Winter Is Coming for Whitney

Whitney came to visit last night, but he was woefully unprepared for the cold weather-- he had his work shoes, thin socks, a light jacket, stylish but useless leather gloves, and he actually had to borrow my bomber hat (he refused a Yankees ski hat); this wasn't a problem, however, as we decided to skip the curling and instead meet the usual suspects at Charlie Brown's-- inside-- and, then while we were planning our next move-- to walk to New Brunswick-- Whitney caught a break and Mose gave us a ride to New Brunswick (I got shafted and had to ride in the back seat atop many layers of flattened cardboard boxes), but after a good time in the Corner Tavern and a better time at Giovanelli's (Whitney has learned something since his last visit-- though he ordered two sandwiches, he only ate a half of each one) Mose offered to drive us home-- another break for ill dressed Whitney, but then his luck came to an end and Mose got a flat (this was 2:30 AM and it was cold) and it took a while to wrench the lug nuts loose and an even longer while to get the jack to work and old man winter finally got his revenge on the poorly prepared man from Norfolk.

You Hugged My Fart

Some primitive attempts at humor last night from the kids: when Cat's mom said "See you in the morning" to Alex, he replied back, "See you at night!" and laughed like a lunatic; Ian kept it scatological, when he farted while I was holding him he said, "You hugged my fart," and then when the two of them were taking a bath, Alex asked, "Who farted?" and Ian held up a plastic shark and said "this fish."


I watched "Trailer Park Boys" last night, after a long hiatus from them; they weren't as funny as I remembered-- but I'm going to keep at it . . .


More bad animation: if anyone has any easy to draw plot ideas for my amoeba sit-com, send them my way . . .

Dave Does Coz

Went with Catherine to see Bill Cosby last night, with the MAN and the woman . . . and if it wasn't for the BEER . . . well, then you youngzzzsterrs . . . if you are . . . NEWLY married-- let ME tell YOU whatzzit, if the, and he HAD . . . no not that, I KNOW what he had . . . I was THERE-- he had a certain way of . . . it's the THING with the . . . smokezz, yebbit, therebit izza smokezzinby mouf . . . FIRE . . . yes, riiiiight . . . the THING about it is therezzz pages left OUT-- when the GOD and the EVE in the GARDEN . . . you hideth from Godeth?-- and Mr. Clean did a twenty minute routine about Viagra and his "johnson" and falling to the FLOOR and you stick there . . .


Yesterday, Alex, Ian and I built an igloo (both kids could comfortably fit inside-- a marvel of ice architecture); today, to continue to celebrate the snow, we're going to club a baby seal.


This morning at the breakfast table it was just Alex and me; he looked at me and said "We're both picking our noses!" and it was true, and then he burped and asked to be excused.


Today, instead of using my snow-day wisely and doing my taxes during nap time, I wrote a short love song about amoebas and animated it on my tablet lap-top-- my rationale: anyone can draw an amoeba . . . so check out "Amoeba Love."


To celebrate the 100th Sentence of Dave I have arranged for a snow day; please show your appreciation by clicking on the ads.


Yesterday I consumed (in chronological order): two packs of oatmeal, an apple, a yogurt, five Munchkin Donuts, a cobb salad and jalapeno chips from Wawa, some coffee, chicken nachos, three beers, some chocolate, chicken sausage and peppers and pasta, and some more chocolate.


I realized on Monday that I've been driving without my license since early December-- I needed to show my ID at the Philadelphia Zoo because I hadn't signed my credit card, but I couldn't find my license in my wallet-- but the funny thing is, I forgot that I didn't have my license by the end of the zoo visit, and so I drove home from Philly with no license and it wasn't until yesterday, when Catherine reminded me (she thought of it at school and put her wedding ring on the opposite hand so she would remember to tell me) that I thought to look for it-- and I found it in my little wallet, which I carry when I want to travel light, and the last time I used it was when we went to the city in December.


I suffered through hours of Kate Blanchett pretending to be Queen Elizabeth because I wanted to see the Spanish Armada battle scene, and it turned out to be cheesy, but it serves me right for wanting it to be a different kind of movie than it was (and I should have followed my own rule, the movie is all about acting, there are doting 360 degree camera shots of the Queen in every possible setting and outfit.)


The warm weather made the animals extremely active at the zoo today-- polar bears wrestled underwater, penguins breached, the lions were actually roaring, a tiger cub tackled his mother, and the rattlesnakes and cobras slithered in their tanks (it was also the first time I've ever seen a Gila monster move)-- but my most exciting animal encounter occurred at this 6:30 this morning, while I was recording some music: I was wearing headphones, the house was quiet, and I was immersed in the sound of the drum machine and backing guitar, when a large black bug fell from the ceiling and landed on my pick-hand; it was either a spider or some kind of beetle, but I flung it off so quickly that I didn't identify it, and I'm very proud that I didn't shriek loudly enough to wake the house (completely unrelated: on the way home from the zoo we passed a nursery and their placard read Pot Sale . . . Not that Kind!)


Yesterday, my two sons and I formed a short lived rock'n'roll band, and my son Alex came up with our name: The Junior States (he had a rationale for this but I missed it because Ian had just jammed Legos into the keyboard and it was making a lot of noise).


Listened to 8 Diagrams on my eight mile run this morning, and the Wu Tang is still "keeping it fresh like Tupperware."

This Sounds Stupid (And Maybe It Is)

I hate it when actors have to act: for example, Catherine and I were watching an entertaining thriller called Primal Fear and the part requires Edward Norton, the alleged killer, to stutter-- some idiot wrote that in the script as part of his "character"-- and it's torture, because instead of enjoying the movie and speculating about who really did it, I'm thinking about how weird it must be for Edward Norton to have to pretend to have a speech impediment.


A few weeks ago, I challeneged Alex to rub his belly and pat his head at the same time, but he was unable to do it and never mentioned it again until last night, when, just before bed, he said, "Look what I can do" and then he did it-- soI guess he was practicing in secret until he felt the time was right . . .


A bittersweet day: Alex conquered the sled hill by our house for the first time, but Ian was sick with a fever and had to stay inside.


The new kitchen is always the topic around our house: yesterday's topic was why does a stone floor feel colder than a wood floor when either one is going to be the same temperature as the rest of the house-- and I found the answer on-line; it is because stone is more dense and thus a better conductor of heat or cold and since the floor will generally be cooler than 98.7, it's going to make you feel colder (which leads one to wonder how cold Viggo Mortensen was during the filming of the naked knife fight in Eastern Promises-- he spends a lot of time crawling around on a stone floor.)


I learned two things last night: God is a giant ear, and a "hook-up" is when you smuggle prison food out of the dining hall and back to your room, where you then try to make it a serviceable meal with whatever other materials you have on hand (for example, you take noodle soup and pour it into a bag of crushed cheese puffs and then put it under your pillow for ten minutes-- it congeals into a jail-house "burrito").


Alex approached me with another "drawing" of his and I got ready to channel my time spent in the Uffizi (I use the Stanislavski method when I pretend that the scribbles my children produce are actually representative of something) but the person he drew had two arms, two legs, a face, two eyes and a mouth!


A new song by Greasetruck, but it's the same old story: boy meets girl, boy tries to impress girl by purchasing an emu farm, boy neglects security at said farm, emus escape, chaos ensues, stray emu kicks boy's girlfriend in the shin, and boy leaves town (I recorded the song on a Zoom Mrs-8, a tiny portable digital recorder and stuck the audio over a couple of random Youtube videos with some free Windows MovieMaker software . . .)]emufarm.wav

Fourteen Words That Will Kill Your Buzz

I was having fun writing my trilogy of aphorisms about time, until I read this last night in Nabokov's Speak, Memory: "our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness."


Living in the present is an impossible dream: one part of the mind is always anticipating the future, while another constantly assesses the past.


Thinking about the past is a trap: remembering the bad times is depressing, and reminiscing about the good times is depressing as well, because inevitably, things have changed.


Alex's swim lesson will be ten minutes longer today, to make up for the time that was lost last week because some kid upchucked in the pool.


On Google Trends you can observe the top 100 web searches for the day-- it's a window to the consciousness of the world; on the day Heath Ledger died his name was the top search-- and number two was "Keith Ledger."


Writing my sentence while I have to urinate ensures that it will be short.
A New Sentence Every Day, Hand Crafted from the Finest Corinthian Leather.