, we ran into the weekend fleamarket setting up shop.
Of course, they have toy bins, in which you find dismantled discarded McDonald's Happy Meal gimcracks, among other things. Which is why we had this conversation:
Coco (holding thing up to eye): Daddy, what is this?
Me: It's half a binocular, which they're trying to sell you as a telescope.
Coco: Can I have it?
I think if the flea market were actually marketing fleas, that would be a step up.
And no, Julie, I didn't get it for him.
Of course, they have toy bins, in which you find dismantled discarded McDonald's Happy Meal gimcracks, among other things. Which is why we had this conversation:
Coco (holding thing up to eye): Daddy, what is this?
Me: It's half a binocular, which they're trying to sell you as a telescope.
Coco: Can I have it?
I think if the flea market were actually marketing fleas, that would be a step up.
And no, Julie, I didn't get it for him.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Johnson Fables
(Get your minds out of the gutter. Not that Johnson.)
Okay, since I ran out of alphabet, here's a different approach.
My very first blog used Samuel Johnson's first essay, mostly because I figure he was essentially blogging twice a week back then, merely with different technology (and, of course, remuneration). Since he moralizes quite a bit in the essays, I thought I might use him as a starting block or stepping stone or some other metaphor for a mental crutch. Here goes:
No. 1 (Tuesday, 20 March 1750)
“… it is more pleasing to see smoke brightening into flame, than flame sinking into smoke.”
The Smoke and the Flame got stuck, stage right.
Said the Smoke, “No, no. After you. You are the one they want to see, all action, light, and heat.”
To which the Flame replied, “No, no. After you. They truly adore your mystery; the way you keep them guessing is more delightful than an actual fact.”
“Or a factual act.”
“What?”
“You don’t think much, do you?”
“No, but I do much.”
“You think?”
“What?”
“Nothing. Are you going on first or what?”
“Oh, I don’t know…”
Meanwhile, center stage, the Pile of Sticks was taking another bow in front of a slowly exiting audience.
Okay, since I ran out of alphabet, here's a different approach.
My very first blog used Samuel Johnson's first essay, mostly because I figure he was essentially blogging twice a week back then, merely with different technology (and, of course, remuneration). Since he moralizes quite a bit in the essays, I thought I might use him as a starting block or stepping stone or some other metaphor for a mental crutch. Here goes:
No. 1 (Tuesday, 20 March 1750)
“… it is more pleasing to see smoke brightening into flame, than flame sinking into smoke.”
The Smoke and the Flame got stuck, stage right.
Said the Smoke, “No, no. After you. You are the one they want to see, all action, light, and heat.”
To which the Flame replied, “No, no. After you. They truly adore your mystery; the way you keep them guessing is more delightful than an actual fact.”
“Or a factual act.”
“What?”
“You don’t think much, do you?”
“No, but I do much.”
“You think?”
“What?”
“Nothing. Are you going on first or what?”
“Oh, I don’t know…”
Meanwhile, center stage, the Pile of Sticks was taking another bow in front of a slowly exiting audience.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
subbing today
In one of the classes a girl asked me, without irony, I swear, "Hey, mistah, c'n I axe you a question?"
"Sure."
"You like WHAM?"
I have no idea how to take that question. Little does she know that I followed them around when they were still playing small clubs, before they got a big contract and "sold out."
(Also, what's a band like WHAM to kids born in the nineties?)
"Sure."
"You like WHAM?"
I have no idea how to take that question. Little does she know that I followed them around when they were still playing small clubs, before they got a big contract and "sold out."
(Also, what's a band like WHAM to kids born in the nineties?)
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Les Miz in da house
Want to know what's slightly disconcerting?
Having a seven-and-a-half-year old singing, in her brashest Broadway voice,
"DON'T they KNOW they're MAking LOVE to ONE alREAdy DEEEEEEEEAAAAAAD?"
Having a seven-and-a-half-year old singing, in her brashest Broadway voice,
"DON'T they KNOW they're MAking LOVE to ONE alREAdy DEEEEEEEEAAAAAAD?"
Me and Ogden Nash
That darn interview is still bugging me. The line about Ogden Nash was supposed to be self-deprecating, but she cut that part. Let's see what you think.
I remember saying, "I'd like to be the next Ogden Nash, but the Saturday Evening Post isn't around any more."
I was trying to be cute along the lines of "..., but I never get any responses from The Saturday Evening Post or Colliers." But it was off the top of my head, and those lines tend to be incomplete.
Anyway, so you know it's not an idle threat, here's something I wrote a long time ago, prompted by a Nash anniversary piece by Roger Angell in the New Yorker.
“Readers […] - this one, at least – still instinctively look for the restorative Nashian couplet or clarifying stanza about today’s water-quaffers, navel-piercers, abs-flaunters, and cell-gabblers, not to mention the assertive S.U.V., the forty-room beach cottage, and ‘could care less.’” --Roger Angell, The New Yorker, Aug. 5, 2002.
Uh-Eau
The consumption of vast amounts of eau
Results in a release of the same, beleau.
Water’s crest in popularity arises, as I figure it,
From the newfound necessity to take breaks from work far more often than one did for a cigurit.
Water, Water Everywhere,
And Not a Bite to Eat
For your figure no matter will be quite as drastic
As drinking water endlessly from bottles made of clear and shapely iconoplastic.
But hydration has less impact on your general fitness
Than an unwanted side-effect to which I now bear witness:
Water-quaffers
Have no money left in their household coffers.
If you wonder why those carrying the plastic flasks are so lissome and lithe,
‘tis because they must fast assiduously to choke up the health-religious tithe.
In other words, once you’ve paid the siphoners and distillers and bottlers and transporters and marketers and sellers for the amounts of water that the Monsoon season of South-east Asia can hardly compete with,
There’s nothing left for you to eat with.
To the Abdominatrix
I don’t know what I ever did with
My gaze
In the days
Before the bared mid-riff.
Abominable Abdominals
I
Son, you may have seen how female body parts that function digestively
Are of late exposed quite suggestively.
Teens today their mid-sections like to flaunt,
Testing categories famously postulated by Kant.
For they arrest a passing glance in a moment of embarrassing pausality
And temporarily wipe out any ab priori knowledge of space and time and causality.
As for fab posteriori knowledge,
Well,
For that you’d best wait until you’re old enough for college.
II
Daughter, why this metallic severance to our connection that was so quaintly umbilical?
It distorts the cute fleshy spiral that had grown faintly hilical.
Your navel that resembled the bread roll affectionately christened the “Kaiser”
Is now pierced by studs and bars that invoke the artillery shells of the invading forces of World War I which ought to have been behaving much naiser.
I’ve not forgot,
When you were a tot,
How my lips and a plosive fricative on the jiggly folds in your belly would boost your mood enormously and how your bubbly giggles made for a satisfying designator.
But wait. Come here. Maybe the metal adds buzz to your resonator.
Ears Everywhere, But Where Are Your Eyes?
O, Masters of cellular communications,
Why must you invade all of life’s quotidian situations?
At the grocery store, doing some shopping,
You grab someone else’s cart and fill it with sausage and bacon because your broker tells you that pork-belly futures are dropping.
At school, because your mother says that the nation’s transportation system is on the skids,
You pick up the wrong kids.
At a wedding ceremony,
The guests of the groom are unable to catch the bride’s name because they’re listening to the logistical details of your alimony.
You never ever cease to drone
In that annoying little phone.
And all the while your immediate surroundings bear the brunt of you
Because you don’t pay attention to what’s in front of you.
Hark, Now. Wassup?
I think Shakespeare would condone
The use of a cellular phone.
For a vanquished king could easily receive a page
And be informed of all the juicy deaths that have just occurred off-stage.
The Plight of Gaia Iulia Soccermom
Another hedgerow’s bent, and who’s the perpetrator?
Oh gosh, that was me, in my V8 Overcompensator.
It Takes a Villa
For friends and guests, my wife presumes,
Our beach cottage has forty rooms.
They all fit; that’s the pity.
I think I’ll just stay in the city.
Oh, Could You?
Could care less.
“Could care less” might want to sting, but makes a mess.
The effort to express disdain
Through lack of n’t gets said in vain.
The speaker tries to sound above-it-all and haughty
But gets dragged down by of the omission of a little-bitty nottie.
For caring only cuts the auditor wide
When coulding is denied.
Could care less.
“Could care less” denudes its sense and needs redress.
To remain aloof, care less you couldn’t.
There, now, ain’t that understoodn’t?
I remember saying, "I'd like to be the next Ogden Nash, but the Saturday Evening Post isn't around any more."
I was trying to be cute along the lines of "..., but I never get any responses from The Saturday Evening Post or Colliers." But it was off the top of my head, and those lines tend to be incomplete.
Anyway, so you know it's not an idle threat, here's something I wrote a long time ago, prompted by a Nash anniversary piece by Roger Angell in the New Yorker.
“Readers […] - this one, at least – still instinctively look for the restorative Nashian couplet or clarifying stanza about today’s water-quaffers, navel-piercers, abs-flaunters, and cell-gabblers, not to mention the assertive S.U.V., the forty-room beach cottage, and ‘could care less.’” --Roger Angell, The New Yorker, Aug. 5, 2002.
Uh-Eau
The consumption of vast amounts of eau
Results in a release of the same, beleau.
Water’s crest in popularity arises, as I figure it,
From the newfound necessity to take breaks from work far more often than one did for a cigurit.
Water, Water Everywhere,
And Not a Bite to Eat
For your figure no matter will be quite as drastic
As drinking water endlessly from bottles made of clear and shapely iconoplastic.
But hydration has less impact on your general fitness
Than an unwanted side-effect to which I now bear witness:
Water-quaffers
Have no money left in their household coffers.
If you wonder why those carrying the plastic flasks are so lissome and lithe,
‘tis because they must fast assiduously to choke up the health-religious tithe.
In other words, once you’ve paid the siphoners and distillers and bottlers and transporters and marketers and sellers for the amounts of water that the Monsoon season of South-east Asia can hardly compete with,
There’s nothing left for you to eat with.
To the Abdominatrix
I don’t know what I ever did with
My gaze
In the days
Before the bared mid-riff.
Abominable Abdominals
I
Son, you may have seen how female body parts that function digestively
Are of late exposed quite suggestively.
Teens today their mid-sections like to flaunt,
Testing categories famously postulated by Kant.
For they arrest a passing glance in a moment of embarrassing pausality
And temporarily wipe out any ab priori knowledge of space and time and causality.
As for fab posteriori knowledge,
Well,
For that you’d best wait until you’re old enough for college.
II
Daughter, why this metallic severance to our connection that was so quaintly umbilical?
It distorts the cute fleshy spiral that had grown faintly hilical.
Your navel that resembled the bread roll affectionately christened the “Kaiser”
Is now pierced by studs and bars that invoke the artillery shells of the invading forces of World War I which ought to have been behaving much naiser.
I’ve not forgot,
When you were a tot,
How my lips and a plosive fricative on the jiggly folds in your belly would boost your mood enormously and how your bubbly giggles made for a satisfying designator.
But wait. Come here. Maybe the metal adds buzz to your resonator.
Ears Everywhere, But Where Are Your Eyes?
O, Masters of cellular communications,
Why must you invade all of life’s quotidian situations?
At the grocery store, doing some shopping,
You grab someone else’s cart and fill it with sausage and bacon because your broker tells you that pork-belly futures are dropping.
At school, because your mother says that the nation’s transportation system is on the skids,
You pick up the wrong kids.
At a wedding ceremony,
The guests of the groom are unable to catch the bride’s name because they’re listening to the logistical details of your alimony.
You never ever cease to drone
In that annoying little phone.
And all the while your immediate surroundings bear the brunt of you
Because you don’t pay attention to what’s in front of you.
Hark, Now. Wassup?
I think Shakespeare would condone
The use of a cellular phone.
For a vanquished king could easily receive a page
And be informed of all the juicy deaths that have just occurred off-stage.
The Plight of Gaia Iulia Soccermom
Another hedgerow’s bent, and who’s the perpetrator?
Oh gosh, that was me, in my V8 Overcompensator.
It Takes a Villa
For friends and guests, my wife presumes,
Our beach cottage has forty rooms.
They all fit; that’s the pity.
I think I’ll just stay in the city.
Oh, Could You?
Could care less.
“Could care less” might want to sting, but makes a mess.
The effort to express disdain
Through lack of n’t gets said in vain.
The speaker tries to sound above-it-all and haughty
But gets dragged down by of the omission of a little-bitty nottie.
For caring only cuts the auditor wide
When coulding is denied.
Could care less.
“Could care less” denudes its sense and needs redress.
To remain aloof, care less you couldn’t.
There, now, ain’t that understoodn’t?
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Coco Tuesday
Ack.
We had his four years or fifty-thousand miles checkup and oil change today, and the jury is still out as to which part he detested more, the measuring and probing or the shots (three of them).
Judging by the drama, it was the measurements that got him. We wound up showing up an hour before the actual appointment because I couldn’t take his anticipatory dread anymore. Once he realized he wasn’t going to school he started freaking out. He had been told about the visit, but conveniently forgot about it (“At last – memory yields”).
Madge, by the way, was insistent that we tell him about the shots. She has a need to know, at all times, about everything. Mystery and surprise are her primal foes. She can ruin many a movie with this need. But she can also wind up her little brother by telling him things he doesn’t want to hear. And, when he ignores her, she makes sure he doesn’t. Somehow, though, we managed to make her keep quiet about the shots. Good thing, too, I think.
It’s really odd, how he dislikes getting undressed in order to be measured. In his four years I think his blood pressure has only been accurately taken once, his height maybe three times, his weight, never.
Oh, well. He got his shots and a toy and the pleasure or Madge’s company because she only had a half-day today.
Which, I guess, means that I have double-overtime.
I smell a raise.
We had his four years or fifty-thousand miles checkup and oil change today, and the jury is still out as to which part he detested more, the measuring and probing or the shots (three of them).
Judging by the drama, it was the measurements that got him. We wound up showing up an hour before the actual appointment because I couldn’t take his anticipatory dread anymore. Once he realized he wasn’t going to school he started freaking out. He had been told about the visit, but conveniently forgot about it (“At last – memory yields”).
Madge, by the way, was insistent that we tell him about the shots. She has a need to know, at all times, about everything. Mystery and surprise are her primal foes. She can ruin many a movie with this need. But she can also wind up her little brother by telling him things he doesn’t want to hear. And, when he ignores her, she makes sure he doesn’t. Somehow, though, we managed to make her keep quiet about the shots. Good thing, too, I think.
It’s really odd, how he dislikes getting undressed in order to be measured. In his four years I think his blood pressure has only been accurately taken once, his height maybe three times, his weight, never.
Oh, well. He got his shots and a toy and the pleasure or Madge’s company because she only had a half-day today.
Which, I guess, means that I have double-overtime.
I smell a raise.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Winehouse, Back to Black
Lately, the fare on the NYTimes Popcast has been so-so, as far as I'm concerned. Some good interviews, but the albums reviewed weren't quite to my taste.
The coverage of the bland fare was good, of course, but...
This week, though, MAN!
Amy Winehouse, go check her out. http://www.amywinehouse.co.uk/
It's like the Shirelles, but with an alcohol problem.
["Rehab" and "You Know I'm No Good" are my favorites so far, but "Tears Dry On Their Own" (a translation of sorts of "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" - listen to it and you'll tell right away) is "fun," too.]
The coverage of the bland fare was good, of course, but...
This week, though, MAN!
Amy Winehouse, go check her out. http://www.amywinehouse.co.uk/
It's like the Shirelles, but with an alcohol problem.
["Rehab" and "You Know I'm No Good" are my favorites so far, but "Tears Dry On Their Own" (a translation of sorts of "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" - listen to it and you'll tell right away) is "fun," too.]
Response to Julie's Comment (in a way)
Julie noted that she didn't know about the interview and it unrepressed (EXpressed?) some old memories.
Namely:
It used to be that I wouldn't introduce Julie to people I knew. And she invariably got insulted and we had to (a) work things out, (b) process emotions and evaluate the relationship, (c) feel guilty for a while and use our verbal skills to get into some good graces again. (Take your pick.)
Every single time, however, the case was this: I didn't think the other people were worthy of meeting Julie. Julie was none of their business. And, the sooner I got away from these people, the better.
But Julie, then as now, was/is way more social than I and felt somehow slighted.
She was nice enough to say that she may have just forgotten about the article, but, really, I'm not as happy with it as I wished I were, based on the actual phone conversation with Ms. Yost. But, oh well. I hear there is no such thing as bad publicity. Let's leave it at that.
Namely:
It used to be that I wouldn't introduce Julie to people I knew. And she invariably got insulted and we had to (a) work things out, (b) process emotions and evaluate the relationship, (c) feel guilty for a while and use our verbal skills to get into some good graces again. (Take your pick.)
Every single time, however, the case was this: I didn't think the other people were worthy of meeting Julie. Julie was none of their business. And, the sooner I got away from these people, the better.
But Julie, then as now, was/is way more social than I and felt somehow slighted.
She was nice enough to say that she may have just forgotten about the article, but, really, I'm not as happy with it as I wished I were, based on the actual phone conversation with Ms. Yost. But, oh well. I hear there is no such thing as bad publicity. Let's leave it at that.
Air Apparent
In other words, I hope Prince Philip regaled the family by passing gas and not by some mumbled racist comment.
Madge Monday
This weekend, she said to me, "You're not too fat. Obelix is fatter than you."
What an optimist.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
some press
Who knew?
I thought I sounded smart, suave, and witty during the interview, judging by Ms. Yost's reactions on the other end. Now I'm not so sure.
The result is a brief contribution to an article in the Arizona Republic. (For the record, it's not "my favorite limerick" it's "my favorite limerick to tell other people when they ask me for a sample." There's a difference.)
I thought I sounded smart, suave, and witty during the interview, judging by Ms. Yost's reactions on the other end. Now I'm not so sure.
The result is a brief contribution to an article in the Arizona Republic. (For the record, it's not "my favorite limerick" it's "my favorite limerick to tell other people when they ask me for a sample." There's a difference.)
Friday, March 16, 2007
skateboard car
Weird.
The special effects are quite cool, says the "dude" in me. But the music? How does that relate?
And, then, why would you pronounce "Qashqai" as "cash-cow" other than through wishful thinking?
The special effects are quite cool, says the "dude" in me. But the music? How does that relate?
And, then, why would you pronounce "Qashqai" as "cash-cow" other than through wishful thinking?
Friday Fable (AA Fable)
I miss doing the Friday Fables, and of course I’ve had an overwhelming reader response to them. Random people on the street, in fact have been begging me to bring them back.
But, as you may have noticed, I ran out of alphabet.
So here’s one more alphabet-related one. Next week I’ll be thinking of new ways to cook them up. (Who knows, I might actually start with the moral, as Lessing suggests.)
The author and the alphabet
Offstage, beyond the blank paper, the alphabet said, “Do you even know what you’re doing?”
To which the author replied, “No, not really. I just go at it and see what happens. Luckily I have you to guide me.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are numberless books that simply use you as an organizing principle. Sure, they’re a little weak on the Qs, the Xs, and the Zs, but for some reason the idea doesn’t go away.”
“And you want to do the same?”
“Sure, if you don’t mind.”
“What if I do mind?”
“Then I’ll apologize and do it anyway.”
Sorry.
But, as you may have noticed, I ran out of alphabet.
So here’s one more alphabet-related one. Next week I’ll be thinking of new ways to cook them up. (Who knows, I might actually start with the moral, as Lessing suggests.)
The author and the alphabet
Offstage, beyond the blank paper, the alphabet said, “Do you even know what you’re doing?”
To which the author replied, “No, not really. I just go at it and see what happens. Luckily I have you to guide me.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are numberless books that simply use you as an organizing principle. Sure, they’re a little weak on the Qs, the Xs, and the Zs, but for some reason the idea doesn’t go away.”
“And you want to do the same?”
“Sure, if you don’t mind.”
“What if I do mind?”
“Then I’ll apologize and do it anyway.”
Sorry.
Madge, the watchdog
This morning, in front of school.
A mom: Good morning!
Me: Hi!
Madge: Who is SHE?
Yikes. I swear, Madge heard the exclamation points. Any wonder I occasionally feel smothered?
The continuation:
Me: A mom who picks up at the same door I do. Her kid is in the same grade as you, just in a different class.
Madge: Oh.
A mom: Good morning!
Me: Hi!
Madge: Who is SHE?
Yikes. I swear, Madge heard the exclamation points. Any wonder I occasionally feel smothered?
The continuation:
Me: A mom who picks up at the same door I do. Her kid is in the same grade as you, just in a different class.
Madge: Oh.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
birth order, again
Madge, the other day, said, "I'm tired of being the helpful one. I wanna be the Coco one."
Not bad, as far as zingers go.
On the other hand, she didn't see the humor in my telling her to go to bed early and not read or watch Star Trek with us or pick up the cat or use the camera or...
Oh, well.
Not bad, as far as zingers go.
On the other hand, she didn't see the humor in my telling her to go to bed early and not read or watch Star Trek with us or pick up the cat or use the camera or...
Oh, well.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
rhyming
Here I am, it's almost midnight, working on the limericks.
Guess what rhymes with "nothing"?
ooooooh, how meta
Guess what rhymes with "nothing"?
ooooooh, how meta
a boy and his cat
Synchronized Sleepers. (Both, by the way, snore.)
I apologize for not having updated the photos at Look C. in a while, but the camera just recently decided to retract the lens and start working again.
Frosty Impression
Reticence
[Scene: a snowy evening.]
Hmmmmmmmmm.
Pffffff-
ffff.
Postscript (3/15): I just reread the post and realized I was too punny in the title. It's merely intended as an impression of Robert Frost's poetry.
epa-who?
I came across a handy rhetorical term yesterday: epanorthosis.
Basically, it means having your cake and eating it, too.
When I was in high school, writing English essays, I used an underhanded version of this rhetorical device. I had two ways of correcting words (because of the mandate to use ink, we couldn't erase). The first was to completely obliterate the incorrect term. The second was to merely draw a line through it, so that my teacher's mind (Hi, Ms. H-, Ms. R- !) would be tainted by what I was trying to improve upon, therefore finding a happy medium on her own and, of course, giving me the benefit of the doubt.
(Lately, I've seen this technique on blogs and don't feel nearly as inventive as I did back then.)
Basically, it means having your cake and eating it, too.
When I was in high school, writing English essays, I used an underhanded version of this rhetorical device. I had two ways of correcting words (because of the mandate to use ink, we couldn't erase). The first was to completely obliterate the incorrect term. The second was to merely draw a line through it, so that my teacher's mind (Hi, Ms. H-, Ms. R- !) would be tainted by what I was trying to improve upon, therefore finding a happy medium on her own and, of course, giving me the benefit of the doubt.
(Lately, I've seen this technique on blogs and don't feel nearly as inventive as I did back then.)
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Coco Tuesday
He does say some cute things, especially when he’s mad.
For example:
“I’m not your cuddle-bunny anymore.”
“That’s a dummy idea.”
“You’re making me crazy.”
“That’s not a deal.”
Yesterday, though, he went past cute and into devious. He didn’t want to go to school (he’s still a little under the weather, but no fever, so off he goes – no pampering from me, thank you very much, although I did get him a toy afterwards, but, psssst, don’t tell Julie). Here’s how he built up his case (disclaimer: each of his statements below is a patent lie):
Coco: I can’t go to school.
Grand Inquisitor: Why not?
C: R-- [his wonderful teacher] says I can’t come.
GI: Why not?
C: She says I was bad.
GI: Why?
C: I hit someone.
GI: Who?
C: Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, … A--.
GI: You’re saying R— won’t let you come back to school because you hit A--?
C: Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, … yes.
He’s so advanced for his age.
For example:
“I’m not your cuddle-bunny anymore.”
“That’s a dummy idea.”
“You’re making me crazy.”
“That’s not a deal.”
Yesterday, though, he went past cute and into devious. He didn’t want to go to school (he’s still a little under the weather, but no fever, so off he goes – no pampering from me, thank you very much, although I did get him a toy afterwards, but, psssst, don’t tell Julie). Here’s how he built up his case (disclaimer: each of his statements below is a patent lie):
Coco: I can’t go to school.
Grand Inquisitor: Why not?
C: R-- [his wonderful teacher] says I can’t come.
GI: Why not?
C: She says I was bad.
GI: Why?
C: I hit someone.
GI: Who?
C: Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, … A--.
GI: You’re saying R— won’t let you come back to school because you hit A--?
C: Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, … yes.
He’s so advanced for his age.
putting the coins to rest
Now that I have (finally) thought of an aphorism to go with the "Trustworthy" post, I can let the matter go.
A distrust of money increases its value.
A distrust of money increases its value.
Monday, March 12, 2007
lyrics
Why does only country music get to be so unselfconsciously punny?
I just downloaded some Billy Joe Shaver (the guy who wrote "The devil made me do it the first time/The second time I done it on my own"). The song is "Slim Chance and the Can't Hardly Playboys"
That title on its own is worth a MacArthur genius grant, I think.
Apparently, they're on Polish ("PAW-lish") Records, and are going to have a Polish hit real soon. [zing!]
Another line: "Out where the cars are up on blocks and the houses are on wheels"
Ya gotta love it.
I just downloaded some Billy Joe Shaver (the guy who wrote "The devil made me do it the first time/The second time I done it on my own"). The song is "Slim Chance and the Can't Hardly Playboys"
That title on its own is worth a MacArthur genius grant, I think.
Apparently, they're on Polish ("PAW-lish") Records, and are going to have a Polish hit real soon. [zing!]
Another line: "Out where the cars are up on blocks and the houses are on wheels"
Ya gotta love it.
seeing double
When Julie and I were living in our separate places in SF and having our never-ending sleepovers, we both had roommates, of course. One of her roommates had red hair (as does Julie). Her name was Holly.
On April 1, I saw her with a new haircut and some makeup (which she usually didn’t wear). So I said, “Hey, Holly, nice haircut.” And she responded, “I’m not Holly. I’m her twin sister.”
It being April Fool’s, I laughed and said, “Okay, and what’s your name?”
“Julie.”
“Funny,” I said and walked off.
Later I ran into Holly, with more hair and less makeup.
In other words, I’m a little gun shy around twins now.
Yesterday, in one of my classes, I had two kids with the same last name, same projected graduation date, and very similar looks (once you got past the gender difference). I said, “You guys must be twins.”
To which one of them (the older, darn that birth-order thing) said, “No. We’re not. We’re triplets.”
And, indeed, there was a third in a different class.
I just can’t win.
On April 1, I saw her with a new haircut and some makeup (which she usually didn’t wear). So I said, “Hey, Holly, nice haircut.” And she responded, “I’m not Holly. I’m her twin sister.”
It being April Fool’s, I laughed and said, “Okay, and what’s your name?”
“Julie.”
“Funny,” I said and walked off.
Later I ran into Holly, with more hair and less makeup.
In other words, I’m a little gun shy around twins now.
Yesterday, in one of my classes, I had two kids with the same last name, same projected graduation date, and very similar looks (once you got past the gender difference). I said, “You guys must be twins.”
To which one of them (the older, darn that birth-order thing) said, “No. We’re not. We’re triplets.”
And, indeed, there was a third in a different class.
I just can’t win.
Madge Monday
Yesterday, while I was gone, Madge said to Julie, “I’ve learned all the words to the songs. Can I go see Les Miserables now?”
And so she has. Using the booklet and the CDs from the library, she’s accumulated a working knowledge of all the lyrics – though she complains that she can’t sing both lines of a duet (when the singers have differing words).
I guess we need to start a Madge-Mis fund now.
The problem is, if she does get to go, how do we keep her from singing along?
And so she has. Using the booklet and the CDs from the library, she’s accumulated a working knowledge of all the lyrics – though she complains that she can’t sing both lines of a duet (when the singers have differing words).
I guess we need to start a Madge-Mis fund now.
The problem is, if she does get to go, how do we keep her from singing along?
knowing Auden
I worked again yesterday, which meant a day away from the kiddies, who have been sick and whiny or not sick and whiny, depending on your take.
And, as always happens when I get away from the kids after they've been suffocating, I feel I have a lot to get off my chest.
Also, as often happens when they're home and not doing much more than watching movies and drifting in and out of sleep, I read a bunch.
Here's my friend Wystan Hugh Auden again (I wonder what his friends called him - I'll look it up, maybe):
*It makes more sense to me if the word were "complete" - editorial error? Or just me? In other words, I have the feeling he originally wrote "complete knowledge and correct knowledge are not identical" and in the rewrites got things jumbled so he ends up contrasting correct knowledge with truth.
Either way. What a thinker (and feeler). Some day I ought to read his poetry.
And, as always happens when I get away from the kids after they've been suffocating, I feel I have a lot to get off my chest.
Also, as often happens when they're home and not doing much more than watching movies and drifting in and out of sleep, I read a bunch.
Here's my friend Wystan Hugh Auden again (I wonder what his friends called him - I'll look it up, maybe):
...[I]n our culture, we have all accepted the notion that the right to know is absolute and unlimited. [...] We are quite prepared to admit that, while food and sex are good in themselves, an uncontrolled pursuit of either is not, but it is difficult for us to believe that intellectual curiosity is a desire like any other, and to realize that correct* knowledge and truth are not identical. To apply a categorical imperative to knowing, so that, instead of asking, "What can I know?" we ask, "What, at this moment, am I meant to know?" -- to entertain the possibility that the only knowledge which can be true for us is the knowledge we can live up to -- that seems to all of us crazy and almost immoral.
*It makes more sense to me if the word were "complete" - editorial error? Or just me? In other words, I have the feeling he originally wrote "complete knowledge and correct knowledge are not identical" and in the rewrites got things jumbled so he ends up contrasting correct knowledge with truth.
Either way. What a thinker (and feeler). Some day I ought to read his poetry.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
she exists
Often, because I am of the so-called "day people," people who see me and the kids are surprised when they see Julie.
"Oh, you're the mom," is a comment she frequently gets to hear - and, obviously dislikes.
Today I finally came up with a fairly good response, I think.
"You didn't think, after hearing all I had to say about her, that a woman this perfect could really exist, did you."
"Oh, you're the mom," is a comment she frequently gets to hear - and, obviously dislikes.
Today I finally came up with a fairly good response, I think.
"You didn't think, after hearing all I had to say about her, that a woman this perfect could really exist, did you."
Friday, March 09, 2007
trustworthy
There are plenty of stories circulating about the dollar coins that were minted without the catchy "In God We Trust." For example this one http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/nationworld/2003605634_webdollar07.html. It appears the one-dollar coins are selling for around $50.
Now, I'm not trying to make any kind of agnostic claims about the worth of the slogan, but it appears to me that we might be sitting on a solution to the defecit. All we need is a good eraser.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
conundrum: n. see parenting
It's the little things that get to you.
Next week we get so sign up Coco for pre-K. Sounds easy. But of course they want documentation. The first is funny to me, an "unpaid utility bill." All I need now is a note from the school to the electric company as to why I'm delinquent.
The other is an immunization record, which shouldn't be funny but has become ironic (though not funny to me) because Coco is home with a fever, which means I can't go to his doctor as I wanted to pick up his immunization record, because he'd think we're going on his account and, really, he's not that sick (and as we all know, he's tired of doctors).
In short, in case you missed it:
Gotta go to Coco's doctor.
Can't, though, because Coco's sick.
Okay, now I can laugh about it, too.
Next week we get so sign up Coco for pre-K. Sounds easy. But of course they want documentation. The first is funny to me, an "unpaid utility bill." All I need now is a note from the school to the electric company as to why I'm delinquent.
The other is an immunization record, which shouldn't be funny but has become ironic (though not funny to me) because Coco is home with a fever, which means I can't go to his doctor as I wanted to pick up his immunization record, because he'd think we're going on his account and, really, he's not that sick (and as we all know, he's tired of doctors).
In short, in case you missed it:
Gotta go to Coco's doctor.
Can't, though, because Coco's sick.
Okay, now I can laugh about it, too.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
break-out role
Because of my first name, Horse-lover in Greek, I've always had an odd relationship with Peter Shaffer's (yes, same guy who wrote the entertaining yet historically misleading "Amadeus") play, "Equus."
Now Harry Potter, sorry, Daniel Radcliffe is starring in it and a bunch of teenage girls are encountering some disturbing sights.
Hopefully not all of their inquisitive attention will be directed towards equipment that he did or did not acquire at Ollivander's.
I'm sure the girls in this picture were all desperately thinking, "Accio!"
it's snowing today
Some bitter mom saw me pulling the kids to school on the sled on less than half an inch of snow and said, “Wishful thinking, hunh?”
Thinking she was being funny, of course.
And my first thought was, “Well, duh, otherwise I would never have had kids.”
Meaning, “If I didn’t think things could change for the better, … And why, pray tell, do you even bother sending your children to school?”
But I kept my mouth shut. Experience has taught me that, with people such as her, I usually have to explain my quips, by which time they lose whatever sting they may have had.
Thinking she was being funny, of course.
And my first thought was, “Well, duh, otherwise I would never have had kids.”
Meaning, “If I didn’t think things could change for the better, … And why, pray tell, do you even bother sending your children to school?”
But I kept my mouth shut. Experience has taught me that, with people such as her, I usually have to explain my quips, by which time they lose whatever sting they may have had.
headlines
Makers of Sodas Try a New Pitch: They’re Healthy
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/07/business/07soda.html?_r=1&hp&oref=slogin
For Cheney, Political Toll May Follow Libby Verdict
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/07/washington/07cheney.html?hp
Makers of Sodas Try a New Pitch: They’re Healthy
And, at heart, they’re right, if your choice is drinking nothing or drinking soda.
For Cheney, Political Toll May Follow Libby Verdict
Cheney tries a new pitch: We're honest.
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/07/business/07soda.html?_r=1&hp&oref=slogin
For Cheney, Political Toll May Follow Libby Verdict
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/07/washington/07cheney.html?hp
Makers of Sodas Try a New Pitch: They’re Healthy
And, at heart, they’re right, if your choice is drinking nothing or drinking soda.
For Cheney, Political Toll May Follow Libby Verdict
Cheney tries a new pitch: We're honest.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Overheard in my head
WindCHILL? Who ever thought of calling it that?
"Chill" doesn't even approach what happens when you face the blast.
Today the wind is downright cryogenic.
"Chill" doesn't even approach what happens when you face the blast.
Today the wind is downright cryogenic.
Coco Tuesday
We’re still listening to the soundtrack of “Les Miserables” at home. It’s in the CD player fairly permanently now and Madge keeps reaching for the booklet to sing along.
I had an insight which Julie isn’t going to like, but here it is: The musical must have been written with Meat Loaf in mind for the role of Jean Valjean (or Javert). The songs seem tailored to be outtakes of “Bat Out Of Hell.”
But this is Coco Tuesday, so here goes. The other day when Madge was singing along with her favorite number (other than “Castle On a Cloud”), “Who Am I?” She gets to the part where she sings, “I’m Jean Valjean” and Coco bursts in, “No. I’m Sha Fa-Sha.”
And a fight ensued.
Me? I’m Eponine (even though Madge keeps calling me Javert).
I had an insight which Julie isn’t going to like, but here it is: The musical must have been written with Meat Loaf in mind for the role of Jean Valjean (or Javert). The songs seem tailored to be outtakes of “Bat Out Of Hell.”
But this is Coco Tuesday, so here goes. The other day when Madge was singing along with her favorite number (other than “Castle On a Cloud”), “Who Am I?” She gets to the part where she sings, “I’m Jean Valjean” and Coco bursts in, “No. I’m Sha Fa-Sha.”
And a fight ensued.
Me? I’m Eponine (even though Madge keeps calling me Javert).
Monday, March 05, 2007
headlines
Oil Innovations Pump New Life Into Old Wells
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/05/business/05oil1.html?hp
A Record of Failure at Center for Sex Offenders
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/05/us/05civil.html?ref=us
A Record of Failure at Center for Sex Offenders
Corralled together, they merely offend each other, sexually.
Oil Innovations Pump New Life Into Old Wells
No offense, but I think it depends on your point of view.
Madge Monday
I love that smart kid of mine. Sometimes I’m not sure if what she says is on purpose or not, but still.
On Friday, her school had “Parents as Learning Partners.” Parents are invited to come and work with their children. We were done with our project and went to the next task, which was to read. The book we picked up was “Leo the Late Bloomer,” in which Leo (oddly enough a tiger, not a lion, poor mixed-up creature) doesn’t speak or read or write or draw or eat neatly at the same level as his friends. His mother isn’t concerned, but his father is. On the front matter of the classroom’s copy are several post-its with a heart penciled on them and various messages. “Everybody blooms.” “We all learn to do things.” (All by boys, incidentally. I wonder if the teacher was purposely assigning the reading on purpose to academically frustrated males.)
I asked Madge what these notes were and she said, “Oh, that’s the heart of the story.”
Cute, hunh?
So I asked Madge her take on the heart of the story, in her words.
She said, “You just need to be patient.”
Without irony. Without a glint in her eye.
I don’t mean to be paranoid, but look back at the father’s role in the story. Then note who she said this to.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
headlines
Warm Winters Upset Rhythms of Maple Sugar
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/03/us/03maple.html?_r=1&hp&oref=slogin
U.S. Predicting Steady Increase for Emissions
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/03/science/03climate.html?hp
Warm Winters Upset Rhythms of Maple Sugar
How the winters got warmer, nobody knows.
U.S. Predicting Steady Increase for Emissions
Except, of course, maple sugar emissions.
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/03/us/03maple.html?_r=1&hp&oref=slogin
U.S. Predicting Steady Increase for Emissions
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/03/science/03climate.html?hp
Warm Winters Upset Rhythms of Maple Sugar
How the winters got warmer, nobody knows.
U.S. Predicting Steady Increase for Emissions
Except, of course, maple sugar emissions.
Friday, March 02, 2007
headlines
Greenspan Is Still Able to Move Markets
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/02/business/02greenspan.html?_r=1&hp&oref=slogin
Widespread Storms Cause Deaths in 3 States
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/02/us/02cnd-tornado.html?hp
Greenspan Is Still Able to Move Markets
If Greenspan can’t come to the markets, the markets must come to Greenspan.*
Widespread Storms Cause Deaths in 3 States
It’s about time Greenspan had a talk with the weather.
*At about $150,000 a pop, it seems.
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/02/business/02greenspan.html?_r=1&hp&oref=slogin
Widespread Storms Cause Deaths in 3 States
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/02/us/02cnd-tornado.html?hp
Greenspan Is Still Able to Move Markets
If Greenspan can’t come to the markets, the markets must come to Greenspan.*
Widespread Storms Cause Deaths in 3 States
It’s about time Greenspan had a talk with the weather.
*At about $150,000 a pop, it seems.
Subbing
I've noticed a certain lack of levity here lately. (Now you know how much I need Julie around.)
Yesterday I had my first subbing gig in a local high school.
Too many images and thoughts accumulated in this novel situation to properly relate in this short time, but here's something that happened.
Girleequa: How old are you?
Me: Let's just say I'm in my thirties.
G: You look as old as my sister.
M: Okay.
G: My sister's thirty-six.
M: Yeah, that's about your sister's age.
Femaleeshia: Oooh. He's slick. You bein' slick, ain't you? He think he slick.
They're really not dumb. At all. But for some reason the period between the two World Wars isn't what they want to be studying at this hormone-filled stage of their lives.
Yesterday I had my first subbing gig in a local high school.
Too many images and thoughts accumulated in this novel situation to properly relate in this short time, but here's something that happened.
Girleequa: How old are you?
Me: Let's just say I'm in my thirties.
G: You look as old as my sister.
M: Okay.
G: My sister's thirty-six.
M: Yeah, that's about your sister's age.
Femaleeshia: Oooh. He's slick. You bein' slick, ain't you? He think he slick.
They're really not dumb. At all. But for some reason the period between the two World Wars isn't what they want to be studying at this hormone-filled stage of their lives.
Auden and "aesthetics"
I just found more on Auden, law, and aestetics.
If you're still interested, read on.
The very next chapter in "The Dyer's Hand" deals with his guilty (pun intended) pleasure of reading murder mysteries.
Of the Human Mileu of these mysteries, he writes (italics are mine, he can't have them),
Make of it what you will. I love this kind of stuff.
If you're still interested, read on.
The very next chapter in "The Dyer's Hand" deals with his guilty (pun intended) pleasure of reading murder mysteries.
Of the Human Mileu of these mysteries, he writes (italics are mine, he can't have them),
It must appear to be an innocent society in a state of grace, i.e., a society where there is no need of the law, no contradiction between the aesthetic individual and
the ethical universal, and where muder, therefore, is the unheard-of act which precipitates a crisis (for it reveals that some memeber has fallen and is no longer in a state of grace). The law becomes a reality and for a time all must live in its shadow, till the fallen one is identified. With his arrest, innocence is restored, and the law retires forever.
Make of it what you will. I love this kind of stuff.
Paraph
I subscribe to one of those “A Word a Day” deals that show up in my inbox every day. I know this comes as a surprise to you, but try to contain yourselves (why I presume I have more than one reader, I don’t know).
Today’s word was “paraph.” (Incidentally, I just noticed that it’s a word which MSWord doesn’t recognize. Maybe the folks as MS ought to subscribe to the service as well.)
A paraph is the swirly flourish attached to a signature, intended to foil forgers.
The odd thing, though, is that this superficial flourish is the easiest bit of the signature to imitate. The way the name is shaped, the essence of the signature, however, is more difficult to get right. (I speak from the experience of copying my dad’s signature, which includes a paraph in the initial “G,” after seeing that Alain Delon Movie – the original, pre-Damon, Ripley – in which he uses a projector to magnify the signature in order to get the flow right.)
Anyway.
It’s weird how we think superficial flourishes delineate our inimitability.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Yummers
A not unusual conversation in our house.
Me: Coco, do you want some food?
Coco: No. I want a small hot dog.
See, reading Upton Sinclair's "The Jungle" to him in utero paid off.
Me: Coco, do you want some food?
Coco: No. I want a small hot dog.
See, reading Upton Sinclair's "The Jungle" to him in utero paid off.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Foundling Wheel story
Something else to think about:
Updating an Old Way to Leave the Baby on the Doorstep
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/02/28/world/europe/28rome.html?ref=world
And, again, I found some inconsistencies (arising, I think, from quoting out of context or perhaps a mistranslation). First I found this and wanted to post it so Julie could get her bile exercised – that’s what I’m there for, after all.
But before you start writing angry letters to Dr. Paolillo, he says this at another point in the article.
Foundling Wheels, hunh. A night-drop box for babies. Imagine.
Updating an Old Way to Leave the Baby on the Doorstep
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/02/28/world/europe/28rome.html?ref=world
And, again, I found some inconsistencies (arising, I think, from quoting out of context or perhaps a mistranslation). First I found this and wanted to post it so Julie could get her bile exercised – that’s what I’m there for, after all.
The boy, who was named Stefano by the hospital team after the medic on call that night, was dressed in clean clothes and seemed to have been breast-fed, Dr. Paolillo said, because he at first refused a bottle.
“It seems he was loved until that moment,” he added.
But before you start writing angry letters to Dr. Paolillo, he says this at another point in the article.
The discovery of an infant girl on the bed of a truck in July 2005 inspired Dr. Paolillo to create the Casilino cradle, which cost about $52,000. “It was obvious that the mother of that child wanted a better life for her,” he said, noting that the baby had been bathed and wrapped in a cloth to keep her warm. “Often, there is an act of love behind abandonment.”
Foundling Wheels, hunh. A night-drop box for babies. Imagine.
Auden and I
Some things to get off my chest. The reason I’ve been falutin’ at different altitudes than usual is that I’ve started reading W.H. Auden’s “The Dyer’s Hand.” Good stuff, and deep – I think. I qualify it because he’s the kind of author that presents things in a beautiful way, ordered, concise, with intriguing examples. The examples or similes are such that, by the time you’ve worked out how they might apply, you’re on his side because you’ve forgotten to think about a counterargument. Here’s an example. He’s talking about the difference between a contract (which is the basis of a master-servant relationship, the point of which I’m still trying to figure out) and a law.
So far, so good. The law doesn’t make master-servant relationships. It allows them, but they are not the basis of law and its enforcement. But then comes the thing that’s still gnawing at me.
What gets me is the “aesthetic question” and the “aesthetic right.” Aesthetics, as I understand it, involves beauty, nature, art, and the perception (and evaluation) thereof.
There are too many things going around in my mind surrounding this problem to put in a proper order, so I’ll just start spewing (please pardon me and skip this paragraph if it’s too tedious, I promise to finish up with something facetious). You prove your aesthetic right by exposing a law as unenforceable and therefore become an artist by cheating on taxes or hiring below minimum wage – this gets at the romanticism in certain crimes; criminals are artists; but are lawmakers or law-enforcers the artists on the other side; are laws beautiful or natural or artistic or are they the perception (and evaluation) of beauty, art and nature? - I’ll stop.
Other examples or points of his aren’t as well thought-out.
And it is. Treachery to Vedanta. Imagine, a Hindu eating steak.
(I'm telling you, publishers who don't read this, I'd make a good proofreader on a conceptual level.)
[T]he relationship of all individuals to a law is symmetric; it commands or prohibits the same thing to all who come under it.
So far, so good. The law doesn’t make master-servant relationships. It allows them, but they are not the basis of law and its enforcement. But then comes the thing that’s still gnawing at me.
Of any law one can ask the aesthetic question, “Is it enforceable?” and the ethical question, “Is it just?” An individual has the aesthetic right to break the law if he is powerful enough to do so with impunity, and it may be his ethical duty to break it if his conscience tells him that the law is unjust.
What gets me is the “aesthetic question” and the “aesthetic right.” Aesthetics, as I understand it, involves beauty, nature, art, and the perception (and evaluation) thereof.
There are too many things going around in my mind surrounding this problem to put in a proper order, so I’ll just start spewing (please pardon me and skip this paragraph if it’s too tedious, I promise to finish up with something facetious). You prove your aesthetic right by exposing a law as unenforceable and therefore become an artist by cheating on taxes or hiring below minimum wage – this gets at the romanticism in certain crimes; criminals are artists; but are lawmakers or law-enforcers the artists on the other side; are laws beautiful or natural or artistic or are they the perception (and evaluation) of beauty, art and nature? - I’ll stop.
Other examples or points of his aren’t as well thought-out.
Between friends differences in taste or opinion are irritating in direct proportion to their triviality. If my friend takes up Vedanta, I can accept it, but if he prefers his steak well done, I feel it to be treachery.
And it is. Treachery to Vedanta. Imagine, a Hindu eating steak.
(I'm telling you, publishers who don't read this, I'd make a good proofreader on a conceptual level.)
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
headlines
Cheney Unhurt After Bombing in Afghanistan
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/02/27/world/asia/27cnd-cheney.html?_r=1&hp&oref=slogin
Honeybees Vanish, Leaving Keepers in Peril
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/02/27/business/27bees.html?hp
Cheney Unhurt After Bombing in Afghanistan
“Almost” counts in horseshoes and hand-grenades, but not in suicide bombings.
Honeybees Vanish, Leaving Keepers in Peril
Even they know the power of non-violence.
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/02/27/world/asia/27cnd-cheney.html?_r=1&hp&oref=slogin
Honeybees Vanish, Leaving Keepers in Peril
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/02/27/business/27bees.html?hp
Cheney Unhurt After Bombing in Afghanistan
“Almost” counts in horseshoes and hand-grenades, but not in suicide bombings.
Honeybees Vanish, Leaving Keepers in Peril
Even they know the power of non-violence.
Coco Tuesday
Sometimes I feel sorry for the cat, but then he’ll do something that makes me think he deserves what he gets.
Why write this on a Coco Tuesday? Because Coco is the prime enforcer of all things Baci. He lives for squirting the cat, even after the cat has already gotten off the table or counter or stove or wherever he’s not supposed to be. The cat, I assume, by now believes his name not to be Baci Kitty-Cat Boom-Bang, but Baci Get-Off-The-Table.
The silly cat happens to be curious about the bubbles the kids create in the bath and the kids help him out by having soap-ball fights. Yesterday, Coco topped the whole thing off by picking up the cat (after the kids had gotten out of the tub but before I had a chance to drain it) and throwing him in the water.
Ack. (More money in the shouting jar from me.)
But as soon as he’s dry, who does the cat snuggle up to?
I should just stay out of things.
Why write this on a Coco Tuesday? Because Coco is the prime enforcer of all things Baci. He lives for squirting the cat, even after the cat has already gotten off the table or counter or stove or wherever he’s not supposed to be. The cat, I assume, by now believes his name not to be Baci Kitty-Cat Boom-Bang, but Baci Get-Off-The-Table.
The silly cat happens to be curious about the bubbles the kids create in the bath and the kids help him out by having soap-ball fights. Yesterday, Coco topped the whole thing off by picking up the cat (after the kids had gotten out of the tub but before I had a chance to drain it) and throwing him in the water.
Ack. (More money in the shouting jar from me.)
But as soon as he’s dry, who does the cat snuggle up to?
I should just stay out of things.
Madge Monday
Madge has been delightful lately, so I don’t really have any good Madge things to relate.
She recently scrounged together twenty dollars so she could buy herself a computer game. I have more coins now than I know what to do with. So I put them in the “shouting” jar, something we instituted so the kids would feel a monetary pain for whenever they raise their voices, but it turns out that Julie and I now can no longer afford any non-necessities. The coins started off in the shouting jar, but Coco took them out and recycled them to Madge’s piggy bank, so I have no idea where the cash is right now.
I’m sure it’s redolent of some sort of governmental fiscal scheme, but I’m not sure which.
“Redolent,” jeez. See what happens when Julie’s out of town for a few days?
Here’s something else I’d never say when I have her to talk me down from my flights of cleverness:
I just hope our jolie fille sans s’il-vous-plait doesn’t turn into a belle dame sans merci.
But there you go. Have fun figuring out what I’m trying to say.
She recently scrounged together twenty dollars so she could buy herself a computer game. I have more coins now than I know what to do with. So I put them in the “shouting” jar, something we instituted so the kids would feel a monetary pain for whenever they raise their voices, but it turns out that Julie and I now can no longer afford any non-necessities. The coins started off in the shouting jar, but Coco took them out and recycled them to Madge’s piggy bank, so I have no idea where the cash is right now.
I’m sure it’s redolent of some sort of governmental fiscal scheme, but I’m not sure which.
“Redolent,” jeez. See what happens when Julie’s out of town for a few days?
Here’s something else I’d never say when I have her to talk me down from my flights of cleverness:
I just hope our jolie fille sans s’il-vous-plait doesn’t turn into a belle dame sans merci.
But there you go. Have fun figuring out what I’m trying to say.
Monday, February 26, 2007
headlines
Making the Return Trip: Elderly Head Back North
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/02/26/us/26seniors.html?ref=us
Cheney Warns Pakistan to Act on Terror
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/02/26/world/asia/26cnd-pakistan.html?ref=world
Making the Return Trip: Elderly Head Back North.
For the first time since the Depression, the flow of the elderly has reversed (from the South, that is. The article mentions no Zombies).
Cheney Warns Pakistan to Act on Terror.
He might be the reason. “We told you. If you keep it up, we’ll turn this car around. Now move over, sonny. Time to fix this puppy.”
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/02/26/us/26seniors.html?ref=us
Cheney Warns Pakistan to Act on Terror
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/02/26/world/asia/26cnd-pakistan.html?ref=world
Making the Return Trip: Elderly Head Back North.
For the first time since the Depression, the flow of the elderly has reversed (from the South, that is. The article mentions no Zombies).
Cheney Warns Pakistan to Act on Terror.
He might be the reason. “We told you. If you keep it up, we’ll turn this car around. Now move over, sonny. Time to fix this puppy.”
Sunday, February 25, 2007
the n word
In our house, apparently, it's "nap."
This, by the way, is Julie's joke. Or at least that's where I heard it first. But, since it sounds pretentious to quote other people's punchlines, I'll just appropriate it. It's in our marriage contract anyway. "Paragraph 293: All insightful or humorous comments shall fall under joint proprietorship upon utterance and memorization, however faulty."
This is followed by "Paragraph 294: Any and all statements, however faultily remembered, may be dragged out in future arguments as proof of numbscullness."
However, as you may or may not remember, in our Bill of Marital Rights, "Amendment 2: Arguments spice up a dull evening, but might cause long-term damage. So, if you happen to be the male party of the undersigned, think twice and then shut up anyway."
This, by the way, is Julie's joke. Or at least that's where I heard it first. But, since it sounds pretentious to quote other people's punchlines, I'll just appropriate it. It's in our marriage contract anyway. "Paragraph 293: All insightful or humorous comments shall fall under joint proprietorship upon utterance and memorization, however faulty."
This is followed by "Paragraph 294: Any and all statements, however faultily remembered, may be dragged out in future arguments as proof of numbscullness."
However, as you may or may not remember, in our Bill of Marital Rights, "Amendment 2: Arguments spice up a dull evening, but might cause long-term damage. So, if you happen to be the male party of the undersigned, think twice and then shut up anyway."
Friday, February 23, 2007
post-neurologist post
Went to the neurologist yesterday. Everything seems fine.
But, man, poor Coco. He steeled himself on the subway ride, in order to get through the EEG. Then, when they asked him if he wants to sit or lay down, he chose laying down and hopped on the bed and put his head on the towel.
Then, when they were starting to put the wired on his head, his eyes got red and filled with moisture and he started rubbing them and said, “The sun’s too bright.
And so we find ourselves in another parenting dilemma. On the one hand, man, what a brave little kid; he’s only four and already has quite a grip on his emotions. On the other hand, poor guy; he’s only four and already has quite a grip on his emotions.
But, like I said, the visit went fine. Nothing showed up on the EEG and he conversed with the neurologist and on his next visit he’ll just be talking with her, no EEG. Yay.
Then, and I’m not sure what got into us, we went to Chuck E. Cheese on the way home. I had never been before. The kids had been with a foolhardy babysitter who realized that the whole situation was scary and abandoned ship. Very intelligently, she took them to Target for a quick bribe and then took them back home. But, because of this babysitter, we had quite a few game tokens left over and the kids really wanted to go.
And, quite frankly, if a kid doesn’t have seizures in that place, I don’t know what will set them off. I think if you’d pump Eeyore (the lethargic donkey from Winnie the Pooh) full of valium and sent him through that climbing tube (which Coco couldn’t get enough of), even he would convulse.
But, man, poor Coco. He steeled himself on the subway ride, in order to get through the EEG. Then, when they asked him if he wants to sit or lay down, he chose laying down and hopped on the bed and put his head on the towel.
Then, when they were starting to put the wired on his head, his eyes got red and filled with moisture and he started rubbing them and said, “The sun’s too bright.
And so we find ourselves in another parenting dilemma. On the one hand, man, what a brave little kid; he’s only four and already has quite a grip on his emotions. On the other hand, poor guy; he’s only four and already has quite a grip on his emotions.
But, like I said, the visit went fine. Nothing showed up on the EEG and he conversed with the neurologist and on his next visit he’ll just be talking with her, no EEG. Yay.
Then, and I’m not sure what got into us, we went to Chuck E. Cheese on the way home. I had never been before. The kids had been with a foolhardy babysitter who realized that the whole situation was scary and abandoned ship. Very intelligently, she took them to Target for a quick bribe and then took them back home. But, because of this babysitter, we had quite a few game tokens left over and the kids really wanted to go.
And, quite frankly, if a kid doesn’t have seizures in that place, I don’t know what will set them off. I think if you’d pump Eeyore (the lethargic donkey from Winnie the Pooh) full of valium and sent him through that climbing tube (which Coco couldn’t get enough of), even he would convulse.
Headlines write themselves
46 Nations Call for Cluster Bomb Ban
http://www.nytimes.com/aponline/world/AP-Norway-Cluster-Bombs.html?hp
Springtime for Hit’s End: ‘The Producers’ to Close
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/02/23/theater/23prod.html?_r=1&hp&oref=slogin
46 Nations Call for Cluster Bomb Ban.
The bombs inflict ''unacceptable harm'' on civilians, particularly children.
Springtime for Hit’s End: ‘The Producers’ to Close.
Tony Danza inflicts ''unacceptable harm'' on civilians, particularly children.
http://www.nytimes.com/aponline/world/AP-Norway-Cluster-Bombs.html?hp
Springtime for Hit’s End: ‘The Producers’ to Close
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/02/23/theater/23prod.html?_r=1&hp&oref=slogin
46 Nations Call for Cluster Bomb Ban.
The bombs inflict ''unacceptable harm'' on civilians, particularly children.
Springtime for Hit’s End: ‘The Producers’ to Close.
Tony Danza inflicts ''unacceptable harm'' on civilians, particularly children.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
future ceo headlines
Korean Men Use Brokers to Find Brides in Vietnam.
Would the brokers make more if they got a percentage of the brides’ future alimony?
Admissions Jockeying Starts Earlier in New York.
With the competition for mail-order brides stiffening, you can’t get started soon enough.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
headlines
Britain to Cut 1,600 Troops in Iraq, Blair Says
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/02/21/world/middleeast/21cnd-blair.html?hp
Many Episcopalians Wary, Some Defiant After Ultimatum by Anglicans
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/02/21/us/21episcopal.html
Britain to Cut 1,600 Troops in Iraq, Blair Says.
Somehow the party isn’t as fun as they originally thought.
Many Episcopalians Wary, Some Defiant After Ultimatum by Anglicans.
Just watch out, in case 1,600 enforcers arrive to counter Episcopalian permissiveness.
Coco, belated
All I have to do is pay attention, really, and I get Coco tidbits. Here's one, if a little late.
When Coco said, "I'm just helping him take a bath," he was responding to which statement of mine?
a) Baci doesn't go in the dishwasher.
b) Where are you taking the shampoo?
c) Don't lick the cat.
When Coco said, "I'm just helping him take a bath," he was responding to which statement of mine?
a) Baci doesn't go in the dishwasher.
b) Where are you taking the shampoo?
c) Don't lick the cat.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
headlines
For Fox’s Rivals, ‘American Idol’ Remains a ‘Schoolyard Bully’
Trial Spotlights Cheney’s Power as an Infighter
For Fox’s Rivals, ‘American Idol’ Remains a ‘Schoolyard Bully’
Audiences love the Seven Deadly Sins set to Karaoke.
Trial Spotlights Cheney’s Power as an Infighter.
If only he’d attempt to sing, then we’d have a winner.*
*The advertising revenue from his show could easily finance the anti-insurgency.
Trial Spotlights Cheney’s Power as an Infighter
For Fox’s Rivals, ‘American Idol’ Remains a ‘Schoolyard Bully’
Audiences love the Seven Deadly Sins set to Karaoke.
Trial Spotlights Cheney’s Power as an Infighter.
If only he’d attempt to sing, then we’d have a winner.*
*The advertising revenue from his show could easily finance the anti-insurgency.
Coco Tuesday
Really more of a Madge thing than a Coco thing, but they’re both involved.
Whenever there are subtitles in a movie, for example when Jabba the Hut is talking or when daddy has the crazy idea that the kids might enjoy a Buster Keaton short, Madge reads the subtitles aloud, for Coco.
I have no idea whether he pays attention or not, but I find the whole thing very sweet.
Speaking of sweet. I was on the Subway on Sunday and, as it pulled into the Grand Street Station, the conductor called out “Gung Hay Fat Tsoy” (or however you want to transliterate it), followed by “Happy Chinese New Year.”
It’s amazing how a small thing like that can light up the faces of hundred of strangers.
Whenever there are subtitles in a movie, for example when Jabba the Hut is talking or when daddy has the crazy idea that the kids might enjoy a Buster Keaton short, Madge reads the subtitles aloud, for Coco.
I have no idea whether he pays attention or not, but I find the whole thing very sweet.
Speaking of sweet. I was on the Subway on Sunday and, as it pulled into the Grand Street Station, the conductor called out “Gung Hay Fat Tsoy” (or however you want to transliterate it), followed by “Happy Chinese New Year.”
It’s amazing how a small thing like that can light up the faces of hundred of strangers.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Madge Monday
Poor Madgie seems sick today, on her day off.
But here’s something she did last week. In school they’re doing math with decimals, and they’re approaching it by play-acting a diner or restaurant.
The amounts listed were something along the order of 91 cents for a cheeseburger, 26 cents for a falafel.
Then Madge came home and made up her own menu, and you can tell she’s living in New York (the spelling is hers).
Pancake 6$
Pizza, pepproni tomatoes 22$
Tea 4$
Chcoclate cake 10$
(You non-New-Yorkers may laugh at this, but her pricing is quite representative.)
But here’s something she did last week. In school they’re doing math with decimals, and they’re approaching it by play-acting a diner or restaurant.
The amounts listed were something along the order of 91 cents for a cheeseburger, 26 cents for a falafel.
Then Madge came home and made up her own menu, and you can tell she’s living in New York (the spelling is hers).
Pancake 6$
Pizza, pepproni tomatoes 22$
Tea 4$
Chcoclate cake 10$
(You non-New-Yorkers may laugh at this, but her pricing is quite representative.)
more headlines
Al Qaeda Chiefs Are Seen to Regain Power
JetBlue’s C.E.O. Is ‘Mortified’ After Fliers Are Stranded
Al Qaeda Chiefs Are Seen to Regain Power.
Training camps have sprung up across the border, in Pakistan.
JetBlue’s C.E.O. Is ‘Mortified’ After Fliers Are Stranded.
You never know how people will mobilize when things fail to take off.
Friday, February 16, 2007
catching up
I’ve been tired all week. Between lengthy sessions of watching “Bleak House,” seeing “Les Miz,” working, watching a Richard Lewis DVD, more “Bleak House,” and a night of limericks, I finally got some sleep last night.
All the listed activities were worth the time invested and sleep lost, but it made blogging difficult. The more tired I get, the more events seem irritating or even depressing rather than humorous. So I decided to just stick with the headline poems.
But now I’m back, I hope.
Yesterday, for example I learned from Madge that the reason she was such a sassy brat the night before was because she had been reading Harry Potter. While reading, she identified with our dear Harry and equated us, her parents (Julie in particular), with Umbridge. So, of course, she had to lash out.
See, today I find it funny. Yesterday it was so-so. The day before it would have made me mad.
We got to trudge through the snow a lot, too, and I got to tell Madge how I used to pretend I was walking through the wilderness in search of help for my trapped family and I had to watch out for wolves and traps and weak ice. She was very excited by all this. Hopefully I can get her to read some Jack London as a result.
Both of these incidents lead me to another observation. I have noticed, when kids play, that they like to identify with characters from movies or books. “I’ll be so-and-so. Who do you want to be?” And then they act out what happened or take it further.
I tend to think of characters, mostly, in terms of whether I like them or not. First, whether I like them as characters, then, whether I’d like them as friends or how I’d deal with them if they were real people. Sometimes I even think, “What would I do in that situation?” Hardly ever do I think, “I want to be him or her.” (Though sometimes I realize, of a character, often someone I don’t really like, “Hey! That’s me!”)
I wonder when in our lives this change happens? Is it a change in us or a change in the books we read?
A mixture of both, obviously.
And now I should probably take off my Princess Leia costume and go shopping or something.
All the listed activities were worth the time invested and sleep lost, but it made blogging difficult. The more tired I get, the more events seem irritating or even depressing rather than humorous. So I decided to just stick with the headline poems.
But now I’m back, I hope.
Yesterday, for example I learned from Madge that the reason she was such a sassy brat the night before was because she had been reading Harry Potter. While reading, she identified with our dear Harry and equated us, her parents (Julie in particular), with Umbridge. So, of course, she had to lash out.
See, today I find it funny. Yesterday it was so-so. The day before it would have made me mad.
We got to trudge through the snow a lot, too, and I got to tell Madge how I used to pretend I was walking through the wilderness in search of help for my trapped family and I had to watch out for wolves and traps and weak ice. She was very excited by all this. Hopefully I can get her to read some Jack London as a result.
Both of these incidents lead me to another observation. I have noticed, when kids play, that they like to identify with characters from movies or books. “I’ll be so-and-so. Who do you want to be?” And then they act out what happened or take it further.
I tend to think of characters, mostly, in terms of whether I like them or not. First, whether I like them as characters, then, whether I’d like them as friends or how I’d deal with them if they were real people. Sometimes I even think, “What would I do in that situation?” Hardly ever do I think, “I want to be him or her.” (Though sometimes I realize, of a character, often someone I don’t really like, “Hey! That’s me!”)
I wonder when in our lives this change happens? Is it a change in us or a change in the books we read?
A mixture of both, obviously.
And now I should probably take off my Princess Leia costume and go shopping or something.
rolling along
In Fraud Case, 7 Years in Jail for Contempt
Pressing Allies, President Warns of Afghan Battle
In Fraud Case, 7 Years in Jail for Contempt,
Failure to produce evidence earned a sentence as long as a full conviction.
Pressing Allies, President Warns of Afghan Battle.
Same 7 years, different domicile, but a disturbingly similar contempt.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
88 Headlines
Tasty Tastemakers of the Runway
Bush Declares Iran’s Arms Role in Iraq Is Certain
Tasty Tastemakers of the Runway,
What you wear, away from the media’s eye, is picked up by the public.
Bush Declares Iran’s Arms Role in Iraq is Certain.
We’ve recognized some of our cast-offs from the Eighties.
(Here's an extra link, but only if you need it.)
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
tiny insight
Huh. Last night, mulling things over while falling asleep, I realized why the Chinese poetry as exemplified in the Japanese popular song is in a book of 101 Zen Stories.
I’ll be.
That stuff really works, I guess.
What is the reason? you ask.
I figure it’s because you can combine any two things to make one of those poems. Or, in other words, everything is connected. Try it for yourself. Go to the dictionary, open it up, and find some words.
I found “dog biscuit” and “recruit” on this time around. And, voila, a little mulling of the terms and you get:
A dog biscuit is a small reward, a bribe.
It motivates canines to perform the most absurd tasks.
Recruits are harder and harder to come by,
And yet small treats make them roll over and play dead.
Sorry about the pessimism creeping into these things. It might be the weather. Still, I stand by my point.
I’ll be.
That stuff really works, I guess.
What is the reason? you ask.
I figure it’s because you can combine any two things to make one of those poems. Or, in other words, everything is connected. Try it for yourself. Go to the dictionary, open it up, and find some words.
I found “dog biscuit” and “recruit” on this time around. And, voila, a little mulling of the terms and you get:
A dog biscuit is a small reward, a bribe.
It motivates canines to perform the most absurd tasks.
Recruits are harder and harder to come by,
And yet small treats make them roll over and play dead.
Sorry about the pessimism creeping into these things. It might be the weather. Still, I stand by my point.
88 Headlines
More headline "poetry"
Chrysler Cuts 13,000 Jobs in Overhaul
Millions in Lottery Prizes Go Unclaimed
Chrysler Cuts 13,000 Jobs in Overhaul,
Losses in the billions are not to be overlooked.
Millions in Lottery Prizes Go Unclaimed.
Former automotive workers will be checking their pockets more carefully now.
Chrysler Cuts 13,000 Jobs in Overhaul
Millions in Lottery Prizes Go Unclaimed
Chrysler Cuts 13,000 Jobs in Overhaul,
Losses in the billions are not to be overlooked.
Millions in Lottery Prizes Go Unclaimed.
Former automotive workers will be checking their pockets more carefully now.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
88-Style on Headlines
The next step? The two top headlines at NYTimes.com squished into the 88-form.
North Korea to Close Reactor in Exchange for Raft of Aid
and
One Year Later, Golden Mosque Is Still in Ruins
One Year Later, Golden Mosque Is Still in Ruins.
Destruction is stronger than the effort to rebuild.
North Korea to Close Reactor in Exchange for Raft of Aid.
We'll rebuild the mosque if Iraqis agree not to pray there.
North Korea to Close Reactor in Exchange for Raft of Aid
and
One Year Later, Golden Mosque Is Still in Ruins
One Year Later, Golden Mosque Is Still in Ruins.
Destruction is stronger than the effort to rebuild.
North Korea to Close Reactor in Exchange for Raft of Aid.
We'll rebuild the mosque if Iraqis agree not to pray there.
Madge Monday and Coco Tuesday
Nothing strange or unusual going on with the kids right now and things are finally seeming more normal, with nobody sick and nobody visiting.
Last night Madge’s school had an ice-skating party for the second- and third-graders and their families. Lots of fun. This time we took the bus to get there (a school bus), which was fun, but involved waiting, something in which Madge has, as they say in business-spin-talk, opportunities.
“Where’s the bus?” “When is the bus coming?” “Is there another bus?” “Did we miss the bus?” “When is the bus coming?” et c. (Notice the old-school division of that abbrev.? I’m oh-so-crafty.)
Poor Madge has two smart-heinies as parents, so the questions only frustrate everyone. They are, after all, lose-lose questions. Nobody knows the answer and, as exacting as she is, any wrong answer is a mark against us on an ever-growing tally. I’m surprised I don’t have a black spot on the palm of my hand by now.
So we answer truthfully, which irritates her even more. “The bus is somewhere between the school and here.” “It’ll be here shortly after we see it turn the corner.” And so on.
When the questions continue, we say, “No idea, maybe they stopped at a drive-through.” “Oh, no, we’ll have to sleep in the park.” (The skating rink is in Prospect Park, the crown jewel in Olmsted and Vaux’s blahblahblah.)
While we were waiting some kid was playing with a stick and Madge was well on her way to talking him into giving it to her against his will – she was using some kind of womanly mind-meld – when I interceded and told her to look for her own. Coco had already found his own a while ago. But it was fascinating to see her working on that kid. She already had the kid’s dad on her side, working on the guy. But, as you might have noticed, we were in a park. Sticks were abundant. No need to work on the imperius curse or whatever she was doing.
Skating itself was loads of fun and the kids dropped into bed exhausted when we got home.
My lower back hurts, though, because Coco doesn’t skate on his own and prefers to have both hands held as the kids did when learning to walk.
Ow.
Last night Madge’s school had an ice-skating party for the second- and third-graders and their families. Lots of fun. This time we took the bus to get there (a school bus), which was fun, but involved waiting, something in which Madge has, as they say in business-spin-talk, opportunities.
“Where’s the bus?” “When is the bus coming?” “Is there another bus?” “Did we miss the bus?” “When is the bus coming?” et c. (Notice the old-school division of that abbrev.? I’m oh-so-crafty.)
Poor Madge has two smart-heinies as parents, so the questions only frustrate everyone. They are, after all, lose-lose questions. Nobody knows the answer and, as exacting as she is, any wrong answer is a mark against us on an ever-growing tally. I’m surprised I don’t have a black spot on the palm of my hand by now.
So we answer truthfully, which irritates her even more. “The bus is somewhere between the school and here.” “It’ll be here shortly after we see it turn the corner.” And so on.
When the questions continue, we say, “No idea, maybe they stopped at a drive-through.” “Oh, no, we’ll have to sleep in the park.” (The skating rink is in Prospect Park, the crown jewel in Olmsted and Vaux’s blahblahblah.)
While we were waiting some kid was playing with a stick and Madge was well on her way to talking him into giving it to her against his will – she was using some kind of womanly mind-meld – when I interceded and told her to look for her own. Coco had already found his own a while ago. But it was fascinating to see her working on that kid. She already had the kid’s dad on her side, working on the guy. But, as you might have noticed, we were in a park. Sticks were abundant. No need to work on the imperius curse or whatever she was doing.
Skating itself was loads of fun and the kids dropped into bed exhausted when we got home.
My lower back hurts, though, because Coco doesn’t skate on his own and prefers to have both hands held as the kids did when learning to walk.
Ow.
Monday, February 12, 2007
88-Style
Two takes on a similar combination (a bit late, because I don't like anticipating stories covered on WWDTM):
Dogs are everywhere in the city,
On the street, in apartments, in parks.
NASA has developed much new technology,
Perhaps dogs ought to wear diapers.
Astronauts are go-getters,
Trained to explore new frontiers.
Dogs can be made to behave,
So why aren’t astronauts neutered?
Dogs are everywhere in the city,
On the street, in apartments, in parks.
NASA has developed much new technology,
Perhaps dogs ought to wear diapers.
Astronauts are go-getters,
Trained to explore new frontiers.
Dogs can be made to behave,
So why aren’t astronauts neutered?
Sunday, February 11, 2007
88-Style
Bear with me, I think it'll pay off (if not now, then in the long haul).
From “101 Zen Stories” (as presented in “Zen Flesh Zen Bones”)
Since I find this style of poetry amusing, I’ll be trying my hand at it. (I also love that this is supposedly a Zen story. And of course, that a Chinese poem is illustrated by a popular Japanese song. Those Zen storytellers are so culturally sensitive.)
So, in lieu of calling it my attempt at a popular Japanese song style or Chinese poetry, I’ll call it 88-style.
There are many restaurants in Park Slope,
One fancier, and more pricy, than the next.
The bus runs every twelve minutes,
Will our waitress ever return?
From “101 Zen Stories” (as presented in “Zen Flesh Zen Bones”)
88. How To Write a Chinese Poem
A well-known Japanese poet was asked how to compose a Chinese poem.
“The usual Chinese poem is four lines,” he explained. “The first line contains the initial phase; the second line, the continuation of that phrase; the third line turns from this subject and begins a new one; and the fourth line brings the first three lines together. A popular Japanese song illustrates this:
Two daughters of a silk merchant live in Kyoto.
The elder is twenty, the younger, eighteen.
A soldier may kill with his sword,
But these girls slay men with their eyes.”
Since I find this style of poetry amusing, I’ll be trying my hand at it. (I also love that this is supposedly a Zen story. And of course, that a Chinese poem is illustrated by a popular Japanese song. Those Zen storytellers are so culturally sensitive.)
So, in lieu of calling it my attempt at a popular Japanese song style or Chinese poetry, I’ll call it 88-style.
There are many restaurants in Park Slope,
One fancier, and more pricy, than the next.
The bus runs every twelve minutes,
Will our waitress ever return?
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Z Fable
The Zenith and the Zero
“I’m at the peak of my game,” said the Zenith.
“So there’s no way but down,” answered the Zero.
“Yeah, but at least people want to hang out with me. Celebrate my arrival.”
“But it’s always the same with you. I’m less predictable.”
“How so?”
“As a place holder, I’m enjoyed. As a multiplying factor, not so much.”
“Hunh.”
“And as a denominator, I blow their little minds.”
“Still, though, on your own, you’re nothing.”
“So are you, pal. So are you.”
“I’m at the peak of my game,” said the Zenith.
“So there’s no way but down,” answered the Zero.
“Yeah, but at least people want to hang out with me. Celebrate my arrival.”
“But it’s always the same with you. I’m less predictable.”
“How so?”
“As a place holder, I’m enjoyed. As a multiplying factor, not so much.”
“Hunh.”
“And as a denominator, I blow their little minds.”
“Still, though, on your own, you’re nothing.”
“So are you, pal. So are you.”
Friday, February 09, 2007
Where is tall man?
Another Coco tidbit I remembered today.
One of the greatest nannies ever, Shani Mueller, taught us the well-known kids’ hit, “Where is Thumbkin?”, a song that teaches digital dexterity by making the kids use each finger separately. Thumbkin and Pointer are easy to manipulate, Tall Man and Pinky (called Baby in some versions of the song) are a little more difficult, and Ringman is near impossible for the wee ones.
We’d been singing the song for a while with Coco, since it’s a good way to pass the time when we’re waiting for something.
One day I was waiting at Madge’s school for the release of the second graders. As usual, Coco was on my shoulders. A nanny (technically, an au pair) looked up at him and said, “Who’s the tall man?”
Needless to say, she was rather shocked at his non-verbal response.
One of the greatest nannies ever, Shani Mueller, taught us the well-known kids’ hit, “Where is Thumbkin?”, a song that teaches digital dexterity by making the kids use each finger separately. Thumbkin and Pointer are easy to manipulate, Tall Man and Pinky (called Baby in some versions of the song) are a little more difficult, and Ringman is near impossible for the wee ones.
We’d been singing the song for a while with Coco, since it’s a good way to pass the time when we’re waiting for something.
One day I was waiting at Madge’s school for the release of the second graders. As usual, Coco was on my shoulders. A nanny (technically, an au pair) looked up at him and said, “Who’s the tall man?”
Needless to say, she was rather shocked at his non-verbal response.
Darkness
Here’s something Auntie Boo wanted me to write about. I hardly even think it’s an inconsistency, but, then again, I’m around the kids all the time.
Coco likes turning off lights so he can play with the flashlight or the Harry Potter wand or the Pirates of the Caribbean sword or the light saber (if he could find it), all of which light up. We, however, would have liked some light so we could see to eat or read or whatever nonsensical activity was occupying us at the moment. (Although I do admit, some moments of darkness for me to get some clandestine nose-digging time might have been welcome.)
So I said to Coco, “How about if you go to your room and turn off the lights there?”
His answer, of course (all together now), “No, it’s too dark back there.”
Coco likes turning off lights so he can play with the flashlight or the Harry Potter wand or the Pirates of the Caribbean sword or the light saber (if he could find it), all of which light up. We, however, would have liked some light so we could see to eat or read or whatever nonsensical activity was occupying us at the moment. (Although I do admit, some moments of darkness for me to get some clandestine nose-digging time might have been welcome.)
So I said to Coco, “How about if you go to your room and turn off the lights there?”
His answer, of course (all together now), “No, it’s too dark back there.”
Thursday, February 08, 2007
The obvious
This week's New Yorker has an article I'm not likely to read, not least because the subtitle annoys me so much.
It is entited "Two Heads" and subtitled "A marriage devoted to the mind-body problem."
I ask you, what marriage isn't?
It is entited "Two Heads" and subtitled "A marriage devoted to the mind-body problem."
I ask you, what marriage isn't?
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
The going rate for pictures
The bidding opens at one thousand words. Do I hear one thousand five hundred?
Laugh don't destroy
So now I feel bad.
I went to this show last night, and, sure, I gave $20 for a fairly worthwhile and fairly hopeless cause so I should feel good about that, but I wasted about two hours doing so.
Here’s the deal. All the performers, as far as I can tell, are experienced to some degree, and even good (to some degree).
But nothing really seemed prepared. Okay, I guess they didn’t get paid* and were doing it as a benefit, but on the other hand a hodge-podge mix of acts like this is also meant to gain new fans, potentially.
*One performer, Eugene Mirman, even lost $20 on the deal because he paid an unintentional heckler to leave. Needless to say, the guy stayed and kept the $20, thus proving that he really was a [insert whatever you feel here, don’t hold back]. It’s odd, really. Jon Benjamin, one of the funnier acts up to that point (though the host was pretty good – in spite of appeals to “hey, it’s comedy” – and Gilad Foss was good, at least he had something prepared), asked this man, who was sitting in the front row, if he was enjoying himself – or some such thing. The guy said that nothing so far was funny (and, honestly, he wasn’t too far off at this point, though Benjamin, really, was good). And it went downhill from there. And from that point on, none of the performers was able to ignore this guy (although the woman he was with seemed to be enjoying herself and the performers did all pick on him a little – still, he was too big a [insert again] to be moved).
Anyway, to make matters worse, Coco wasn’t at all prepared to see me go and stayed up until about 10pm waiting for me before he fell asleep, so I lost out on two fronts as this morning was extra difficult with Coco and I’m already dreading naptime.
Quick evaluation of performers, though too quick and most possibly unfair. Benjamin and Mirman, worth seeing again and paying for. Showalter strong and good, but something is missing for me (probably a better writer than performer, but, man, wasn’t that a hasty judgment on my part). Gilad Foss, good, Baron Vaughan, good (though too apologetic), Robin Cloud, good (though not really suited to the audience that was there).
But, hey, kudos for them for showing up and doing their thing, in spite of the energy-drain in the front row.
And now I still feel bad.
Quick evaluation of performers, though too quick and most possibly unfair. Benjamin and Mirman, worth seeing again and paying for. Showalter strong and good, but something is missing for me (probably a better writer than performer, but, man, wasn’t that a hasty judgment on my part). Gilad Foss, good, Baron Vaughan, good (though too apologetic), Robin Cloud, good (though not really suited to the audience that was there).
But, hey, kudos for them for showing up and doing their thing, in spite of the energy-drain in the front row.
And now I still feel bad.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Coco Tuesday
This is what we were doing while we were waiting for Madge's ballet class to begin.
Today, on the way to Coco's school, I told him I was going shopping to get oatmeal and other things. What else should I bring?
And he answered, "Chocolate chips, so Auntie Boo can have more cookies."
Now, naive dad that I am, I say, Oh, how sweet. What a thoughtful kid.
But what if he's merely manipulative, knowing he's more likely to get what he wants if he says it's for someone else?
I'll just take it as a win-win situation: either he's really sweet or really savvy.
(I'll be enjoying the cookies, too, after all. Win-win-win.)
Monday, February 05, 2007
Madge Monday
Last Monday, the day of my intestinal upheavals, Madge's ballet class had an open session. Great fun. My escape to the vomitorium after the event is by no means a reflection upon the event itself.
One of the best parts was the piano player. Yes, ballet classes, at least the ones Madge has attended, have flesh-and-blood musicians to keep time and offer a backdrop.
Visually, this guy was nothing at all compared to the lovely Miss Olga from Miss Tilly's Ballet Studio in San Francisco. But he was far more entertaining. She tended to play the same few pieces. Some Mussorgsky, some Grieg, some Tchaikowsky, and that was pretty much it. This guy was improvising the whole time, simple four-measure things, changed as to the mood required. He was super-sloppy, missing notes all the time. But that wasn't the point. He was as unsubtle as a kid's ballet class requires, with crazy glissandi when the kids were doing their turns and tiptoe music when they were doing delicate cat steps.
Come to think of it, the difference between Miss Olga and this guy is the difference between San Francisco and New York. Miss Olga was lovely, did everything right, sunny, and had a warm, loving personality. This guy was fun to look at (though not lovely by a long stretch), sloppy, over-the-top, oddly needy of recognition and lapping up my compliments to him afterwards, but completely fitting and totally fun.
See, what we need is a house at each coast.
Oh, yes, and Madge was great, too. She had missed quite a few classes before this, the last one. And we found out afterwards that all the fairly complex routines that she did as well as all the other kids were brand new to her that day. She's a quick learner.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Y Fables
The Yeti and the Yenta
“You should shave.”
“You should talk.”
The Yeti and the Yak
The Yeti said to the yak, “Hey, have you heard of evolution?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’m upright and you’re not.”
“So?”
“So I’m more evolved, right?”
“If that makes you happy.”
“Sure does,” the Yeti said and went back into hiding.
The Yeti and the Yogurt
Said the Yeti, “I can’t wait to eat you. You’re just what I need.”
“Dude,” said the yogurt, “the word is ‘abominable’, not ‘abdominal’.”
“You should shave.”
“You should talk.”
The Yeti and the Yak
The Yeti said to the yak, “Hey, have you heard of evolution?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’m upright and you’re not.”
“So?”
“So I’m more evolved, right?”
“If that makes you happy.”
“Sure does,” the Yeti said and went back into hiding.
The Yeti and the Yogurt
Said the Yeti, “I can’t wait to eat you. You’re just what I need.”
“Dude,” said the yogurt, “the word is ‘abominable’, not ‘abdominal’.”
Public Service from moi (indirectly)
For those of you who buy things online, here's a website that tracks whether or not you could have gotten it cheaper somewhere else (or at the same place) and then alerts you so you can get the difference refunded.
http://www.priceprotectr.com/
Not a bad ploy. But where they get their money in the process is a mystery to me.
(I found it through CrunchGear. Go ahead an click on the link in the sidebar for more techie things.)
http://www.priceprotectr.com/
Not a bad ploy. But where they get their money in the process is a mystery to me.
(I found it through CrunchGear. Go ahead an click on the link in the sidebar for more techie things.)
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Wine Theft
A $100,000 theft of wine in Silicon Valley (here's the NYTimes story).
How do the thieves choose what to celebrate with? A can of TAB?
The crime would be "perfect" if the thieves sent back the bottles they didn't like (you know, opened, with a sip taken...whatever).
This one's for you, PM: I think the butler did it.
How do the thieves choose what to celebrate with? A can of TAB?
The crime would be "perfect" if the thieves sent back the bottles they didn't like (you know, opened, with a sip taken...whatever).
This one's for you, PM: I think the butler did it.
Piano Music
The Ahmad Jamal Trio. I saw them once, in Oakland (Yoshi's, I think), although he had an extra percussionist for that run. And it wasn't the same lineup as here. I was just reminded of how great the man's arrangements are when one of his songs popped up in my iTunes playlist. I tend to stop what I'm doing and just listen and after a while I notice I'm smiling.
Usually I'm of the opinion that music can't be "funny" unless it's referencing other pieces and, more likely than not, the words or dramatic situations associated with those pieces. But Ahmad Jamal plays with time and dynamics in such a great way that I smile nonetheless - not "funny" enough for outright laughter, I guess, but still.
According to a little book of quotes I have, Horovitz once said something to the effect of, "Anyone can get applause. But silence, before and during the performance, that is the greatest."
Jamal gets silence from me every time.
Enjoy.
I forgot to mention something I noticed when I watched it again. There's a visual correlary to the way the ensmble fits together. Between the three of them, the performers make up one full beard (wraparound chin thing + soul patch + mustache). On purpose?
Usually I'm of the opinion that music can't be "funny" unless it's referencing other pieces and, more likely than not, the words or dramatic situations associated with those pieces. But Ahmad Jamal plays with time and dynamics in such a great way that I smile nonetheless - not "funny" enough for outright laughter, I guess, but still.
According to a little book of quotes I have, Horovitz once said something to the effect of, "Anyone can get applause. But silence, before and during the performance, that is the greatest."
Jamal gets silence from me every time.
Enjoy.
I forgot to mention something I noticed when I watched it again. There's a visual correlary to the way the ensmble fits together. Between the three of them, the performers make up one full beard (wraparound chin thing + soul patch + mustache). On purpose?
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