Partial disclosure

Here’s one of the reasons I love doing this blog.
On Monday, Julie, who is out of town for the week, calls.
Julie: So, were you going to tell me that Madge is sick?
Me: What do you mean?
J: I read about it on the blog.
M: Oh. Didn’t you see I put quotation marks around the word “sick”? J: -
M: To answer your question, no, I guess not.

I also wouldn’t ordinarily tell her about Coco and the ketchup. It’s really too routine of an event for me to remember at the end of the day, and it doesn’t warrant a phone call.
The biggest mystery about Coco and the ketchup, by the way, is that yes, there was ketchup on the sock, and yes, there was ketchup on the floor (which I cleaned up), but the ketchup bottle was in the fridge where it belongs. So there’s a whole chain of events I never found out about.

A "better" Coco Tuesday

Here's a Coco entry that's more to my, well, "liking" isn't quite the word, but it's more what I anticipate a Coco Tuesday to be.

I was practicing guitar in the kids' room while they were enjoying the use of the computer. Fair trade, I figure.
Coco came in and said, "Can you help me take off my sock?"
I ask, "What happened to your socks?" figuring that his pee-pee aim was off again. It happens to the best of us.
But no, his anwer was, "I got ketchup on it."
I guess I was done practicing anyway.

Coco Tuesday

As you may or may not know, Coco is off his seizure medicine.
When he had his epileptic seizures last March, he started out with “drop” seizures (atonic seizures which make the muscles give out, resulting in a fall) which (we think) accumulated to make his brain overload and give him a generalized tonic-clonic seizure (previously known as “Grand Mal” but we just call it “big seizure” for short).
He had the first big seizure in their bathroom.
My point is this. The other day he and I were in the bathroom and he was standing in the place where he was then, and I thought, “My, he’s gotten big.”
Because, see, I’ve got this snapshot of him writhing on the floor burned in my brain and his current self is quite a lot bigger.
[If that depressed you, I’m sorry for not living up to my Facetiae code. I promise I’ll be silly again soon.]
But back to him being off the medicine. Of course we need to be extra-vigilant now. Okay, it’s a price I’m willing to pay. But ever since he’s seen Home Alone he thinks one of the coolest things to do is run and then plonk to his knees and slide on the floor. And when you’re not looking, the “plonk” sounds a lot like a drop seizure.
I need a pacemaker.
Also, epileptics often get an aura, which you can think of, I guess, as either a small seizure or as a warning feeling. He’s almost four, so getting him to understand that this is something to be aware of is, well, impossible. So I try to second-guess. The other day (when he had the fever), he said he heard Santa Claus – meaning a ringing in his ears. If you are like me, you’re thinking “aura.” If you’re a lot smarter, you’re thinking windchimes, and you’d be right.
Can you blame me for wanting a “normal” week?

Madge Monday postscript

Now that I’ve had some sleep, I’m not nearly as frustrated with the kids as yesterday.
In other words, now I find Madge’s post-nap statement amusing. Yesterday I felt like calling a lawyer and getting her to sign an affidavit saying, “Daddy was right. Again.”
After her nap – which was quite a struggle to initiate, but happen it did, around 3:30 pm – she said, without sarcasm, “Wow. Sleeping sure makes you feel a lot better.”
I take it back. Anybody know a good lawyer?

Question answered

And the annoying pop-up-like feature is taken off.
Trent voiced what I felt about the first few times I encountered that feature (go to www.snap.com if you want to find out more). I have since figured out how to avoid it showing up, but he's right. In general, the thing is annoying and not really helpful.
Thanks, T-Bone!

Quick question

I've added a little technological gimmick to my blog, but I'm not sure how people feel about it.
So, hey, please tell me.
Now, when you move your cursor over a link, a preview of the link ought to show up.
As in this example of a link to WWDTM's site.
Do you find this feature,
A) Cool and useful?
B) Annoying?
I am
C) not sure of its use but I can see how some people might enjoy the gimmick, yet I'm not sold on it so I might take it off unless people tell me they like it.
Please respond in the comments (or in an email to me). Your vote counts (and the process is easy, all you have to write is A or B - or C). And if you feel strongly, vote more than once, then your voice counts even more.

Madge Monday

Poor Madge. Julie is out of town for a week, and it’s really getting to Madge. The fact that Julie left early Saturday bothered her more than anything, I think.
On top of it all, she now has a fever (I believe it’s Coco’s from last week which is probably GrandJohn’s from the week before, but don’t tell or he’ll just feel guilty). So she’s home now, as is Coco because I don’t really know how to get him to school in the rain with a sick Madge in tow. She resents his being home, so everything is wonderful right now, thanks for asking.
It should get better soon, though. When the fever goes away, she’ll be more herself, I think. Of course I don’t know what came first, missing mommy or getting sick. Let’s just be optimistic and say it’s the sickness. (Is there a special ring in hell for parents who think that the better solution is a sick child? As the saying goes, a child in bed is worth two climbing the walls. Or some such thing.) Now I’ve got another problem. Should I give her some medicine and have her become more active (and demanding) or withhold the medicine and leave her a bit whiny, yet lethargic?
Oh don’t tell me, fellow parents, that you haven’t relished having a sick child on your hands who stays in bed and out of your hair.
But, oh, the guilt.
Medicine it is.

Me on Crunch again

Here I am again, rhyming about tech stuff.

Aphorisms

Aphoristic observations:

People who seem arrogant may just be shy.
People who seem aloof may just be hiding their slow wit.
People who write aphorisms are overcompensating.

The other day I was walking with Coco on my shoulders (again – my spine has been compacted by at least 3/8ths of an inch by now) and we passed a mother of a friend of his, a school friend. Now, it was school time and Coco wasn’t at school so a question about his well-being, I think, was in order.
But no, she looked ahead and ignored us completely. She’s been “aloof” before, but in other contexts and I’ve always figured it was because we don’t speak Spanish with Coco even though he’s in the Spanish class and she speaks Spanish with her kid.
That day, though, I was able to see her face better and she had a bit of nervousness about her and I realized that my previous evaluation may have been wrong.
This reminded me of times I was at a pool when I still took out my contacts to go swimming rather than wear goggles and later got confronted by friends who were at the pool, claiming I ignored them. I never ignored anyone I recognized, I swear. But everyone turns into a flesh-colored blur at the pool and I put on a vaguely friendly, yet blank, smile when I can’t see anything. So there.
Then I thought of another mom at the school who, well, let’s face it, she’s kind of pretty so she knows people do things for her, and she covers for everything with a quick, sprite-like laugh, and she’s always preoccupied with her kids, so her reluctance to engage in conversation always seemed like a bit of aloofness. Obviously I’m not even in the same league as the average bus-driver, so I figure it’s justified arrogance on her part an leave it at that. Then one day I did have a conversation with her, and, oops, I realized that the nearsightedness she’s adjusting for is intellectual.
But I’m just projecting now because I’m on a caffeine jolt and sugar high. Give me a half-hour and I’ll be assured it’s all because they hate me. Who wouldn’t?

No Parking Mo-Su

This article about parking in SF includes some choice nuggets.
Let’s get the ugle part out of the way first. Someone got killed saving a parking space for a friend. And assaults on meter butlers and maids have risen from 17 in 2005 to 28 in 2006. So something is obviously wrong. Still – and I guess the threat of violence makes it bizarrely funny to me – there’s this:

That frustration extends all the way to people like George Anderson, president of the American Association of Anger Management Providers, a mental health group, who said the parking problems here were so notorious that he had stopped holding paid lectures here.
“They’d be angry when they walked in,” said Mr. Anderson, a clinical social worker who lives in Los Angeles. “I’d spend half my time defending why I couldn’t include parking in the fee.”

Actually, they should hold the classes in a bus in congested traffic merging onto one of the bridges, only to have the tollbooth close right as they get there. Better yet, whenever someone feels ready to quit the anger-management course, that individual should be made to drive the class bus for a week, and the final exam is finding a place to park, downtown.

Then there’s this,

Nationally, parking is a $20 billion industry, experts say, with revenues divided almost equally between public and private entities.

Which reminds me of an idea I had while running. (You might notice that I develop most of my lame-brained ideas while exercising. That’s because I think they’re great precisely because I can’t write them down to look at and evaluate.)
Simply combine two problems for a lovely solution. Problem A: parking is impossible. Problem B: renting cars is way too expensive.
Solution: the department of transportation should rent cars. Simply take cars that have been impounded and not picked up in, say, a week, fix them up (the police department has its own mechanics, I think) and let them loose. Parking penalties should be much stricter, of course, resulting in impounds almost immediately in order increase the amount of cars available. And, finally, as special gimmick, a car rented from the department of transportation/the police comes with it’s own “free parking” certificate, for a fee, of course.
You’d probably end up with a crappy car, but you could double-park anywhere.
In order to avoid traffic congestion, the meter butlers and maids would ride in teams and double as valets. You’d get contacted on your cell phone and given a number to call for the car to be returned.
I’m sure the legislation could be arranged as long as there’s a proper bribery-scheme in place.
Just think of all the jobs it would create.

Roy, with quote

This time I'll link to Roy's Friday blog with a quote. Speaking of watching Saddam's hanging on YouTube, he says,

Didn't it make you wonder how you would behave on the gallows? It's a real test for a funny person. I would do all I could to keep it light, but I don't know — I hope I'd be up to that. I'll bet the President would be — that chuckle of his comes out at the darnedest times. He'd be nicknaming the hangman "Stretch."

Coco Quickie

Today Madge had a playdate and they always start rockily because Coco really wants her attention when she gets out of school. Or if not hers, then that of whichever friend she's playing with.
At one point this afternoon, in the midst of a Baci-jealousy-battle, Coco started going, "Waah, waah," and ran to his room. It's really "their" room, but once one of them claims it as a sanctuary for tears, tiredness, or a time out, it becomes that kid's room I figure.
Anyway, I followed him and sat with him and he said, "How I cry?"
I didn't know what to say.
Then he said, "I can't make water."
In other words, he's working out how to perfect his fake crying.
Great.

V Fable

The Vulture and the Violinist

A vulture was waiting for the subway and heard a violinist.
He lurched over and camped out expectantly, for the busking violinist was in bad shape.
The vulture loved it. The clothes were ragged, so his beak would be able to nibble without wrestling with fabric, the body was lean, sure, but musicians tend not to be wiry but soft and supple, as they rarely get any exercise.
In short, this was a meal to be savored, and the pre-dinner entertainment wasn’t too bad, either.
For some reason, though, the violinist wouldn’t keel over and the vulture got to listening to the music.
Sure enough – it must have been Bach’s suites for solo violin that did it – the vulture soon lost his fleshly appetite and yearned for more spiritual things. (I was a music major for a reason, after all.)
So the vulture went and brought the violinist some lunch.
“I can always come back later,” he said.

Wisdom

Just re-heard some great Hank Williams lyrics and happened to be online, so I'm sharing:

No matter how I struggle and strive,

I'll never get out of this world alive.

Draw your own conclusions.

Compare and contrast

When people say, “Don’t you wish they’d stay like this forever?” they’re just commenting on how lovely the moment is. But one family has taken it one step further.
Sure, there are plenty of other factors involved. In essence, though, is it that much different from creating blue dogs just for the fun of it?

Presidential plans

The Daily News had this cover (which won't upload, for some reason, sorry. check back later. Something about Presidential Plans Left in Hotel Room), which struck my eye at the grocery store this afternoon. The New York Times has this headline somewhere in the paper: Political Paper Stolen, Giuliani Camp Says.
Okay, reply the Daily News people, so maybe it was left in a hotel room that Giuliani never stayed in, and maybe it was left by people we paid to bring us said papers, but our headline is 100% true.
When I read the headline, I didn’t think it was big news that Giuliani was going to try for a presidential bid. Silly me. And, because of my assumptions, I was wondering what might be in the document. Plan A: get the most votes. Plan B: swing an electoral college thing, maybe combined with Supreme Court support.
Turns out the plan is 140 pages long. Of course I forgot the most important plan. Raise funds. Raise more funds and raise some funds and just for kicks, raise some funds. That runs on for about 139 pages. Then comes the stuff about winning votes.
Oh, yeah, and something about the ex-wife and the former aide. So maybe just a paragraph about winning some votes, hopefully the majority. But if not, that’s not a problem, as history has shown.

The cheese

You never know what people find funny. My favorite cheese guy in the neighborhood, Juan, from Union Market, found this funny.
I asked him where the Vigneron was and he told me that the last piece was on the shelf and he’d reorder some soon. Vigneron, you’ve got to try it if you haven’t. It’s a Swiss cheese. Mild. Good flavor. Nothing biting to it. The marketing sticker says something about a winemaker’s cheese, rubbed in herbs and wine or some such. But not as strongly oenic (winely?) as a drunken goat cheese – more like a happy cow’s cheese (but not la vache qui rit). Anyway, it’s great and I mourn its absence from the cheese-monger’s shelves, though I’m happy I’m the one who caused its absence.
Get it if you can.
I told him that mine was gone because I put too much wine in our New Year’s fondue and had to compensate with whatever was in the fridge (and would match, of course – no string cheese or cheddar). I had planned a lovely Gruyere/Emmental with a touch of Appenzeller, but then I had to use the rest of the Gruyere and more of the Appenzeller and when I was out I had to touch my stash of Vigneron.
Juan thought funny. Perhaps it was in the way I reenacted my cheese panic and ensuing reluctance to part with my baby – I was at the store when his shipment came and he let me and Coco taste it fresh from the box. Even Coco liked it.
I’d have a piece now, but it doesn’t go with one of my resolutions – don’t you love the fresh beginnings of a new year?
I was at the gym tonight, and there was a guy who was one-upping me: he was pedaling a stationary bike AND reading Proust.
But only in English.
And, hah, I’ve just added another resolution. I’ll only do one thing at a time.
If possible.

More of me

And then, of course, there's my weekly techie poem.
Enjoy.

Madge Monday

Madge managed to stay up all the way to 11:30 pm on New Year’s Eve. Not bad. (Julie had fallen asleep before then, but pssssst don’t tell.)
I tried to get her to make some resolutions for herself and for me. She got the idea, but rather than focusing on things to improve about herself, she said her resolution was to play on the computer more. I believe that she is resolved to do so. Grrr.
But, when pressed, she said she wanted to be less of a baby. Poor thing.
Here’s what I noticed, though. Some of my resolutions involve trying to improve the kids. A natural impulse as a parent, I think. But, really, shouldn’t I leave that up to them if they want to be less baby-ish. Ah, the many conundrums.
Madge was generous about the resolutions, though. She said they didn’t start until people went back to work and to school.
So guess who had extra helpings of apple pie?

Coco Tuesday

I hope to catch up soon with a regular schedule. First, a quick Coco Tuesday.

This morning the cat threw up. Not a big deal, really. He’d just eaten and Coco chased him around the apartment for a while and the cat’s little tummy couldn’t handle the extra work-load, I think.
Seeing it, though, Coco came up with an exclamation I hadn’t heard him use before. And, quite frankly, I think I’ll start using it, too, instead of the tired copulative, excretory, and religious ones I ordinarily employ.
He said, “Oh, barnacles!”

Maybe we’ve been letting him watch Pirates of the Caribbean too often.