You may wonder why Julie left such a panicked comment yesterday.
See, this weekend, one of the fish got him or herself stuck in the decorative leaves. It appears a fish does not have much of a “reverse” function. And, when we freed him or her, the fish spend a good bit of time floating belly up before paddling first with one fin and then sprinting around with both.
Understandably, Julie (never too much of an optimist) is concerned.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
pre-k spells relief
Got a call yesterday, letting me know that someone dropped out of the half-day Pre-K program at Madge's school and that Coco can go.
Whew.
Now it's time to fill out antiquated paperwork.
Whew.
Now it's time to fill out antiquated paperwork.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Ominous openings
Some stories have great opening lines that suck you in and don’t let you go.
For example, from George and Martha, “George was fond of peeking in windows.”
Other stories have opening lines that can only lead in one direction.
For example, from Our Life in Park Slope, “We were taking care of our neighbor's goldfish.”
For example, from George and Martha, “George was fond of peeking in windows.”
Other stories have opening lines that can only lead in one direction.
For example, from Our Life in Park Slope, “We were taking care of our neighbor's goldfish.”
Coco Tuesday
Coco seems to equate vacation, (or, “bocation,” as he calls it) with leaving town. So I foresee some problems next week when Julie is taking some time off work – which, unfortunately means nothing to him, otherwise our problems would be solved.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Madge Monday
What a mixed-up day. Because of last week’s postponed picnic for Madge’s class, I was set to go to the park with them this morning. Then, as I dropped off Coco, I noticed that they were set up for their end-of-the year diploma-giving and sentimentalizing. Eek.
So I zipped back to Madge’s school and got her to attend as well, after which we’d meet her class in the park. So far, so good. Unfortunately, the final goodbye with Madge ended in tears – on her part, not mine. I’ve got a day and a half of relative freedom before the summer break (although the schools obviously do their best to impinge on it), so maybe I should have been the one crying.
There was a potentially awkward moment on the way back from the park. The kids were being antsy – they had been playing ballgames in the park, after all – and Madge’s teacher wanted some sort of order. So she said, “Hold on to your balls as you walk.”
I’m pleased to report that I didn’t draw attention to it then. That’s what the blog is for.
Finally, the pseudo-graduation. It was cute. And I think I deserve a sort of diploma as well because I reached a milestone today. See, John Turturro occasionally drops off or picks up his kid who attends Madge’s school. Today was the first day I actually looked in his face and nodded. Nonchalantly, I thought. I think I deserve a cookie for that. Now I’m ready to actually try a conversation next year.
Just you wait. Before you know it, we’ll be playing chess together.
So I zipped back to Madge’s school and got her to attend as well, after which we’d meet her class in the park. So far, so good. Unfortunately, the final goodbye with Madge ended in tears – on her part, not mine. I’ve got a day and a half of relative freedom before the summer break (although the schools obviously do their best to impinge on it), so maybe I should have been the one crying.
There was a potentially awkward moment on the way back from the park. The kids were being antsy – they had been playing ballgames in the park, after all – and Madge’s teacher wanted some sort of order. So she said, “Hold on to your balls as you walk.”
I’m pleased to report that I didn’t draw attention to it then. That’s what the blog is for.
Finally, the pseudo-graduation. It was cute. And I think I deserve a sort of diploma as well because I reached a milestone today. See, John Turturro occasionally drops off or picks up his kid who attends Madge’s school. Today was the first day I actually looked in his face and nodded. Nonchalantly, I thought. I think I deserve a cookie for that. Now I’m ready to actually try a conversation next year.
Just you wait. Before you know it, we’ll be playing chess together.
more test bashing
Markus commented on the "first-borns are smarter - yeah, right" post.
markus :-) said...
Talk about a representative population! 250,000 Norwegian men signing up for the military between '85 and '04.
I'll go one better and say that, because of the representative population, they figured that 2.3 points on an IQ test are a big deal and blew it way out of proportion. Because that's what, a 47% difference in their statistical sample?
markus :-) said...
Talk about a representative population! 250,000 Norwegian men signing up for the military between '85 and '04.
I'll go one better and say that, because of the representative population, they figured that 2.3 points on an IQ test are a big deal and blew it way out of proportion. Because that's what, a 47% difference in their statistical sample?
Friday, June 22, 2007
this is your brain on exams
I was forwarded an article with this title, “First-born kid a tad brainier than siblings, study says.”
I have a feeling, if a latter-born had written the article, the title might have read, “First-born kid way more willing to impress authority figures, especially on needless exams, study confirms.”
I have a feeling, if a latter-born had written the article, the title might have read, “First-born kid way more willing to impress authority figures, especially on needless exams, study confirms.”
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Response to Comments
Oooh. Comments. I love comments.
But since I fear nobody goes back to reread and see if I've commented on the comments, here is a separate entry.
The term defined by the Evanses, by the way, is "Pickwickian sense."
Now, of course, I'll have to use it in regular conversation.
As in,
Waiter: Are you still working on that?
Me: Yes, but only in a Pickwickian sense.
And then I'll laugh and Julie will roll her eyes.
Again.
This being New York, the actor-waiter will meanwhile have flashed a vacant smile and wandered off. The bus-person will have shyly refilled the water glasses and said, "Esscuse me, ees a cliche, no?"
And, hey, teacherAna, if you really want it, let me know. I still haven't worked through my Fowler (i.e., A Dictionary of Modern English Usage) for which I paid good money and to which I ought to refer first, anyway. And which, if you're nerdy like me, is a trove of good, clean fun.
But since I fear nobody goes back to reread and see if I've commented on the comments, here is a separate entry.
The term defined by the Evanses, by the way, is "Pickwickian sense."
Now, of course, I'll have to use it in regular conversation.
As in,
Waiter: Are you still working on that?
Me: Yes, but only in a Pickwickian sense.
And then I'll laugh and Julie will roll her eyes.
Again.
This being New York, the actor-waiter will meanwhile have flashed a vacant smile and wandered off. The bus-person will have shyly refilled the water glasses and said, "Esscuse me, ees a cliche, no?"
And, hey, teacherAna, if you really want it, let me know. I still haven't worked through my Fowler (i.e., A Dictionary of Modern English Usage) for which I paid good money and to which I ought to refer first, anyway. And which, if you're nerdy like me, is a trove of good, clean fun.
Discards
Our neighborhood is pretty awesome for many reasons. One of the main ones is the quality of books that people leave on their stoops when they’re cleaning house.
Within the last month, I’ve picked up, among other things, Writing Poems, by Robert Wallace (1982) – which, at the very least, is a nice anthology of poetry – and, my favorite so far, A Dictionary of Contemporary American Usage (1957 contemporary, that is), by Bergen and Cornelia Evans (siblings, not spouses). With names like those, I don’t know what other career they might have chosen, except perhaps vaudevillian funeral eulogists.
Between those two books, I’ll be ready to write some cutting-edge ante-post-Soviet mid-post-modern symbolist advertising jingles, or heavy-metal power ballads. Or news-quiz limericks.
Anyway, nosing around in the latter book, I came across this:
Which, really, sums up most grad school discussions. But now I’m getting personal.
Within the last month, I’ve picked up, among other things, Writing Poems, by Robert Wallace (1982) – which, at the very least, is a nice anthology of poetry – and, my favorite so far, A Dictionary of Contemporary American Usage (1957 contemporary, that is), by Bergen and Cornelia Evans (siblings, not spouses). With names like those, I don’t know what other career they might have chosen, except perhaps vaudevillian funeral eulogists.
Between those two books, I’ll be ready to write some cutting-edge ante-post-Soviet mid-post-modern symbolist advertising jingles, or heavy-metal power ballads. Or news-quiz limericks.
Anyway, nosing around in the latter book, I came across this:
The term has become a cliché of the literary and therefore should not be used in their company. It is totally meaningless to the unliterary and therefore should not be used in their hearing either.
Which, really, sums up most grad school discussions. But now I’m getting personal.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
when the cat's away, the mice miss her
Dear Readers,
In case you didn’t know, let me spell it out. When I write something to the effect of “Julie is out of town,” it means, “for God’s sake, send me an email or something because I’m tired of having my only conversational material be ‘put that down’ or ‘clean that up.’” Which is to say, when you see that Julie is out of town, go ahead an comment or send me an email.
Yours truly,
Mr. Lonely
Having sick kids in the house isn’t helping. I swear, for two nights in a row, the clock on the microwave was taunting me with “2:28” (exactly on the nose both nights) when Coco was “asking” (for lack of a better word) for something to drink.
And the straw that almost broke my camel-back yesterday was the fridge. Around five I saw that the beers were sweaty and thought “How odd.” Then, after the kids were asleep, it dawned on me. It’s not just freakin’ humid (it is), but the fridge isn’t working. The light was on, but the numbers indicating the coolness level weren’t on 4, they were on “-“ (maybe they were commenting on me, who knows).
After much frustration and some venting calls to Julie, I realized that I might as well try to move the thing, though it might fall on me and squish me. At least I would have gone out swinging.
But the fridge wouldn’t budge, so I’m still alive.
Luckily, I finally remembered that we have a fuse box.
In case you didn’t know, let me spell it out. When I write something to the effect of “Julie is out of town,” it means, “for God’s sake, send me an email or something because I’m tired of having my only conversational material be ‘put that down’ or ‘clean that up.’” Which is to say, when you see that Julie is out of town, go ahead an comment or send me an email.
Yours truly,
Mr. Lonely
Having sick kids in the house isn’t helping. I swear, for two nights in a row, the clock on the microwave was taunting me with “2:28” (exactly on the nose both nights) when Coco was “asking” (for lack of a better word) for something to drink.
And the straw that almost broke my camel-back yesterday was the fridge. Around five I saw that the beers were sweaty and thought “How odd.” Then, after the kids were asleep, it dawned on me. It’s not just freakin’ humid (it is), but the fridge isn’t working. The light was on, but the numbers indicating the coolness level weren’t on 4, they were on “-“ (maybe they were commenting on me, who knows).
After much frustration and some venting calls to Julie, I realized that I might as well try to move the thing, though it might fall on me and squish me. At least I would have gone out swinging.
But the fridge wouldn’t budge, so I’m still alive.
Luckily, I finally remembered that we have a fuse box.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Coco Tuesday
So now Coco is sick, too, but something is telling me it's not strep.
Maybe the "something" is called "wishful thinking," but still.
Crusty eyes, whinyness, fever, whinyness, runny nose, whinyness, fitful sleep. Have I mentioned whinyness? What am I forgetting? Oh, a shorter temper than ever.
But now he's asleep on the couch. Poor dude.
Let's hope we can go to Madge's picnic tomorrow. His school has one on the same day, but I'm not sure I can handle that, not to mention that, with him sick, I don't know how to shop for treats for said picnics.
Maybe the "something" is called "wishful thinking," but still.
Crusty eyes, whinyness, fever, whinyness, runny nose, whinyness, fitful sleep. Have I mentioned whinyness? What am I forgetting? Oh, a shorter temper than ever.
But now he's asleep on the couch. Poor dude.
Let's hope we can go to Madge's picnic tomorrow. His school has one on the same day, but I'm not sure I can handle that, not to mention that, with him sick, I don't know how to shop for treats for said picnics.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Madge Monday
Poor Julie. The guilt.
Julie left town on Sunday, Happy Father’s Day to me – thank you, so of course Madge got strep throat. She’s doing better now and thankfully she understands why she has to take the awful-tasting penicillin.
Oh, and “we” also have our neighbor’s goldfish in the house for a few weeks while they’re out of town. Every time the cat gets close, Madge screeches.
Joy.
Julie left town on Sunday, Happy Father’s Day to me – thank you, so of course Madge got strep throat. She’s doing better now and thankfully she understands why she has to take the awful-tasting penicillin.
Oh, and “we” also have our neighbor’s goldfish in the house for a few weeks while they’re out of town. Every time the cat gets close, Madge screeches.
Joy.
Shield your eyes
A requested by T-Bone - the Gin-Rummy champion of the 612 area code - a pic of me with the facial hair and new haircut.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Fade to what?
I know that fiction finds its sources in life, but I’m still surprised when I see the real-life models.
The other day I was picking up some items at a corner cheapo store (Save On Fifth). As I was leaving, I heard one of the employees say, “No, we don’t [indecipherable]” I looked and saw a guy in a stained tracksuit, with gray, slicked back hair get back into his crappy red Chevy SUV (with Jersey plates) that was filled with what looked like “prime” merchandise.
Without the Hollywood magic, that behavior is incredibly cheesy.
The other day I was picking up some items at a corner cheapo store (Save On Fifth). As I was leaving, I heard one of the employees say, “No, we don’t [indecipherable]” I looked and saw a guy in a stained tracksuit, with gray, slicked back hair get back into his crappy red Chevy SUV (with Jersey plates) that was filled with what looked like “prime” merchandise.
Without the Hollywood magic, that behavior is incredibly cheesy.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
lookin' good
Got a haircut yesterday. And read these lines by George Peele the same day:
Let not my beauty’s fire
Inflame unstaid desire,
Nor pierce any bright eye
That wand’reth lightly.
Coincidence? I think not.
Speaking of which, Coco sure has a thing for pretty girls – pretty by his standards, which appear to be those of a New Jersey mobster. Yesterday, he literally hounded this girl, probably eleven, at the playground. A mom and three kids (Brianna, Steven, and Taylor). Big gap between the first, the “pretty” girl and the little siblings. It must have been nanny’s day off, because the mom was totally overdoing the singing and jumping and chasing and playing and … You can always tell the inexperienced ones at the playground, usually aunties, uncles, or just friends, because they have no idea of pacing. If you don’t have dinner and bedtime in view at all times you’re going to be a wreck by 5 pm. As this lady will have been. And I think she bribed the girl (tight jeans, tight white shirt, padded bra, white hoop earrings – Coco called them “moon earrings”) to help out.
The mom also got the “Head and shoulders” lyrics wrong.
C’mon, people. Things rhyme.
“Head and shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes.” (repeat)
Then – and I know I’m a picky dork for getting irritated, but there you go – she sang/grunted:
“Eyes…ears…nose…and a mouth.”
And forgot about the rest of the song. Jeez. That song should be part of the parent application program.
The mom also thought that Coco wanted to play with her two-year-old, Steven. It was a bizarre love-play triangle.
Let not my beauty’s fire
Inflame unstaid desire,
Nor pierce any bright eye
That wand’reth lightly.
Coincidence? I think not.
Speaking of which, Coco sure has a thing for pretty girls – pretty by his standards, which appear to be those of a New Jersey mobster. Yesterday, he literally hounded this girl, probably eleven, at the playground. A mom and three kids (Brianna, Steven, and Taylor). Big gap between the first, the “pretty” girl and the little siblings. It must have been nanny’s day off, because the mom was totally overdoing the singing and jumping and chasing and playing and … You can always tell the inexperienced ones at the playground, usually aunties, uncles, or just friends, because they have no idea of pacing. If you don’t have dinner and bedtime in view at all times you’re going to be a wreck by 5 pm. As this lady will have been. And I think she bribed the girl (tight jeans, tight white shirt, padded bra, white hoop earrings – Coco called them “moon earrings”) to help out.
The mom also got the “Head and shoulders” lyrics wrong.
C’mon, people. Things rhyme.
“Head and shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes.” (repeat)
Then – and I know I’m a picky dork for getting irritated, but there you go – she sang/grunted:
“Eyes…ears…nose…and a mouth.”
And forgot about the rest of the song. Jeez. That song should be part of the parent application program.
The mom also thought that Coco wanted to play with her two-year-old, Steven. It was a bizarre love-play triangle.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
your plumbing is showing
(Sorry, but you're going to have to follow this link to get the visual)
Here's how I imagine the community meeting about this building.
Builders: We think a twenty-story building would be great here.
Neighbors: We think it would block our view.
Builders: Huh. How about this? Glass. You can see through glass, right?
Neighbors: Yeah.
Builders: Okay, then.
And apparently that was it.
Here's how I imagine the community meeting about this building.
Builders: We think a twenty-story building would be great here.
Neighbors: We think it would block our view.
Builders: Huh. How about this? Glass. You can see through glass, right?
Neighbors: Yeah.
Builders: Okay, then.
And apparently that was it.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
comment on comment
Speaking of Madge's shorter hair,
There is a character in German lore, Till Eulenspiegel, who loves walking uphill because he knows he'll be going downhill soon after (and gets sad when going downhill).
It seems xineymarie is the kind of person who dons sweaters in the summer for the joy of taking them off when everyone else is complaining. Either that or she works in the same place as Julie where they can't seem to get the climate control working so the general population is comfortable.
And there you go, she answered her own disagreement. Love it.
xineymarie said...
i disagree -- i specifically grow my hair for summer
because i like being able to put it up, both off my neck AND out of my face
(shorter hair falls in the face more frequently, i've found).
There is a character in German lore, Till Eulenspiegel, who loves walking uphill because he knows he'll be going downhill soon after (and gets sad when going downhill).
It seems xineymarie is the kind of person who dons sweaters in the summer for the joy of taking them off when everyone else is complaining. Either that or she works in the same place as Julie where they can't seem to get the climate control working so the general population is comfortable.
it also takes less time for me to 'do', since you can just throw longer hair in
a ponytail, rather than having to make sure the short hairs are all in their
[untethered] places....then again, i'm not responsible for untangling a
seven-year-old's knots. so i can see that particular logic. a few weeks ago i
had a rather unproductive chat with my boyfriend's niece (age 4) about us
unknotting HER hair. i did not receive permission, and greg made her cry. oh
well.
And there you go, she answered her own disagreement. Love it.
Coco Tuesday
Coco tidbits, because I'm in a rush.
He's super clingy lately. So much so, he has a fit when I say I'm going to the store without him.
Grrr.
On Saturday I wanted to play soccer and not take him, but because of fits and because he hadn't been out much and because I'm a sucker, I took him along. It went fine, since there were other kids, too.
After, he expressed his surprise. "You like playing 'no-hands' ball?"
He's super clingy lately. So much so, he has a fit when I say I'm going to the store without him.
Grrr.
On Saturday I wanted to play soccer and not take him, but because of fits and because he hadn't been out much and because I'm a sucker, I took him along. It went fine, since there were other kids, too.
After, he expressed his surprise. "You like playing 'no-hands' ball?"
Monday, June 11, 2007
Madge Monday
Last night Madge asked me to play guitar while she fell asleep.
“Awww,” you might say, being ignorant of how often I mess up, and, in response to which, cuss.
[Mental note: write “lullaby” called “Sweet $#@!%! Dreams”]
Friday, June 08, 2007
Revisionist History
Speaking of petrified historical remnants.
Madge, who has been reading Asterix (she’s got good taste, after all), asked me yesterday if the Gauls and Romans were the “second people alive.”
“What do you mean?” didn’t get me very far, so I asked her who the “first people alive” might have been.
She said, “You know. The Flintstones.”
I guess the answer to her question is, “Yes.”
Madge, who has been reading Asterix (she’s got good taste, after all), asked me yesterday if the Gauls and Romans were the “second people alive.”
“What do you mean?” didn’t get me very far, so I asked her who the “first people alive” might have been.
She said, “You know. The Flintstones.”
I guess the answer to her question is, “Yes.”
Museum items
We went to the Transit Museum yesterday. Fun.
The old subway cars had chewing gum ads from the forties, and gum under the seats from the twenties.
The old subway cars had chewing gum ads from the forties, and gum under the seats from the twenties.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
words, words, words
After a chaotic pot luck at Madge's school, Coco fell asleep early. (So did I, but Madge was kind enough to wake me up and remind me that I had limericks to write.)
While I was "working on the limericks," which involves a lot of random procrastinary web-surfing, Madge was looking up a word in her Children's Dictionary, a word that had no chance of being there.
"R-E, R-E..."
"What are you looking for?"
"Creepuscular."
"Crepuscular?"
"Uh-huh. What does it mean?"
Now, I happen to know the Thelonious Monk song, "Crepuscule With Nellie," so I said, "It means 'of the evening.'" Where does she get words like this?
"'Of the evening'?"
"Yes, 'crepuscule' means 'evening-time' or 'dusk' or something like that, so 'crepuscular' means 'happening at that time.'"
"Oh. 'cause it says here that the rabbit is crepuscular."
"Yeah, I guess it means that they like evening-time rather than..."
and at that time she blanked out.
But still.
Then, later, as I was actually thinking of rhymes, she sat at the table, copying out definitions from her dictionary, each entry in a new color. She's up to "abolition the act of getting rid of."
Today, she's being a "regular" kid again, watching a Disney cartoon and arguing with her brother.
Phew.
While I was "working on the limericks," which involves a lot of random procrastinary web-surfing, Madge was looking up a word in her Children's Dictionary, a word that had no chance of being there.
"R-E, R-E..."
"What are you looking for?"
"Creepuscular."
"Crepuscular?"
"Uh-huh. What does it mean?"
Now, I happen to know the Thelonious Monk song, "Crepuscule With Nellie," so I said, "It means 'of the evening.'" Where does she get words like this?
"'Of the evening'?"
"Yes, 'crepuscule' means 'evening-time' or 'dusk' or something like that, so 'crepuscular' means 'happening at that time.'"
"Oh. 'cause it says here that the rabbit is crepuscular."
"Yeah, I guess it means that they like evening-time rather than..."
and at that time she blanked out.
But still.
Then, later, as I was actually thinking of rhymes, she sat at the table, copying out definitions from her dictionary, each entry in a new color. She's up to "abolition the act of getting rid of."
Today, she's being a "regular" kid again, watching a Disney cartoon and arguing with her brother.
Phew.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Asking for trouble
Madge's school is pairing up with Barnes and Noble for a mutually beneficial bookfair. You buy books, present a voucher, and the profits get split somehow between the two institutions.
But the flyer we got in the folder included this:
I can just see some dad, dressed in requisite black, smelling of frankincense and myrrh - or maybe just cigarettes and gin - going up to the mic and saying:
Here's a little something I wrote, called "Full Custody, My Ass."
The kids will love it.
But the flyer we got in the folder included this:
PS321 Students, Parents and Teachers:
Come read your Pandamonium poem, or any poem you
like, at our first 321 OPEN MIC NIGHT
and
Barnes & Noble
Bookfair
I can just see some dad, dressed in requisite black, smelling of frankincense and myrrh - or maybe just cigarettes and gin - going up to the mic and saying:
Here's a little something I wrote, called "Full Custody, My Ass."
The kids will love it.
One more
Coco was coloring Spiderman yesterday. He's finally gotten over breaking down in agony when he accidentally colors Spidey's eyes, which must stay white at all times.
Then he seamlessly went from "accidentally" getting some red on his arm to taking off his shirt and coloring a complete costume on his chest.
But he didn't finish. Not because I intervened, but because he was using the scented markers and I think the faux cerises were getting to be too much for him.
Of course he was duly complimented by his friends at school today.
Then he seamlessly went from "accidentally" getting some red on his arm to taking off his shirt and coloring a complete costume on his chest.
But he didn't finish. Not because I intervened, but because he was using the scented markers and I think the faux cerises were getting to be too much for him.
Of course he was duly complimented by his friends at school today.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Madge and Coco, Mommy's away remix
Julie's out of town, so here are some more updates for her benefit.
Good timing on her part, too, because she hates it when people spit.
And Coco's logic has led him to believe that he won't have to go potty if he just spits enough.
At least I got him to spit in the sink or potty. If he keeps this up, he'll be the first 4-yr-old Brooklynite (of the twenty-first century - oh, how I'd hate to be wrong about the factual aspects of this awkward joke) with his own spittoon. ptoink.
Madge, our lighthearted one, has taken to writing in her diary which choices she has already made in the choose-your-own-adventure book she's reading now. Saves time, I guess.
Good timing on her part, too, because she hates it when people spit.
And Coco's logic has led him to believe that he won't have to go potty if he just spits enough.
At least I got him to spit in the sink or potty. If he keeps this up, he'll be the first 4-yr-old Brooklynite (of the twenty-first century - oh, how I'd hate to be wrong about the factual aspects of this awkward joke) with his own spittoon. ptoink.
Madge, our lighthearted one, has taken to writing in her diary which choices she has already made in the choose-your-own-adventure book she's reading now. Saves time, I guess.
Coco Tuesday
Coco keeps wanting me to have a playdate with his teacher. His selling point: she’s beautiful.
What impression does he have of me? (I know, I know, it’s harmless, but, still, taken out of context… “Really, Julie, it was Coco’s idea. A playdate with a beautiful woman. Please, get your mind out of the gutter.”)
So today I had my playdate with his teacher. I called it that to get him off my back. (Writing those words, I see the irony, since his preferred mode of transportation is still my shoulders.) It was really an end-of-the-year parent-teacher conference. No surprises. He’s got a temper. He’s sweet. He doesn’t like being bossed around or rushed. He’s active and charming and caring. He’s better at using his words rather than scratching or hitting. In all, rather similar to my last performance review.
But back to the playdate aspect. Who wouldn’t want a playdate with his teacher? Honestly, sometimes it feels like have a caretaker for your child is cruel and unusual punishment. As an only moderately attractive male (three beers or two glasses of white wine and I’m kind of cute, I hear) it is rare that I get to see females be as openly cheerful and warm as around my kids. Now add the fact that I’m essentially gay to them – i.e., unavailable, therefore appealing – and you end up with a potentially frustrating situation.
Luckily I never think about these matters.
What impression does he have of me? (I know, I know, it’s harmless, but, still, taken out of context… “Really, Julie, it was Coco’s idea. A playdate with a beautiful woman. Please, get your mind out of the gutter.”)
So today I had my playdate with his teacher. I called it that to get him off my back. (Writing those words, I see the irony, since his preferred mode of transportation is still my shoulders.) It was really an end-of-the-year parent-teacher conference. No surprises. He’s got a temper. He’s sweet. He doesn’t like being bossed around or rushed. He’s active and charming and caring. He’s better at using his words rather than scratching or hitting. In all, rather similar to my last performance review.
But back to the playdate aspect. Who wouldn’t want a playdate with his teacher? Honestly, sometimes it feels like have a caretaker for your child is cruel and unusual punishment. As an only moderately attractive male (three beers or two glasses of white wine and I’m kind of cute, I hear) it is rare that I get to see females be as openly cheerful and warm as around my kids. Now add the fact that I’m essentially gay to them – i.e., unavailable, therefore appealing – and you end up with a potentially frustrating situation.
Luckily I never think about these matters.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Madge Monday
The unimaginable has happened. Madge agreed to get her hair cut short. She volunteered it, even. New York humidity has its benefits, I guess. See, what happened was this. We’ve been telling her and telling her that shorter hair is cooler (as in less hot) because it exposes your neck and in general doesn’t trap as much heat. Of course she didn’t buy it. But, luckily, she actually heard it and remembered it. (Which she does with many, many other things that I don’t always realize at the time.) The other day it was, to her, unbearable, and we used a clip to put her hair up. She was amazed at the difference and, after about half an hour, said that she wants a haircut. Short. Like mommy’s.
I’m just relieved that we don’t have to fight about brushing the hair anymore.
Lighter mood
It’s weird how much a diet affects my mood. Eating less turns me into a grumpy prick.
Now I’m eating more regularly and have become my old self, a happy prick.
For example, I saw someone wearing a hoodie this morning which read, “Authentic American.” Last week I would have gone into a hateful spiral of how, judging by the people who “represent” Americans, it means ignorant, rude, greedy, insensitive, selfish, etc. But today I just thought that it would be funny to have a hoodie that read, “Fake American: don’t ask for my papers,” or, better yet, “Superficial American: more authentic than the Authentic kind.”
Similarly, a birthday party I attended yesterday, for a friend of Coco’s would have upset me, because the parents are affluent enough to get a mini soccer camp organized, headed by four coaches, well-equipped.
But, as it was, I enjoyed it. They were good and had great coaching techniques for the little ones. Miyagi-like, but with fun activities rather than housework.
The best part was this, though. The coaches were Italian. Coco goes to an international school and some of the parents are French. One of the French dads started playing with the coaches. Of course I joined in after a while even though I had been restraining myself because it wasn’t a party for me – but, hey, I didn’t start it. And that’s sort of my point. As much as we pretend to be older, we always fall into irritating childish habits (“I didn’t start it, so it’s okay for me to join later”). And so it was with the other dad. Not only did he start playing, but, after the kids were done, he wanted to play a game and said that the teams were Italy against France, a rematch from the World Cup.
I was on the Italian team, so I called him a son of a terrorist whore and he headbutted me, but still got to keep his Adidas endorsement contract.
Now I’m eating more regularly and have become my old self, a happy prick.
For example, I saw someone wearing a hoodie this morning which read, “Authentic American.” Last week I would have gone into a hateful spiral of how, judging by the people who “represent” Americans, it means ignorant, rude, greedy, insensitive, selfish, etc. But today I just thought that it would be funny to have a hoodie that read, “Fake American: don’t ask for my papers,” or, better yet, “Superficial American: more authentic than the Authentic kind.”
Similarly, a birthday party I attended yesterday, for a friend of Coco’s would have upset me, because the parents are affluent enough to get a mini soccer camp organized, headed by four coaches, well-equipped.
But, as it was, I enjoyed it. They were good and had great coaching techniques for the little ones. Miyagi-like, but with fun activities rather than housework.
The best part was this, though. The coaches were Italian. Coco goes to an international school and some of the parents are French. One of the French dads started playing with the coaches. Of course I joined in after a while even though I had been restraining myself because it wasn’t a party for me – but, hey, I didn’t start it. And that’s sort of my point. As much as we pretend to be older, we always fall into irritating childish habits (“I didn’t start it, so it’s okay for me to join later”). And so it was with the other dad. Not only did he start playing, but, after the kids were done, he wanted to play a game and said that the teams were Italy against France, a rematch from the World Cup.
I was on the Italian team, so I called him a son of a terrorist whore and he headbutted me, but still got to keep his Adidas endorsement contract.
Friday, June 01, 2007
A Madge zinger
I'm still giggling about it.
Madge is going to a friend's birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese's this weekend. Of course Coco wants to go, but can only go separated from the party itself.
He said, "When I get big like Madgie I go to birthday party, too."
To which she replied, "The party will be over by then."
Madge is going to a friend's birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese's this weekend. Of course Coco wants to go, but can only go separated from the party itself.
He said, "When I get big like Madgie I go to birthday party, too."
To which she replied, "The party will be over by then."
Mistah, c'n I ax you somethin'?
I subbed yesterday and got a little fed up about, well, a lot, really. Seventh graders. Man.
As usual, I’m not sure school is what they need, and I’m not just being facetious. From the teacher’s end, I want them to sit, quietly. But, c’mon. They’re 12-14 – or 25, depending – and sitting quietly from nine to three makes no biological sense whatsoever.
Anyway, at one point I interrupted all the shrieking – “shrieking” to me, “regular conversation” to them – to pick up the trusty dry-erase marker and say, “Okay, we’re gonna play a game of charades now. [“Oh, I love charades. I wanna go first”] Sorry, not charades, pictionary. And you don't get a turn.”
Then I drew what I hoped was a picture of a hatchet.
“Ax.” “Or ‘axe.’” [No, of course nobody said that, but wouldn’t that have been amusing?]
“That’s right.”
Then I drew a picture of a head with a speech bubble that had a question mark in it.
“Talking.” “A cartoon.” “A question.”
“Okay, what do you say when you’re ‘talking’ a ‘question’?”
“Ax.”
“NO! That’s my point. Ask. A-S-K. Ask.”
“Ax.”
“Ask.”
“Ax.”
“Good grief!”
Then I drew a picture of a butt. I wrote “ass+k.”
Finally, after a lot of "hey, he drew a ass," I heard, “Oh, I get it.”
“Okay. Try it. Asss-k.”
“Assssukuh.”
“Ask.”
“Ax.”
“Asssssk.”
“Asssssukuh.”
“Good enough.”
I may have put them on the managerial track at McDonald’s now.
As usual, I’m not sure school is what they need, and I’m not just being facetious. From the teacher’s end, I want them to sit, quietly. But, c’mon. They’re 12-14 – or 25, depending – and sitting quietly from nine to three makes no biological sense whatsoever.
Anyway, at one point I interrupted all the shrieking – “shrieking” to me, “regular conversation” to them – to pick up the trusty dry-erase marker and say, “Okay, we’re gonna play a game of charades now. [“Oh, I love charades. I wanna go first”] Sorry, not charades, pictionary. And you don't get a turn.”
Then I drew what I hoped was a picture of a hatchet.
“Ax.” “Or ‘axe.’” [No, of course nobody said that, but wouldn’t that have been amusing?]
“That’s right.”
Then I drew a picture of a head with a speech bubble that had a question mark in it.
“Talking.” “A cartoon.” “A question.”
“Okay, what do you say when you’re ‘talking’ a ‘question’?”
“Ax.”
“NO! That’s my point. Ask. A-S-K. Ask.”
“Ax.”
“Ask.”
“Ax.”
“Good grief!”
Then I drew a picture of a butt. I wrote “ass+k.”
Finally, after a lot of "hey, he drew a ass," I heard, “Oh, I get it.”
“Okay. Try it. Asss-k.”
“Assssukuh.”
“Ask.”
“Ax.”
“Asssssk.”
“Asssssukuh.”
“Good enough.”
I may have put them on the managerial track at McDonald’s now.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Wang Dang Doodle All The Way
This was in my inbox today.
It's a wedding announcement, of Anna Wang and Brad Holder. For some reason, they didn't rename the wedding party.
I love single entendres.
It's a wedding announcement, of Anna Wang and Brad Holder. For some reason, they didn't rename the wedding party.
I love single entendres.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Madge Monday and Coco Tuesday
Running the Birth Order Classic:
"I win."
"No. We weren't racing to the door. We were racing to the mailbox."
"I win."
"No. I didn't say 'go.' [Starts running. Once comfortably ahead:] 'Go!"
"I win."
"No. I wasn't even racing."
Guess which child said which.
"I win."
"No. We weren't racing to the door. We were racing to the mailbox."
"I win."
"No. I didn't say 'go.' [Starts running. Once comfortably ahead:] 'Go!"
"I win."
"No. I wasn't even racing."
Guess which child said which.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Wages of fossil fuels
Great movie, that. (N'est-ce pas, Tazwell?)
But that's beside the point.
On Friday, I was walking back from dropping off the kids and I smelled heating oil. The source was obvious. There was a gas truck parked by an apartment building. The driver was busy connecting the hose from the truck to the building. No problem, really.
But the dude was smoking - and I don't mean he was attractive. No, he had a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Book Title
The chess books I've been nosing around in lately often feature this phrase, which strikes me as a good book title:
Favourable Complications
(and, yes, it needs the "ou")
Favourable Complications
(and, yes, it needs the "ou")
Friday, May 25, 2007
Carl in the Chicago Trib.
How can you not love Carl Kassell?
Here, see for yourself - yes, it's a video clip.
(You don't usually get to see him, after all.)
Here, see for yourself - yes, it's a video clip.
(You don't usually get to see him, after all.)
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Colby Preface
As promised earlier, here’s the preface to Frank Moore Colby’s Imaginary Obligations (1904).
[For the impatient (for all others as well): the book is a collection of essays about “the … anxieties that make up our chief imaginary obligation to seem something different from what we are.”
The extremely impatient should skip the first sentence (and then know that “hortatory” is an adjectival version of the verb “to exhort”).]
Enjoy:
I presume it will not be denied that the Anglo-Saxon conscience is apt to encroach on the zone of moral indifference. We are a hortatory people, forever laying down the law in a region where diversity is most desirable. Apparently we would rather teach than live; we count votes even in our dreams; and we suppress nine-tenths of our thoughts for fear of seeming incorrect. We are sometimes frank in private, but coram populo our souls are not our own. In proof whereof see any magazine or newspaper or almost any current book or play, and mark especially the amazing difference between public speeches and private thoughts. There are the romantics of politics, and the self-concealment of debate, and the duty to the crowd, and the duty to the coterie, and the duty to the time of day, and the constraint of success, and the fear of being misunderstood, and the care of the universe, and the hundred other anxieties that make up our chief imaginary obligation to seem something different from what we are – something wiser or more sententious or more brilliant or more reasonable and educational, something far less human and infinitely less absurd. We cannot even see a man with a book without worrying over the effect it may have on him, and we would turn every critic into a sort of literary legislator. We try to compel good taste ad the harmless word “culture” has already acquired a grim and horrid sound. On the lightest of matters we lay the heaviest of hands. At every point our indefatigable instructors would substitute a formula for a vital process. Our fancied obligations to these little formulas are for the most part the subject of this book, which is made up of certain newspaper and magazine articles, edited and rearranged. The topics discussed are transitory, but they are bound to recur, and the writings quoted are evanescent but they are of a kind that often return. I have written about them because I enjoyed their absurdity, but incidentally they may show why so many of us grow old rigidly or develop an alarming spiritual pomposity in our middle age.
[For the impatient (for all others as well): the book is a collection of essays about “the … anxieties that make up our chief imaginary obligation to seem something different from what we are.”
The extremely impatient should skip the first sentence (and then know that “hortatory” is an adjectival version of the verb “to exhort”).]
Enjoy:
I presume it will not be denied that the Anglo-Saxon conscience is apt to encroach on the zone of moral indifference. We are a hortatory people, forever laying down the law in a region where diversity is most desirable. Apparently we would rather teach than live; we count votes even in our dreams; and we suppress nine-tenths of our thoughts for fear of seeming incorrect. We are sometimes frank in private, but coram populo our souls are not our own. In proof whereof see any magazine or newspaper or almost any current book or play, and mark especially the amazing difference between public speeches and private thoughts. There are the romantics of politics, and the self-concealment of debate, and the duty to the crowd, and the duty to the coterie, and the duty to the time of day, and the constraint of success, and the fear of being misunderstood, and the care of the universe, and the hundred other anxieties that make up our chief imaginary obligation to seem something different from what we are – something wiser or more sententious or more brilliant or more reasonable and educational, something far less human and infinitely less absurd. We cannot even see a man with a book without worrying over the effect it may have on him, and we would turn every critic into a sort of literary legislator. We try to compel good taste ad the harmless word “culture” has already acquired a grim and horrid sound. On the lightest of matters we lay the heaviest of hands. At every point our indefatigable instructors would substitute a formula for a vital process. Our fancied obligations to these little formulas are for the most part the subject of this book, which is made up of certain newspaper and magazine articles, edited and rearranged. The topics discussed are transitory, but they are bound to recur, and the writings quoted are evanescent but they are of a kind that often return. I have written about them because I enjoyed their absurdity, but incidentally they may show why so many of us grow old rigidly or develop an alarming spiritual pomposity in our middle age.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Classic subbing moment
Kid comes into class.
"What? Mr. M isn't here? Daaaaamn!"
Kid turns and leaves. Sees me. "Oh. Don't worry. I'll be back."
Right. Don't worry. I'm not worried.
"What? Mr. M isn't here? Daaaaamn!"
Kid turns and leaves. Sees me. "Oh. Don't worry. I'll be back."
Right. Don't worry. I'm not worried.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Memes aweigh!
I get the feeling I’m thinking too much about this Meme. But forgive me, it’s my first time. Here it is:
The Little-Known Favorites MemeRules: List and describe three of your favorite books that other people might not be familiar with. Then tag five people. See, easy!
Easy? EASY?? (See, I can do it, Megan.)
First I wanted to go the route of choosing “books that other people might not be familiar with,” forsaking the “favorites” a bit. As in:
The U.S. Constitution. Okay, in and of itself not a book, but available in book form, usually with other texts. Attempts to set down some minimal ground rules about getting along in a more or less civilized way.
The Dictionary. Any version, really. Attempts to set down some consensus on how to communicate with words.
A First Aid Manual. Attempts to show how you might be able to save a life, literally.
The problem with this list: I’ve only poked around in these, but haven’t actually read one end to end, so a recommendation in this case is merely idealized.
Not a bad list, though, hunh?
Then I wanted to be silly and do the ol’ switcheroo, as in:
The DaVinci Code (ever hear of it? didn't think so)
Nancy Drew, Book 9, The Sign of the Twisted Candle (all the others suck, really),
And anything on Oprah’s list.
But that’s too easy.
Finally, here’s my real list:
Roy Blount’s Book of Southern Humor. Roy Blount jr., ed. I’m cheating here, because it was the stepping stone for me in finding other great books. But that’s the point. Read it, note which excerpts you especially liked, and chase down more by that writer. Also a great read on its own (though not in a handy size for subway reading).
The Perfect Vacuum, by Stanislaw Lem. Lem’s a Polish science-fiction writer, best known, probably, for Solaris. This is a collection of fictional introductions and reviews of books that have never been (and/or could never be) written. Except for the first entry, a fictional review of the book itself. Mind-opening stuff. And witty, of course.
Imaginary Obligations, by Frank Moore Colby. You’ll have to go to alibris.com or abebooks.com or some such site to track this down, but it’s worth it. The novels I tend to read happen to be well-known (aka “classic”), so here’s another set of pieces. Colby’s essays are witty without being cutesy, and the theme is – but, you know what, I’ll just quote the entire preface in a future post.
Now, the hard part, tagging five people. I’m not sure I even have five readers of this blog, not to mention five readers who have blogs of their own. So here’s the deal. If you don’t have a blog, just write your answer in the comments and then tag people by sending your answer along with the question by email to five others.
I tag
Matt Groening, Tom Stoppard, Willie Nelson, Gary Oldman (for Julie), and Marisa Tomei
Or maybe I should tag
Auntie Boo
Warner P.
Green Clementine
Glenn J.
GrandJohn
The Little-Known Favorites MemeRules: List and describe three of your favorite books that other people might not be familiar with. Then tag five people. See, easy!
Easy? EASY?? (See, I can do it, Megan.)
First I wanted to go the route of choosing “books that other people might not be familiar with,” forsaking the “favorites” a bit. As in:
The U.S. Constitution. Okay, in and of itself not a book, but available in book form, usually with other texts. Attempts to set down some minimal ground rules about getting along in a more or less civilized way.
The Dictionary. Any version, really. Attempts to set down some consensus on how to communicate with words.
A First Aid Manual. Attempts to show how you might be able to save a life, literally.
The problem with this list: I’ve only poked around in these, but haven’t actually read one end to end, so a recommendation in this case is merely idealized.
Not a bad list, though, hunh?
Then I wanted to be silly and do the ol’ switcheroo, as in:
The DaVinci Code (ever hear of it? didn't think so)
Nancy Drew, Book 9, The Sign of the Twisted Candle (all the others suck, really),
And anything on Oprah’s list.
But that’s too easy.
Finally, here’s my real list:
Roy Blount’s Book of Southern Humor. Roy Blount jr., ed. I’m cheating here, because it was the stepping stone for me in finding other great books. But that’s the point. Read it, note which excerpts you especially liked, and chase down more by that writer. Also a great read on its own (though not in a handy size for subway reading).
The Perfect Vacuum, by Stanislaw Lem. Lem’s a Polish science-fiction writer, best known, probably, for Solaris. This is a collection of fictional introductions and reviews of books that have never been (and/or could never be) written. Except for the first entry, a fictional review of the book itself. Mind-opening stuff. And witty, of course.
Imaginary Obligations, by Frank Moore Colby. You’ll have to go to alibris.com or abebooks.com or some such site to track this down, but it’s worth it. The novels I tend to read happen to be well-known (aka “classic”), so here’s another set of pieces. Colby’s essays are witty without being cutesy, and the theme is – but, you know what, I’ll just quote the entire preface in a future post.
Now, the hard part, tagging five people. I’m not sure I even have five readers of this blog, not to mention five readers who have blogs of their own. So here’s the deal. If you don’t have a blog, just write your answer in the comments and then tag people by sending your answer along with the question by email to five others.
I tag
Matt Groening, Tom Stoppard, Willie Nelson, Gary Oldman (for Julie), and Marisa Tomei
Or maybe I should tag
Auntie Boo
Warner P.
Green Clementine
Glenn J.
GrandJohn
Coco Tuesday
Coco exposed some marketing the other day. (“Marketing,” I just realized, seems to mean “lying for the sake of selling something” to me.) He asked me to get some “yummy cheese” while he was at school. I told this to Juan (the awesome cheese guy). “Coco has requested me to get some ‘yummy cheese,’” I said.
We both chuckled.
Then Juan got a cheese off the shelf, the same he usually gets when “yummy” is requested. A Pyrenean cheese called Istara (sometimes he chooses Etorki, which is similar in provenance and flavor).
What are the other cheeses there for? They’re obviously not “yummy.”
Or, conversely (since I’m guessing at possible responses), what’s the point in “acquiring” a taste?
We both chuckled.
Then Juan got a cheese off the shelf, the same he usually gets when “yummy” is requested. A Pyrenean cheese called Istara (sometimes he chooses Etorki, which is similar in provenance and flavor).
What are the other cheeses there for? They’re obviously not “yummy.”
Or, conversely (since I’m guessing at possible responses), what’s the point in “acquiring” a taste?
Monday, May 21, 2007
Madge Monday
The last post about the ALL CAPS reminded me of this about Madge. She always finds it funny when she reads them in a story.
It has happened several times now that she has laughed aloud at something she read silently. And, when I ask her about it, she invariably replies by reading the section aloud, too fast, and mumbly. Then, when I go over to look, there’s something about a kid screaming exasperatedly (usually it’s Ron Weasley, but it’s happened with other books, too).
It has happened several times now that she has laughed aloud at something she read silently. And, when I ask her about it, she invariably replies by reading the section aloud, too fast, and mumbly. Then, when I go over to look, there’s something about a kid screaming exasperatedly (usually it’s Ron Weasley, but it’s happened with other books, too).
My first meme
Ooooh.
I've seen these before, but have never been involved.
My new BFF Megan "tagged" me with a meme.
So now I have homework. Not only do I get to think of three books, but I also need to figure out five people to tag - which, to me, seems the more difficult task since I don't know the etiquette of this sort of thing and I don't really know too many people online.
We'll see how I stand on these things. Probably shakily.
And I'm not into all caps because I HAVE ENOUGH PEOPLE SHOUTING AT ME ALREADY!
I've seen these before, but have never been involved.
My new BFF Megan "tagged" me with a meme.
The Little-Known Favorites MemeRules: List and describe three of your favorite books that other people might not be familiar with. Then tag five people. See, easy!
The Facetious Guy at facetiae. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want (I mean, that goes without saying, but I’m not sure where you stand on memes. I know you don’t do CAPITAL LETTERS FOR EMPHASIS!)
So now I have homework. Not only do I get to think of three books, but I also need to figure out five people to tag - which, to me, seems the more difficult task since I don't know the etiquette of this sort of thing and I don't really know too many people online.
We'll see how I stand on these things. Probably shakily.
And I'm not into all caps because I HAVE ENOUGH PEOPLE SHOUTING AT ME ALREADY!
5th Avenue Fair
It's a mystery to me why antacid companies don't set up emergency shacks at street fairs.
Just pass out free Tums right by the Italian-Sausage-with-onions-and-peppers stand and see if people aren't convinced. Or set up a grand slam of funnel cakes, cotton candy, beer, and Rolaids.
(And people say I don't know about marketing.)
Just pass out free Tums right by the Italian-Sausage-with-onions-and-peppers stand and see if people aren't convinced. Or set up a grand slam of funnel cakes, cotton candy, beer, and Rolaids.
(And people say I don't know about marketing.)
Song Titles
Now my mind is on country song titles or song titles in general.
How about "Her Legs Brought My Heart to its Knees."
Or "Downright Upright."
Knowing me, there'll be more soon.
How about "Her Legs Brought My Heart to its Knees."
Or "Downright Upright."
Knowing me, there'll be more soon.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Expectations, lived up to
The song, "It Was Always So Easy To Find an Unhappy Woman (Till I Started Looking for Mine)" sounds just like it ought.
As does the song about a double date with Edith and Kate that went awry, called (you guessed it), "You Can't Have Your Kate and Edith Too." It even modulates every time the punch line comes around. Great stuff.
As does the song about a double date with Edith and Kate that went awry, called (you guessed it), "You Can't Have Your Kate and Edith Too." It even modulates every time the punch line comes around. Great stuff.
A Title of the Gods
Thanks to Roy’s new book I’m filling in my country music lacunae.
One such is that I never knew “If I Said, 'You Have a Beautiful Body,' Would You Hold It Against Me” is an actual song. But then again, because I didn’t know it was an actual song, I didn’t know it was an actual bad song, so perhaps it’s a wash. The Bellamy Brothers took the line and made it into a song about getting around small talk, set to a cheesy L.A.-Vegas-Hawaii mishmash of the early eighties. Billy Ocean could have sung it. Or Jimmy Buffett. Or Warren Buffett, for that matter.
Here are some more of the lyrics. Bear in mind, nothing can approach the brilliancy of the title (by the way, “Bare In Mind” would be a good one, too), but still.
If I said “You have a beautiful body,” would you hold it against me?
If I swore you were an angel would you treat me like a devil tonight?
If I was dying of thirst, would your flowing love come quench me?
If I said “You have a beautiful body,” would you hold it against me?
Now we could talk all night about the weather
Could tell ya about my friends out on the coast
I could ask a lot of crazy questions
Or ask you what I really wanna know.
If I said…
Now rain can fall so soft against a window
Sun can shine so bright up in the sky
But daddy always told me, “Don’t make small talk.”
He said, “Come on out and say what’s on your mind.”
If I said…
See what I mean? It really ought to be about someone living with a partner who has a skewed body image.
Or about picking up someone at:
Anorexics (or Overeaters) anonymous
A Bench Press in the Gym
A Prosthesis Convention
I’m just saying.
So: Fix the tune to at least make the cheesiness more ironic; change the setting to do justice to the double meaning; and, finally, rhyme with “against.” If you set yourself a challenge like that, at least give it a try, rather than bailing out with “quench.” I’m sure something like, “You kept saying you’re ugly, and, lordy, how that incensed me” might work.
Just an idea.
One such is that I never knew “If I Said, 'You Have a Beautiful Body,' Would You Hold It Against Me” is an actual song. But then again, because I didn’t know it was an actual song, I didn’t know it was an actual bad song, so perhaps it’s a wash. The Bellamy Brothers took the line and made it into a song about getting around small talk, set to a cheesy L.A.-Vegas-Hawaii mishmash of the early eighties. Billy Ocean could have sung it. Or Jimmy Buffett. Or Warren Buffett, for that matter.
Here are some more of the lyrics. Bear in mind, nothing can approach the brilliancy of the title (by the way, “Bare In Mind” would be a good one, too), but still.
If I said “You have a beautiful body,” would you hold it against me?
If I swore you were an angel would you treat me like a devil tonight?
If I was dying of thirst, would your flowing love come quench me?
If I said “You have a beautiful body,” would you hold it against me?
Now we could talk all night about the weather
Could tell ya about my friends out on the coast
I could ask a lot of crazy questions
Or ask you what I really wanna know.
If I said…
Now rain can fall so soft against a window
Sun can shine so bright up in the sky
But daddy always told me, “Don’t make small talk.”
He said, “Come on out and say what’s on your mind.”
If I said…
See what I mean? It really ought to be about someone living with a partner who has a skewed body image.
Or about picking up someone at:
Anorexics (or Overeaters) anonymous
A Bench Press in the Gym
A Prosthesis Convention
I’m just saying.
So: Fix the tune to at least make the cheesiness more ironic; change the setting to do justice to the double meaning; and, finally, rhyme with “against.” If you set yourself a challenge like that, at least give it a try, rather than bailing out with “quench.” I’m sure something like, “You kept saying you’re ugly, and, lordy, how that incensed me” might work.
Just an idea.
life lessons
Subbing yesterday reminded me of the previous time I subbed and was subjected to cruel and unusual punishment: career day.
I ask you, what is more humbling than to be babysitting a group of resentful teenagers and then be lectured on boundless career opportunities?
Maybe being Ms Hilton’s parole officer. But only maybe.
Anyway, one of the orators was from People magazine, which got due applause, since it appeals to the students’ scholastic intellect. But the person giving the speech sent the wrong message, inadvertently, I’m sure. See, she was pregnant. And, while she rattled off her career in a monotone (IwenttocollegeandgotajobsellingadvertisingwhichInowdoforpeoplemagazine), she positively beamed while talking about her burgeoning belly.
The message: blahblahcareer, but you’re not fulfilled unless you have a bun in the oven. So, teenage girls, go out and do … what, again?
I ask you, what is more humbling than to be babysitting a group of resentful teenagers and then be lectured on boundless career opportunities?
Maybe being Ms Hilton’s parole officer. But only maybe.
Anyway, one of the orators was from People magazine, which got due applause, since it appeals to the students’ scholastic intellect. But the person giving the speech sent the wrong message, inadvertently, I’m sure. See, she was pregnant. And, while she rattled off her career in a monotone (IwenttocollegeandgotajobsellingadvertisingwhichInowdoforpeoplemagazine), she positively beamed while talking about her burgeoning belly.
The message: blahblahcareer, but you’re not fulfilled unless you have a bun in the oven. So, teenage girls, go out and do … what, again?
Thursday, May 17, 2007
what to give
My dad turned seventy yesterday - Yay, Opa! - and I'm clueless about what to get him.
Turns out one of his favorite gifts was something he got himself: a BB gun.
So now I know what to get him: protective eyewear and a helmet. He already has a forest and a Russian UAZ jeep.
Turns out one of his favorite gifts was something he got himself: a BB gun.
So now I know what to get him: protective eyewear and a helmet. He already has a forest and a Russian UAZ jeep.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Waiting for
I'm having groceries delivered. It's the easiest way to get a whole watermelon home.
But
I forgot that delivery before noon is quite spotty. So I'll have to step out to get Coco before the stuff gets here - stuff that is lacking the cat litter that should have been the number one item on my list.
Last time I did this I ran into the guy just as I came out the front door. Which meant that I missed the wonderful, "Delibbery!" from the intercom.
(Julie has taught Coco to say that into the intercom when they're downstairs. Funny stuff. He cracks himself up doing it.)
But
I forgot that delivery before noon is quite spotty. So I'll have to step out to get Coco before the stuff gets here - stuff that is lacking the cat litter that should have been the number one item on my list.
Last time I did this I ran into the guy just as I came out the front door. Which meant that I missed the wonderful, "Delibbery!" from the intercom.
(Julie has taught Coco to say that into the intercom when they're downstairs. Funny stuff. He cracks himself up doing it.)
Berlin Day, NYC
I found out that tomorrow is BerlinDay.
Who knew?
Here's the link.
It took me a while to find, so it can't be all that important to people around here.
Also, Koffer aus Berlin wants explanation, doesn't it?
By show of hands, who here has heard of the song, "Ich hab' noch einen Koffer in Berlin?"
Okay, now, who has actually heard it, not just of it?
That's what I thought.
Who knew?
Here's the link.
It took me a while to find, so it can't be all that important to people around here.
Also, Koffer aus Berlin wants explanation, doesn't it?
By show of hands, who here has heard of the song, "Ich hab' noch einen Koffer in Berlin?"
Okay, now, who has actually heard it, not just of it?
That's what I thought.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Coco Tuesday
Last night Coco told me that I’m big, therefore I can do a flip. I proceeded to do a somersault, on the floor. No, no, he corrected me, a flip in the air. Like Spider-Man.
Yikes.
Yikes.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Madge Monday
GrandJohn visited over the weekend, which was lovely.
Madge was all over his belt attachments, one of which is a step-counter, the other, a fancy phone. On which Madge discovered the camera and games almost immediately.
To get her away from the phone and to pacify her while the battery was charging, we taught her how to play solitaire with real cards. Ooooooh.
She actually likes it. Yay, us. It seems a much more soothing game when the player is not sitting hunched in front of a screen with a hand perched over a mouse pad.
Same somewhat brainless game, but a whole different mood.
Went to Hoyle and learned a new Solitaire game called Accordion. Fun, mostly because you’re not planning and hoping so much (“a red six would open up this pile which would uncover a space so I can move over a king and finally get at the stack I haven’t been able to…”), but rather watching how the rules of the game and the rules of chance interact.
Try it.
Madge was all over his belt attachments, one of which is a step-counter, the other, a fancy phone. On which Madge discovered the camera and games almost immediately.
To get her away from the phone and to pacify her while the battery was charging, we taught her how to play solitaire with real cards. Ooooooh.
She actually likes it. Yay, us. It seems a much more soothing game when the player is not sitting hunched in front of a screen with a hand perched over a mouse pad.
Same somewhat brainless game, but a whole different mood.
Went to Hoyle and learned a new Solitaire game called Accordion. Fun, mostly because you’re not planning and hoping so much (“a red six would open up this pile which would uncover a space so I can move over a king and finally get at the stack I haven’t been able to…”), but rather watching how the rules of the game and the rules of chance interact.
Try it.
Friday, May 11, 2007
"I didn't do it"
The subject heading is, apparently, what every teenager is required to say when he or she has been caught doing something desctructive and stupid. It's in the rulebook. "It wasn't me" is a viable alternative.
Every time I'm done subbing for a junior high class, I realize how wrong Golding's Lord of the Flies is.
He understated everything.
(Btw., has anyone out there read anything else by the Nobel Prize winner, Golding? If so, what do you recommend?)
Every time I'm done subbing for a junior high class, I realize how wrong Golding's Lord of the Flies is.
He understated everything.
(Btw., has anyone out there read anything else by the Nobel Prize winner, Golding? If so, what do you recommend?)
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Subbing today
I'm on a break right now. Duuuhuude, those Middle School kids are a royal pain.
Anyway.
At one point the principal came along, a bullfrog of a woman with a bullhorn of a mouth. And the whole package would have been incredibly intimidating if she hadn't had a smidgen of cream cheese or something stuck on her lip.
Wait. Who's the pain, the kids or me?
Anyway.
At one point the principal came along, a bullfrog of a woman with a bullhorn of a mouth. And the whole package would have been incredibly intimidating if she hadn't had a smidgen of cream cheese or something stuck on her lip.
Wait. Who's the pain, the kids or me?
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Smug, smug parents
Madge’s PTA is inviting people to an event, and I think I might have to go just to see.
And maybe rile up some people, depending on how much coffee I will have had.
The event is by “an investigative journalist, broadcaster, and … parent” and is called, “Buy, Buy Baby: How Consumer Culture Manipulates Parents and Harms Young Minds.” It’s based, of course, on material from her new book.
Why isn’t it entitled, “Fret, Fret Parent: How the Media Attacks Itself to Sell Itself” or some such.
In other words, how is this talk/topic/discussion different from what it purportedly “exposes”?
Sure, who doesn’t hate the endless “I want, I want” from their kids? But isn’t that part of growing up? And, more to the point, we happen to live in a consumer culture. If kids don’t understand how it works, how are they going to fend for themselves when their time comes – which is sooner than any of us would like to acknowledge?
How can anyone claim that consumer culture is harmful and still justify living in NYC?
I have yet to hear someone say they moved to NYC to get away from it all.
In other words, I’ll be going in order to see how many people I can alienate before noon.
And maybe rile up some people, depending on how much coffee I will have had.
The event is by “an investigative journalist, broadcaster, and … parent” and is called, “Buy, Buy Baby: How Consumer Culture Manipulates Parents and Harms Young Minds.” It’s based, of course, on material from her new book.
Why isn’t it entitled, “Fret, Fret Parent: How the Media Attacks Itself to Sell Itself” or some such.
In other words, how is this talk/topic/discussion different from what it purportedly “exposes”?
Sure, who doesn’t hate the endless “I want, I want” from their kids? But isn’t that part of growing up? And, more to the point, we happen to live in a consumer culture. If kids don’t understand how it works, how are they going to fend for themselves when their time comes – which is sooner than any of us would like to acknowledge?
How can anyone claim that consumer culture is harmful and still justify living in NYC?
I have yet to hear someone say they moved to NYC to get away from it all.
In other words, I’ll be going in order to see how many people I can alienate before noon.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Coco Tuesday
Coco’s got a new way of trying to kill me. The good news is that he wakes up to go to the bathroom rather than pee in his bed. The bad news is that it happens around 6:15 in the morning, after which he doesn’t go back to sleep and gets me up for company.
It’s as if I traveled to a new time zone.
It’s as if I traveled to a new time zone.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Madge Monday
Madge is sick today. Well, yesterday, too, but that didn’t really disrupt any scheduled events, because there were none.
News on the Madge front, though, is that she is in the process of getting glasses (they should be ready tomorrow). Coincidentally, her cousin got glasses recently as well, which is a nice sympathy move on his part. Julie and I are extremely myopic and warped, in a cornial way, so it was really just a matter of time before our offspring became in need of corrective lenses. We’re guessing Coco will be due for some around age seven or eight as well. We hope not, but chances aren’t in his favor.
Luckily, Madge is very decisive in matters of fashion – oh, who am I kidding, she’s decisive in all matters – and picking frames was fairly easy.
And now she’s home, watching Tom and Jerry (don’t tell Julie) while I do this and go clean the catbox and whatever else pops up.
Fun stuff.
Oh. The other thing. She picked up a new game at a playdate last week, Skip-Bo. It’s fun enough, but basically a competitive solitaire – aimed at obsessive-compulsive types. The problem for me is that it is a new game and I keep trying out strategies to see how it might work best. Why is this a problem? Because I end up winning without really meaning to and I don’t realize that I shouldn’t have until somebody is crying.
Which leads me to something else. I don’t know how often my parents and sisters “let” me win, but I think I minded the condescension in that more than losing. I may not have, but I know I would now, so I’m projecting backwards (re-jecting? Post-jecting?). And I’m left in an awkward position, playing with Madge because she actually wants me to let her win whereas I want to spare her feelings by trying to make her feel like a “worthy opponent.”
And, then, to top things off, she will start criticizing the way I played a game which she told me before hand to let her win. I just can’t, either way. Win, that is.
Maybe there’s a lesson there.
News on the Madge front, though, is that she is in the process of getting glasses (they should be ready tomorrow). Coincidentally, her cousin got glasses recently as well, which is a nice sympathy move on his part. Julie and I are extremely myopic and warped, in a cornial way, so it was really just a matter of time before our offspring became in need of corrective lenses. We’re guessing Coco will be due for some around age seven or eight as well. We hope not, but chances aren’t in his favor.
Luckily, Madge is very decisive in matters of fashion – oh, who am I kidding, she’s decisive in all matters – and picking frames was fairly easy.
And now she’s home, watching Tom and Jerry (don’t tell Julie) while I do this and go clean the catbox and whatever else pops up.
Fun stuff.
Oh. The other thing. She picked up a new game at a playdate last week, Skip-Bo. It’s fun enough, but basically a competitive solitaire – aimed at obsessive-compulsive types. The problem for me is that it is a new game and I keep trying out strategies to see how it might work best. Why is this a problem? Because I end up winning without really meaning to and I don’t realize that I shouldn’t have until somebody is crying.
Which leads me to something else. I don’t know how often my parents and sisters “let” me win, but I think I minded the condescension in that more than losing. I may not have, but I know I would now, so I’m projecting backwards (re-jecting? Post-jecting?). And I’m left in an awkward position, playing with Madge because she actually wants me to let her win whereas I want to spare her feelings by trying to make her feel like a “worthy opponent.”
And, then, to top things off, she will start criticizing the way I played a game which she told me before hand to let her win. I just can’t, either way. Win, that is.
Maybe there’s a lesson there.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Overheard from Coco's mouth
A new (to me) word: magicadabra.
Now that I've written it out, I realize it might have older sister overtones as well, as in: Madge-acadabra.
Now that I've written it out, I realize it might have older sister overtones as well, as in: Madge-acadabra.
Overheard from my mouth
"Sure, it might be taking a nap, Coco, but I don't think squirrels sleep in the street."
Thursday, May 03, 2007
BennyBenFreshBen
Alert the media.
A good friend of ours and wife and kids might, I repeat, MIGHT be coming to New York for a weekend.
You read it here first.
(There, Ben. Happy? Now will you come?)
A good friend of ours and wife and kids might, I repeat, MIGHT be coming to New York for a weekend.
You read it here first.
(There, Ben. Happy? Now will you come?)
a resolution backfires
I made a resolution at New Year that sounded okay to me.
Every five pounds I lose, I get to buy a new item of clothing. Doesn't sound too bad.
But I've inadvertantly found a problem in the system. I haven't lost diddly-squat, but my only pair of jeans recently got a hole in the knee.
Now I need to go to the gym just so I can look presentable.
Every five pounds I lose, I get to buy a new item of clothing. Doesn't sound too bad.
But I've inadvertantly found a problem in the system. I haven't lost diddly-squat, but my only pair of jeans recently got a hole in the knee.
Now I need to go to the gym just so I can look presentable.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
A listener
I had a nice experience yesterday afternoon. Picking up Madge from a playdate, I was trying to be witty with the mom and mentioned Sea Monkeys as an example of disappointing toys and the power of advertising to burn kids again and again even though they ought to know better blahblah.
She went into this thing about a show on NPR that she loves and how she heard something about the inventor of the Sea Monkeys. And then she said the only problem with the show are those damned limericks.
I'm kidding. I told her I write for WaitWait and she was duly enthused about it.
She went into this thing about a show on NPR that she loves and how she heard something about the inventor of the Sea Monkeys. And then she said the only problem with the show are those damned limericks.
I'm kidding. I told her I write for WaitWait and she was duly enthused about it.
We may have a new institution
Game night.
Last night friends came over to play Scrabble. Fun stuff. I didn’t even win and I still think it was fun. Aren’t I growing up? (Except for that last leading question of course. But feel free to pat me on the back with an affirmation.)
Which brings me to an observation about trading kid time for adult time. The adults were more immature, which is as it should be. Right?
We’re always trying to be what we’re not. The kids want to be responsible and to make decisions and we want to toss this to the wind. So while we wanted to go out for ice cream, the kids were working out a better household budget.
Let's make it a regular thing. (Not the budget. Duh. The game night.)
Last night friends came over to play Scrabble. Fun stuff. I didn’t even win and I still think it was fun. Aren’t I growing up? (Except for that last leading question of course. But feel free to pat me on the back with an affirmation.)
Which brings me to an observation about trading kid time for adult time. The adults were more immature, which is as it should be. Right?
We’re always trying to be what we’re not. The kids want to be responsible and to make decisions and we want to toss this to the wind. So while we wanted to go out for ice cream, the kids were working out a better household budget.
Let's make it a regular thing. (Not the budget. Duh. The game night.)
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Coco Tuesday
No TV has really changed Coco’s schedule since he’s been using a movie or Spongebob or whatever to have a pseudo-nap after school. And I was able to keep farting around on the computer or around the apartment.
So now we’re butting heads more. But it turns out that he’s different from Madge in many ways, if not all. For example, and to my relief, he enjoys being outdoors. And, big bonus, because of it, now she’s beginning to enjoy it more, too. Until the temperature gets to be above 75 and she complains of the heat, but we’ll work with that, I hope.
Coco has also begun speaking more and has noticed that he can get and hold attention by talking. And now he’s seriously intruding on her turf. Sibling stuff is so much fun, I tell you.
So now we’re butting heads more. But it turns out that he’s different from Madge in many ways, if not all. For example, and to my relief, he enjoys being outdoors. And, big bonus, because of it, now she’s beginning to enjoy it more, too. Until the temperature gets to be above 75 and she complains of the heat, but we’ll work with that, I hope.
Coco has also begun speaking more and has noticed that he can get and hold attention by talking. And now he’s seriously intruding on her turf. Sibling stuff is so much fun, I tell you.
Madge Monday
The week without TV is over and we’re back in business. Was it a success? I don’t know. Our rhythm was thrown off and we got to fight more.
Of course it’s all my fault. More to the point, it’s the fault of those stupid birth order books. See, now I know that firstborns would rather be right than have fun. And I know, by saying that, I sound like the lastborn that I am. So? Now what?
Actually this morning I had a minor insight. Not only is Madge a perfectionist who likes to follow rules and, of course, make the rules in the first place, but she also has a hard time saying no. And this seems to be the source of much conflict. Coco invites her to play. She says no. He manipulates her into saying yes, which means she already starts playing without really wanting to. Then she’ll set rules which he never wanted to follow because it was his game (usually with her toys since she’s older and there are many hand-me-downs around) and boom, we have some sort of conflict escalating into tattling. Which I hate.
Here’s what I’ve noticed: The middle child? That’s the parent.
Of course it’s all my fault. More to the point, it’s the fault of those stupid birth order books. See, now I know that firstborns would rather be right than have fun. And I know, by saying that, I sound like the lastborn that I am. So? Now what?
Actually this morning I had a minor insight. Not only is Madge a perfectionist who likes to follow rules and, of course, make the rules in the first place, but she also has a hard time saying no. And this seems to be the source of much conflict. Coco invites her to play. She says no. He manipulates her into saying yes, which means she already starts playing without really wanting to. Then she’ll set rules which he never wanted to follow because it was his game (usually with her toys since she’s older and there are many hand-me-downs around) and boom, we have some sort of conflict escalating into tattling. Which I hate.
Here’s what I’ve noticed: The middle child? That’s the parent.
Monday, April 30, 2007
And we're back
First post, of course, needs to be a smartass one.
Here's something I got in my email inbox:
Fair enough. But to this the "deep thinker" in me replies:
Look at your watch. It is now 09:57:12 04/30/07 (or whatever the case may be for you). This moment, too, only happens once in your lifetime. Take a breath. This breat only happens once in your lifetime. Have a conversation. This conversation will only happen once in a lifetime. Kiss someone. This kiss... might get you arrested. This arrest will only happen once in a lifetime.
I think you get the point. How to "live" this knowledge is a different matter altogether.
Here's something I got in my email inbox:
Now, if you want some valuable information maybe you should read this. At three minutes and four seconds after 2 AM on the 6th of May this year, the time and date will be02:03:04 05/06/07.This will never happen again IN MY LIFETIME, nor in YOURS.Just thought you should know this!
Fair enough. But to this the "deep thinker" in me replies:
Look at your watch. It is now 09:57:12 04/30/07 (or whatever the case may be for you). This moment, too, only happens once in your lifetime. Take a breath. This breat only happens once in your lifetime. Have a conversation. This conversation will only happen once in a lifetime. Kiss someone. This kiss... might get you arrested. This arrest will only happen once in a lifetime.
I think you get the point. How to "live" this knowledge is a different matter altogether.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Snicker, snicker
Okay.
One more.
If you've got eight and a half minutes, you can do worse than watch this (Robert Pinsky, Sean Penn, Stephen Colbert in the Meta-free-phor-all).
Now I'm gone. Have fun.
One more.
If you've got eight and a half minutes, you can do worse than watch this (Robert Pinsky, Sean Penn, Stephen Colbert in the Meta-free-phor-all).
Now I'm gone. Have fun.
All right
That might have been it for the week (See Madge Monday for details).
Feel free to check out the links or older posts while I'm out. Or go out and enjoy Spring.
You're supped to turn away from the computer screen every half hour anyway. (I read that somewhere. Like the eight - no, it's six - no it's ten - glasses of liquids i should consume a day - caffeinated beverages and alcohol don't count, this random knowledge is one of those parental admonishment rumors I can neither trace nor verify. But it sounds like good advice, i.e., advice I can feel guilty about for heeding.)
Feel free to check out the links or older posts while I'm out. Or go out and enjoy Spring.
You're supped to turn away from the computer screen every half hour anyway. (I read that somewhere. Like the eight - no, it's six - no it's ten - glasses of liquids i should consume a day - caffeinated beverages and alcohol don't count, this random knowledge is one of those parental admonishment rumors I can neither trace nor verify. But it sounds like good advice, i.e., advice I can feel guilty about for heeding.)
Coco Tuesday
The manipulator let his colors show in a spectacular way tonight.
He was about to brush his teeth when he asked for a glass of milk. I said okay. He realized that the girls were folding laundry and talking and having a good time, so he went to them and said "I help Mommy" to me. I said okay. Next thing I hear is Julie's voice. "Coco. Stop jumping on the bed. You're messing up the piles." "Okay. Sorry, Mommy." Pause. "Coco! I told you to stop jumping on the bed." Then it struck me; he'd been yanking my chain again. I stomped back to the bedroom. "Coco! You said you wanted to help Mommy. You're not helping Mommy at all." He made his crumpled-injured face and hugged Julie tightly around the neck. Then, mid-hug, he turned his face to me, smiled and stuck out his tongue.
I had to go into the bathroom to keep him from noticing how hard it made me laugh.
He was about to brush his teeth when he asked for a glass of milk. I said okay. He realized that the girls were folding laundry and talking and having a good time, so he went to them and said "I help Mommy" to me. I said okay. Next thing I hear is Julie's voice. "Coco. Stop jumping on the bed. You're messing up the piles." "Okay. Sorry, Mommy." Pause. "Coco! I told you to stop jumping on the bed." Then it struck me; he'd been yanking my chain again. I stomped back to the bedroom. "Coco! You said you wanted to help Mommy. You're not helping Mommy at all." He made his crumpled-injured face and hugged Julie tightly around the neck. Then, mid-hug, he turned his face to me, smiled and stuck out his tongue.
I had to go into the bathroom to keep him from noticing how hard it made me laugh.
Madge Monday
Madge's school is having a "Turn off the TV" week, which includes no computers. It's really a "for god's sake, let something other than pixels entertain you for a while, maybe even interact with your parents in a non-demanding way" week. Or "let's see how you survive this torture without breaking your parents' wallets from all the new toys you'll need to be distracted" week.
Of course Madge insists that I play by the rules, too, which means that I'm not allowed to use the computer this week. I said while she's awake, but she wants stricter adherence. We'll see. So I'm posting this Monday in advance. There's no new WaitWait this week, so it might actually work, though I still need to communicate, right?
Only email, maybe.
The occasional blog entry if something really funny happens.
But that's it.
Maybe.
Of course Madge insists that I play by the rules, too, which means that I'm not allowed to use the computer this week. I said while she's awake, but she wants stricter adherence. We'll see. So I'm posting this Monday in advance. There's no new WaitWait this week, so it might actually work, though I still need to communicate, right?
Only email, maybe.
The occasional blog entry if something really funny happens.
But that's it.
Maybe.
Mental note
No matter how much experience your gaydar has accumulated in seven years' of San Francisco, no matter how stereotypically your students act (love of musicals in boys, love of mechanics in girls), it is not your job to out them, especially here in New York, where people are surprisingly repressed about these matters.
This is my weekly Sunday mantra before I teach. Because, let me tell you, it can be difficult.
This is my weekly Sunday mantra before I teach. Because, let me tell you, it can be difficult.
double-take
A friend of mine went to Paris (in April, no less, the weenie) and took this remarkable picture.
Notice the symmetry in the buildings juxtaposed with the jaunty angles of the photograph and the way the color of the roof approaches the sky?
Was there anything else?
And the only thing the newspapers here talked about that week was Imus.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Madge's new style
New details and new themes emerge in Madge's drawings. The dragon bowled me over. The duck is pretty awesome, too. I don't know where they're coming from, but they're a welcome change from fairies and mermaids, if you ask me (which you don't, I know).
Johnson Fables
No. 7 (Tuesday, 10 April 1750)
“Other things may be seized by might, or purchased with money, but knowledge is to be gained only by study, and study to be prosecuted only in retirement.”
Retiree: Your honor, let it please the court that Study has continually wasted my time and resulted in no fruit.
Study: Objection. Relevance?
Retiree: I’ll tell you the relevance, you piece of…
Judge: Careful, or I’ll hold you in contempt.
Study: See what happens when you ignore me?
Retiree: Oh, quit it. Look at the Judge. Your Honor, may I ask you some questions?
Judge: I’m not sure how…
Retiree: Did study get you your position on the Bench?
Judge: Well, to pass the bar I had to do a little studying in my day.
Retiree: But to become an elected Judge, did you study in solitude? Or did it come your way by bargaining and compromise?
Study: This isn’t about him.
Retiree: No, you’re right, it’s about you and how little you’ve done for me.
Study: Perhaps you’re looking at it the wrong way. Maybe you should have done more for me and then something would have fallen into place for you.
Retiree: You mean…? Oh. But isn’t it a bit late for me to gain Knowledge now? In this way?
Study: Knowledge is always gained too late.
Retiree: Your Honor, I rest my case. It is not the prosecution of Study, but the occurrence of Experience that imparts Knowledge.
[Study quietly steals away]
“Other things may be seized by might, or purchased with money, but knowledge is to be gained only by study, and study to be prosecuted only in retirement.”
Retiree: Your honor, let it please the court that Study has continually wasted my time and resulted in no fruit.
Study: Objection. Relevance?
Retiree: I’ll tell you the relevance, you piece of…
Judge: Careful, or I’ll hold you in contempt.
Study: See what happens when you ignore me?
Retiree: Oh, quit it. Look at the Judge. Your Honor, may I ask you some questions?
Judge: I’m not sure how…
Retiree: Did study get you your position on the Bench?
Judge: Well, to pass the bar I had to do a little studying in my day.
Retiree: But to become an elected Judge, did you study in solitude? Or did it come your way by bargaining and compromise?
Study: This isn’t about him.
Retiree: No, you’re right, it’s about you and how little you’ve done for me.
Study: Perhaps you’re looking at it the wrong way. Maybe you should have done more for me and then something would have fallen into place for you.
Retiree: You mean…? Oh. But isn’t it a bit late for me to gain Knowledge now? In this way?
Study: Knowledge is always gained too late.
Retiree: Your Honor, I rest my case. It is not the prosecution of Study, but the occurrence of Experience that imparts Knowledge.
[Study quietly steals away]
Getting along
Yesterday was an all-round grumpy day.
Sass, attitude, and snappiness. And the kids weren't behaving too well, either.
So these pictures (taken the day before) are for me, to remind me that we do have fun together.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
junk mail folder
Julie's work occasionally moves some of my emails to her into the company's junk mail folder.
I decided to run some informal tests and so far it seems that her company deems phrases like "come home," "you work too hard," and "you need a raise" obscene.
Really. Ask Julie. She's had to retrieve them all from her junk folder.
Please leave comments as to which other phrases I might try.
I think they should go "home" themselves.
I decided to run some informal tests and so far it seems that her company deems phrases like "come home," "you work too hard," and "you need a raise" obscene.
Really. Ask Julie. She's had to retrieve them all from her junk folder.
Please leave comments as to which other phrases I might try.
I think they should go "home" themselves.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Jess loved to draw
This weekend I read Katherine Paterson’s Bridge to Terabithia (1977). Early in the book (Chapter 2), I found this:
Jess(e) is the 10-yr-old protagonist. The story is told from a third-person, single point of view, which means that the “he said” “she did” stuff gets filtered through Jesse’s reactions.
Needless to say, this whiskey-drinking simile is either disturbing or incorrect. But it leads to other possibilities.
Harold rode his bike the way some people have sex. First tentatively, but once he had the hang of it, the training wheels came off and he didn’t care how many shins he skinned or toddlers he accidentally ran over. Lord, he loved riding a bike.
Billy built Legos the way some people gamble. The tingle would start at the base of his spine and soon his fingers itched for those nubby plastic pieces that he’d sacrifice his mother just to get a chance to build again. Lord, he loved to build.
Phoebe dressed her doll the way some people smoke crack. The first time she fastened the Velcro correctly she got an incredible rush to the frontal lobe, and from that point on it was moremoremore until she found herself in a mall parking lot offering sexual favors for a quick hit of new doll clothes. Lord, she loved to dress dolls.
Jess drew the way some people drink whiskey. Shakily. Shouting abuse at others. Wetting his pants. Lord, he loved to draw.
Jess drew the way some people drink whiskey. The peace would start at the top of his muddled brain and seep down through his tired and tensed-up body. Lord, he loved to draw.
Jess(e) is the 10-yr-old protagonist. The story is told from a third-person, single point of view, which means that the “he said” “she did” stuff gets filtered through Jesse’s reactions.
Needless to say, this whiskey-drinking simile is either disturbing or incorrect. But it leads to other possibilities.
Harold rode his bike the way some people have sex. First tentatively, but once he had the hang of it, the training wheels came off and he didn’t care how many shins he skinned or toddlers he accidentally ran over. Lord, he loved riding a bike.
Billy built Legos the way some people gamble. The tingle would start at the base of his spine and soon his fingers itched for those nubby plastic pieces that he’d sacrifice his mother just to get a chance to build again. Lord, he loved to build.
Phoebe dressed her doll the way some people smoke crack. The first time she fastened the Velcro correctly she got an incredible rush to the frontal lobe, and from that point on it was moremoremore until she found herself in a mall parking lot offering sexual favors for a quick hit of new doll clothes. Lord, she loved to dress dolls.
Jess drew the way some people drink whiskey. Shakily. Shouting abuse at others. Wetting his pants. Lord, he loved to draw.
Coco Tuesday
What’s new in Coco-land? Spongebob stocks are down, Spiderman up. We found a Spider-Spud at the toy store yesterday and now he’s fighting it out with Darth Tater and winning. But Coco isn’t quite able to change Peter Parker Potato’s costume so I get to help out a lot. Yay.
Oh, yes, and it’s getting quite difficult to get Coco to take off his Spiderman pjs. Yesterday he waited around for about twenty minutes in the nude for the dryer to be done before he put on his striped pjs.
Once the dryer was done, he changed, of course.
Oh, yes, and it’s getting quite difficult to get Coco to take off his Spiderman pjs. Yesterday he waited around for about twenty minutes in the nude for the dryer to be done before he put on his striped pjs.
Once the dryer was done, he changed, of course.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Madge Monday
This weekend Madge didn’t go out of the house even once. I think the vacation took it out of her or something. The rain didn’t help, of course.
Still, it was cute. We merely took turns staying in with the kids. (Coco came with me on a few shopping trips.)
Every once in a while, blogs or emails include things like “ten books that most changed my life” or some such thing. We got a few books on birth order from the library and I think they’re going to change my/our attitude towards dealing with Madge, the first born. (Neither Julie and I are first born, so we think just saying “lighten up” will help. But it appears we might have to be more careful about our approach.) It’s no book in particular that’s doing the trick, just looking at them in general. Interesting stuff. Fun, too, in a glossy-magazine pop-psychology kind of way (lists, tests, advice, wannabe humorous phrasings and slogans, but still).
Of course there’s always the-rock-and-the-hard-place advice. First, they say first-borns are jealous of attention paid to younger siblings. Then, they say that the younger siblings hound them too much and need to be removed from the first-borns, especially when the older friends are over. But how do you do that without paying more attention to the younger siblings?
Which leads me to another influential book, Parenting with Duck Tape.
Still, it was cute. We merely took turns staying in with the kids. (Coco came with me on a few shopping trips.)
Every once in a while, blogs or emails include things like “ten books that most changed my life” or some such thing. We got a few books on birth order from the library and I think they’re going to change my/our attitude towards dealing with Madge, the first born. (Neither Julie and I are first born, so we think just saying “lighten up” will help. But it appears we might have to be more careful about our approach.) It’s no book in particular that’s doing the trick, just looking at them in general. Interesting stuff. Fun, too, in a glossy-magazine pop-psychology kind of way (lists, tests, advice, wannabe humorous phrasings and slogans, but still).
Of course there’s always the-rock-and-the-hard-place advice. First, they say first-borns are jealous of attention paid to younger siblings. Then, they say that the younger siblings hound them too much and need to be removed from the first-borns, especially when the older friends are over. But how do you do that without paying more attention to the younger siblings?
Which leads me to another influential book, Parenting with Duck Tape.
Headline poem
(Got a little desk job this morning, so I have a little extra time to surf and read.)
Polar Bears: http://www.nytimes.com/2007/04/16/world/europe/16polar.html?ref=world
Immigrants: http://www.nytimes.com/2007/04/16/nyregion/16immig.html?ref=us
Russia Tries to Save Polar Bears With Legal Hunt
Controlled hunting aims to cut down on poaching - maybe.
Tax Returns Rise for Immigrants in U.S. Illegally
Exposed to authorized poachers, immigrants establish a paper trail - maybe.
Polar Bears: http://www.nytimes.com/2007/04/16/world/europe/16polar.html?ref=world
Immigrants: http://www.nytimes.com/2007/04/16/nyregion/16immig.html?ref=us
Russia Tries to Save Polar Bears With Legal Hunt
Controlled hunting aims to cut down on poaching - maybe.
Tax Returns Rise for Immigrants in U.S. Illegally
Exposed to authorized poachers, immigrants establish a paper trail - maybe.
Studen Loan Payments
Sallie Mae (for the international readers: she is - they are - primarily known for student loans in the U.S.) is in the process of being bought out by a couple private investors and two banks.
What'll the new name be? Uncle Fester? Hannibal? Vlad the Impaler? Oprah?
The new payment schedule is more straightforward, though.
For a B.A. - firstborn child.
For a Master's degree - kidney and liver.
Ph.D. - your soul.
What'll the new name be? Uncle Fester? Hannibal? Vlad the Impaler? Oprah?
The new payment schedule is more straightforward, though.
For a B.A. - firstborn child.
For a Master's degree - kidney and liver.
Ph.D. - your soul.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Johnson Fables
No. 6 (Saturday, 7 April 1750)
“[T]he fountain of content must spring up in the mind.”
The Explorers of Happiness were stymied. In vain had they sailed the world searching for the Fountain of Content. It seemed that every time they settled somewhere, the Fountain of Content lurked just beyond the horizon, and whenever they were on the road or open sea it called to them from their reminiscences of home.
Finally, they had the felicitous idea of drilling into their crania.
And, Lo! The Land of the Content* is inhabited by people with derricks sticking from their skulls.
*At least the permanent, drooling grin makes the casual observer think so.
“[T]he fountain of content must spring up in the mind.”
The Explorers of Happiness were stymied. In vain had they sailed the world searching for the Fountain of Content. It seemed that every time they settled somewhere, the Fountain of Content lurked just beyond the horizon, and whenever they were on the road or open sea it called to them from their reminiscences of home.
Finally, they had the felicitous idea of drilling into their crania.
And, Lo! The Land of the Content* is inhabited by people with derricks sticking from their skulls.
*At least the permanent, drooling grin makes the casual observer think so.
A Headline
N.J. Governor Is Critical After Car Crash
Unfortunate. Not only because of the injuries sustained by Corzine, but because, reading it, one thinks that the accident has changed a formerly accepting disposition.
Madge bonus
A couple nights ago, at bedtime, Madge said she wants to be in Les Miz, as Fantine or Eponine.
Then she said, as any girl part, really, even the mean one who makes Fantine lose her job.
See, she's already willing to make sacrifices.
Then she said, as any girl part, really, even the mean one who makes Fantine lose her job.
See, she's already willing to make sacrifices.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Holy Bleep!
When the cousins were here, I rode this thing with one of them.
Man.
Perfect April weather. A balmy mid-thirties. Snow flurries alternating with a brisk wind and sunshine.
A Nathan's hot dog rolling around my small intestines - not sure which egress to choose.
But, whoa, what a ride. I looked it up, the steepest incline was something like 56 degrees, but I could have sworn it was perpendicular. My camera dropped out of my inside jacket pocket during the ride and had somehow made its way out of its case as well.
If you come here, you gotta ride this thing. I recommend a cold day because there were no lines.
Bring diapers.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Cosmetic joke
Ricky D. called us over the weekend, what a sweetie. For some reason, I thought of a joke for him. Here you go (makeup is his industry, of course).
This stuff covers so well, it'll even take care of a five-o'clock shadow. As a matter of fact, so many fairies use it, we call it the make-a-wish foundation.
(pzzzzzzting!)
This stuff covers so well, it'll even take care of a five-o'clock shadow. As a matter of fact, so many fairies use it, we call it the make-a-wish foundation.
(pzzzzzzting!)
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Coco Tuesday
Coco isn't quite as thoughtful when he gets upset.
Here's the result of one of his outbursts.
I had been cutting up movie rental coupons with his scissors, something he didn't approve of. (Really, he's just generally upset because things aren't moving at his pace right now and he doesn't have any space. Guests.)
So he took the scissors and closed the door behind himself in his room.
The result: Madge's allowance got a bit scrambled.
Madge Monday
Wow.
Sometimes, she surprises me even more than usual. What a mature thing to do.
Or, let me rephrase that. She did something I, in my infantile pettiness, would never have thought, no, never think, of doing.
When I came out of the shower the other day, I saw this note. It says,
Don't yell at m while your family are here. You emberess me daddy. - Madeleine
It makes me all choked up just thinking about it again. And the weird thing (to me) is, I wasn't even raising my voice. But at least now I know that she takes almost all forms of disapproval or chastisement as yelling.
Something to consider.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
a little quiz
Sorry I've been delinquent.
Guests.
But here's a beaty of a line I read recently. Feel free to guess where. Guess right and I'll write you a poem (you supply the topic). (And using Google or a similar search engine doesn't count.)
An envious heart makes a treacherous ear.
Cool, hunh? "Ear" is in "h(ear)t" already. "Envious" and "treacherous" are trisyllabic and end in the same way. Oh, yes, and it makes sense.
Mental note: learn to do similar things with words. By Thursday.
Guests.
But here's a beaty of a line I read recently. Feel free to guess where. Guess right and I'll write you a poem (you supply the topic). (And using Google or a similar search engine doesn't count.)
An envious heart makes a treacherous ear.
Cool, hunh? "Ear" is in "h(ear)t" already. "Envious" and "treacherous" are trisyllabic and end in the same way. Oh, yes, and it makes sense.
Mental note: learn to do similar things with words. By Thursday.
Friday, April 06, 2007
Friday Johnson Fable
No. 4 (Saturday, 31 March 1750)
“[A]lmost all fictions of the last age will vanish, if you deprive them of a hermit and a wood, a battle and a shipwreck.”
A Shipwreck came upon a Wood and said, “I feel pointless without my Battle. Could you direct me toward a fiction?”
The Wood responded, “I’m not much better off than you since I’ve lost my Hermit. All I can think of now is solid fact.”
Said the Shipwreck, “You don’t suppose your Hermit ran off with my Battle?”
“I have heard him talk of ‘wrestling with demons.’ Does that sound like your Battle?”
“Not like the Battle I’ve come to know and love, but it seems I don’t know my Battle like I thought I did.”
“Where might they have gone?”
“I don’t know, but they’ve probably made a wonderful life for themselves,” said the Shipwreck, tearing up. “I’ve always felt like I couldn’t really satisfy my Battle.””And I’ve always been trying to tell my Hermit that he shouldn’t worry about being enough for me. I might be a vast, impenetrable Wood, but he is near and dear to me.”
“You know what?” said the Shipwreck, wiping its eyes. “I think we’re making our own fictions right now.””Yeah,” said the Wood. “Buck up, we’ll be all right on our own.”
“[A]lmost all fictions of the last age will vanish, if you deprive them of a hermit and a wood, a battle and a shipwreck.”
A Shipwreck came upon a Wood and said, “I feel pointless without my Battle. Could you direct me toward a fiction?”
The Wood responded, “I’m not much better off than you since I’ve lost my Hermit. All I can think of now is solid fact.”
Said the Shipwreck, “You don’t suppose your Hermit ran off with my Battle?”
“I have heard him talk of ‘wrestling with demons.’ Does that sound like your Battle?”
“Not like the Battle I’ve come to know and love, but it seems I don’t know my Battle like I thought I did.”
“Where might they have gone?”
“I don’t know, but they’ve probably made a wonderful life for themselves,” said the Shipwreck, tearing up. “I’ve always felt like I couldn’t really satisfy my Battle.””And I’ve always been trying to tell my Hermit that he shouldn’t worry about being enough for me. I might be a vast, impenetrable Wood, but he is near and dear to me.”
“You know what?” said the Shipwreck, wiping its eyes. “I think we’re making our own fictions right now.””Yeah,” said the Wood. “Buck up, we’ll be all right on our own.”
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Happy, happy Kafka
I've opened "The Great Wall of China" in the aphorisms. What a giddy guy:
or,
or,
I bet he loved knock-knock jokes.
To grasp the happiness, that the ground, on which you stand, cannot be larger, than the two feet that cover it.
or,
There is a goal, but no path; what we call path, is hesitation.
or,
There is no having, only being, a being desirous of last breath, of suffocation.
I bet he loved knock-knock jokes.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Coco Tuesday
Coco is outdoing himself trying to be a good host. The kids’ Granny, Tante Tina, and two oldest cousins are here on a visit from Germany (and I've already developed my first stress-zit, but this isn't about me). It seems a revelation to him that older kids might enjoy his toys as well. Well, that’s not quite true. Madge does, and so do some of her friends, but this is a new experience for him. It’s cute. Though it seems the auntie and the grandmother are still figuring out how girl-children work, so I sense difficulties arising on that front.
Coco, though, dragged me from the dinner table this evening so I could read to him, and he promptly fell asleep, he’s been so overwhelmed by the excitement.
No I just need to figure out how to keep him from telling his guests how every scene in every movie turns out. I guess we need to rent stuff he hasn’t seen yet.
Coco, though, dragged me from the dinner table this evening so I could read to him, and he promptly fell asleep, he’s been so overwhelmed by the excitement.
No I just need to figure out how to keep him from telling his guests how every scene in every movie turns out. I guess we need to rent stuff he hasn’t seen yet.
Monday, April 02, 2007
Madge Monday
Many things happen in Spring, most of which I forget about every year. One such thing is that it gets incredibly difficult to spot my own kids on the playground. First of all, tons of kids who don't show up in colder weather suddenly appear. (I don't know if it's the parents, the kids, or a mixture of the two that keeps them homebound.) Second, I've spent about four months getting used to seeing them in their winter coats. My eyes scan the playground for a pink jacket and a red one. Easy enough. But now all coats and bets are off, and I'm standing on benches, craning my puffy neck for my little chicks.
Another few weeks of this, and they'll be the only kids on the playground with blue hair. Or orange, but I've always thought blue hair is kind of cool.
Another few weeks of this, and they'll be the only kids on the playground with blue hair. Or orange, but I've always thought blue hair is kind of cool.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Timely judgment
More like me, these lines from Alexander Pope (which seem out of place in "The Rape of the Lock" - as yet unfinished reading for me, but there you go):
[...]
Mean while, declining from the noon of day,
The sun obliquely shoots his burning ray;
The hungry Judges soon the sentence sign,
And wretches hang that Jury-men may dine;
[...]
not your usual facetiae fare
On my way to my Sunday job, I was listening to one of my favorite podcasts, the NYTimes Book Review. It allows me to superficially keep up with new books without frequenting bookstores, where I am forced, by the nature of the company I keep, to set up shop in the children’s section. I think it’s the former grad student in me that feel the need to stay somewhat current with new publications I never intend to read.
One such book is “Radicals For Capitalism,” which, as I gather, is a history of the American Libertarian movement. The reviewer gave a brief overview of the topic and pointed out that Greenspan was a follower of Ayn Rand (who must really detest the “libertarian paternalism” label). He also noted that Greenspan helped shape the laissez-faire elements of the American economy.
This struck me as odd, because, in my superficial acquaintance with the man and his utterances, I’ve come away with the impression that all he has to do is say something, and the market responds. (Even now that he’s not the Chairman of the Federal Reserve anymore.)
Then I remembered that Bernanke made the mistake of opening his mouth too often in “casual” situations, while Greenspan seemed to handle reticence better.
And I realized that Greenspan knows that his utterances are commodities in themselves, which is why he charges $150,000 for a speaking engagement.
Here are some quotes from the printed review (note that the capitalist powerhouse, Austria, gave birth to the economists who hatched the idea):
What Rand and her followers hadn’t anticipated, I guess, is that government programs can also be traded as commodities.
(Papa/Opa: feel free to comment)
The book, in case you're iterested, is:
RADICALS FOR CAPITALISM A Freewheeling History of the Modern American Libertarian Movement. By Brian Doherty. 741 pp. Public Affairs. $35.
One such book is “Radicals For Capitalism,” which, as I gather, is a history of the American Libertarian movement. The reviewer gave a brief overview of the topic and pointed out that Greenspan was a follower of Ayn Rand (who must really detest the “libertarian paternalism” label). He also noted that Greenspan helped shape the laissez-faire elements of the American economy.
This struck me as odd, because, in my superficial acquaintance with the man and his utterances, I’ve come away with the impression that all he has to do is say something, and the market responds. (Even now that he’s not the Chairman of the Federal Reserve anymore.)
Then I remembered that Bernanke made the mistake of opening his mouth too often in “casual” situations, while Greenspan seemed to handle reticence better.
And I realized that Greenspan knows that his utterances are commodities in themselves, which is why he charges $150,000 for a speaking engagement.
Here are some quotes from the printed review (note that the capitalist powerhouse, Austria, gave birth to the economists who hatched the idea):
Libertarianism has its roots in the writings of a pair of major 20th-century Austrian economists, Ludwig von Mises and F. A. Hayek. Both opposed economic planning and argued that only the forces of supply and demand could allocate resources fairly and efficiently. If an item becomes scarce, its price will rise, ensuring that people who place the highest value on it — those who can use it most productively — will be able to get it. To this coolly economic argument, Rand and other writers added a moral one: laissez-faire capitalism equaled freedom.
[T]o Rand and her followers, collectivism was the single greatest problem facing the country. As they saw it, government programs forced citizens to comply with goals they often did not share while stifling the creative energy of individuals and even laying the groundwork for totalitarianism.
What Rand and her followers hadn’t anticipated, I guess, is that government programs can also be traded as commodities.
(Papa/Opa: feel free to comment)
The book, in case you're iterested, is:
RADICALS FOR CAPITALISM A Freewheeling History of the Modern American Libertarian Movement. By Brian Doherty. 741 pp. Public Affairs. $35.
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