Bow Down to Our Insect Overlords
Ian's first three years could be titled Portrait of an Entomologist as a Young Man; it's not that just that he likes to spot, collect, hold, and observe bugs, bees, worms and spiders-- he actually thinks about them: yesterday, after discovering several ant hills in the garden, he looked up at me and said, ominously, "the ants are mad at us" . . . and when I asked him why he said, "because they like to bite us" which makes some sort of sense, but I definitely had a vision of Them! when he said it.
Darth Vader Would Be Scary as a Whale
My kids can sing the Darth Vader theme song in the voice of just about animal: a sheep is "baa baa baa baabuhbaa buhbabaa" and a pig is "oink oink oink oinkoinkoink oinkoinkoink"-- but yesterday Alex tried it as a blue whale and although I admire his spirit of artistic experimentation, I would have to say that his impression of a cetacean is pretty poor.
Alan Partridge: Too Droll For Some
Whenever Catherine goes out, I plan to watch whatever we have from Netflix (now it's this show The Riches, with Eddie Izzard and Minnie Driver-- so far it's excellent) but every time instead of watching, I go up to bed the same time as the kids, read, and then fall asleep within minutes-- which is pretty pathetic-- but I think I can only watch television with other people; in fact, I can't remember the last time I've watched a TV show or a movie alone . . . probably last year when Catherine gave up on The Alan Partridge Show and I kept watching (because Steve Coogan is priceless).
My Children Cooperate in a Jailbreak
Two scary things happened yesterday:
1) I learned that my red running shorts are "not sexy" and look "very eighties"-- and the fact that they have netting (so you don't need to wear underwear with them) didn't seem to impress anyone in the English office;
2) I came home to find Alex and Ian pretending to sleep on Ian's floor, and when I asked them how Ian got out of his crib, Alex said he helped him get out, by stacking several laundry baskets and then using a large stuffed Winnie the Pooh as a ladder-- and the scary thing is not that Ian escaped, it is the bigger picture: the natives are starting to cooperate.
There Will Be Milkshake Drinking
We finished There Will Be Blood last night; at first Catherine relegated me to watching the end of the film on the laptop so she could watch the two-hour finale of The Bachelor, but then she decided that I looked too depressing, sitting in a straight-backed chair with headphones on, watching the one of the bleakest movies ever made, so we watched the end together-- and my final comment on the film is this: I swore off butter after watching Last Tango in Paris, and now Daniel Day-Lewis has ruined the milkshake.
Don't Worry, That Guy Who Got Dismembered is Just a Minor Character
During story time, my son got upset for a moment when the King of the Elephants died from ingesting a poisonous mushroom, but then he realized that it wasn't Babar who died, but a minor character and he didn't care anymore, just as I have lost all feeling for the oil workers who keep getting killed in increasingly gruesome ways in There Will Be Blood (which is pretty good, but slow-- we are on day three of viewing it).
The Subway Is Byzantine
My last two trips to New York I have fared very poorly on the Subway System: previously, we took the B instead of the D on the way to the Met and ended up in Queens-- and this was certainly our fault, and alcohol consumption may have been to blame-- but this time even local Manhattanites were shaking their heads: after we ascended many stairs with the toddlers in tow, there was an 8 by 11 piece of paper instructing us that the A and the C were running on the local lines because of construction, and then after descending many stairs and taking the A we found ourselves whizzing by the 81st St. Museum stop, and then we kept going and going and finally we disembarked at 125th and took the downtown A to 59th then switched again to the uptown C to get to the Museum (it was funny hearing Alex saying "Why can't we catch the Local C?), and so on the way back we figured we had it down-- just take the C, take the local and we were guaranteed to stop where we wanted-- but as the D rolled by the conductor shouted out her window, "TAKE THE NEXT D! THE C IS ONLY RUNNING ON THE EXPRESS!" which we did and then switched again (it was easy, the train was waiting) but still . . . in the greatest city in the world should they be relying on taped up pieces of computer paper and shouting as their method of information dispersal?
DNA, Horizontally and Vertically
Microbial taxonomist Carl Woese says that in the good old days-- before archea, eukaryotes, and bacteria-- life shared its genes horizontally, there was no separation of DNA material, and evolution proceeded at a rapid, communal rate in the primordial soup, but then bacteria isolated itself and its intellectual property and the Darwinian age began (and lasted several billion years) and evolution moved slowly and separately; now, that time is coming to an end, the cultural revolution begat the bio-tech revolution, and once again, genetic material is being shared horizontally-- and I think this means that you shouldn't worry about that modified tomato that stays ripe for a month after it's picked because soon it will also be able to talk to you.
Pain or Sepsis?
Just worked up a sweat removing a splinter from Alex's foot-- it took the two of us to hold him down.
Emphasis is Everything
The documentary My Kid Could Paint That is about a precocious four year old abstract painter named Marla Olmstead-- and there are two ways to interpret the title: My Kid Could Paint That or My Kid Could Paint That . . . and that makes all the difference.
Do Kids Dream of Electric Robots?
Lots of sleep-related problems this morning: Alex had his "worst dream ever" about a giant man-eating robot (which, not so coincidentally, is what Ian wants for his birthday-- Alex said the idea "got into his head") and I rolled over in a weird way while I was sleeping last night and squashed my left testicle and it feels like someone kicked me in the jewels.
Gladiators Make Me Sleepy
Spartacus is the first Stanley Kubrick movie I've ever bailed on-- otherwise, I've seen them all (the furniture got me through Barry Lyndon and the nudity got me through Eyes Wide Shut).
Did You Sneak a Peak?
An old student spotted me while we were out Friday night, and it turns out she now teaches in Edison-- and what Catherine and the group thought was odd (and in retrospect, it is kind of funny) is that this petite girl was displaying a bodacious amount of cleavage, and the first thing I said to her after she asked "Do you remember me?" is "Of course . . . you and your friends made that "13 Ways of Looking at a Bra" video" and she remembered exactly what I was talking about-- she made video parody of a Wallace Stevens poem "13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird" with her two wacky friends, but to my wife and the ladies it appeared that I was commenting upon her ample rack.
Naked or Nude?
If you like looking at naked ladies in the woods, then Grounds for Sculpture is the place for you.
Women's Clothes Are Weird
Even though Stacy is several inches taller than me, her track jacket does not flatter my figure.
Enough Already
Last night I went to my first retirement dinner, and it made me want to retire-- would anyone like to pay me my salary so I can retire?
Sorry Mr. Murphy
Tomorrow is senior cut day, but it is done East Brunswick style-- the parents call the kids out sick so they don't get in trouble-- but it still reminds me of when I cut school with friends and we got caught and I had to meet with the vice-principal at NBTHS, who-- coincidentally-- is now the principal at East Brunswick-- which sort of makes me feel like I never left high school (although I didn't get in much trouble for cutting, my dad had coached him.)
A Pinata Made of a Plethora of Lego Pieces
I don't let my kids watch TV on rainy days (I find it entertaining to see what they'll do when they get stir crazy); yesterday afternoon Alex built a piesta (he meant a pinata) out of Legos and put it on a shelf and then he covered his eyes and whacked it with a Lego stick-- which crumpled on impact-- but after a couple of turns, including a devastating blow by yours truly, it broke into pretend candy pieces.
Mind the Monkeysphere
Yesterday, in my endless third period (stalled by some standardized biology test) the Levitsky twins introduced me to the term "monkey-sphere" . . . and now I must reflect: who will make the cut, who is in my monkey-sphere?
Time Travel Through Blogging
A student of mine had a good idea for my blog, but I'll never be ambitious enough to do it; he suggested that for each day I post, I also post a sentence that pre-dates the first entry, so that I'm extending the blog in two directions-- the future and the past-- and then I can blog my way back through the birth of my children, dial-up access, The Presidents of the United States of America, etc.
The Natives Are Getting Clever
Watching Who Killed the Electric Car made me very angry last night, but my children cheered me up this morning-- the first thing Alex said to me today was "I'm not bored of you yet, Daddy, I still love you" and then later, during breakfast, Ian couldn't make up his mind about which cereal he wanted, so rather than wait at the beck and call of a two-year old, Catherine and I both left the kitchen-- and as I was about to write this sentence Alex yelled "Oh no, we made a big mess" and Ian concurred and I started cursing: "God dammit, you can't leave them alone for a second" and when I went into the kitchen looking for a puddle of milk Alex said, "We tricked you, we didn't make a mess, Ian just wanted some cereal."
I Behave In A Mature Manner
Despite the fact that Catherine and I have been arguing about the merits of my push lawn-mower-- she claims my beloved push-mower doesn't really cut the lawn-- this morning when I read in Wired that a gasoline-powered mower emits eleven times more pollution than an automobile-- get this-- I didn't even mention it to her . . . I made a very mature executive decision not to open that can of worms on a peaceful Saturday morning while we were drinking our coffee (but I can't promise that I won't mention the fact at a later date).
Dave Does His Civic Duty (Begrudgingly)
Jury duty effectively combined a trans-Atlantic airplane flight, the DMV, and a Kafka novel: I sat on an uncomfortable seat in a stuffy room with strange people for eight hours waiting for my number to be called, but it never was-- which is good, because I don't have to serve on a trial, but my eyes still hurt from reading so much (if I owned a cell-phone I could have called random people and talked about my daughter's science project, like the guy next to me) . . . I read an entire novel (Evelyn Waugh's Vile Bodies-- very funny and appropriate title for the day) and as much as I could handle of The Cosmic Landscape, but then it got too hard and I bought a random magazine about science culture called Seed at lunch.
Just Look Serious For the Camera
After three hours of tension, nothing much happens at the end of The Good Shepherd-- but I will hand it to Matt Damon for picking the easiest three hour movie script to memorize in the history of cinema: he's on-screen for then entire epic, and I think he says ten lines.
Teenagers . . . They'll Eat Anything
Last week, I took some store-bought beef jerky and put it in a crumpled plastic bag, and told my philosophy class it was Alex's pet rabbit "Hoppy" and that had died over the winter-- his hutch got too cold-- and that in order to teach Alex about recycling, we gutted Hoppy, jerked the carcass, and then ate some of him . . . I expected a dramatic emotional response, perhaps even a threat to call DYFUS, but no one thought anything of it and a handful of kids actually ate some.
It's Hard to Be a Straight Man
Friday night there were a couple of Rutger's football players sitting next to us at the bar, and the blond girl sitting with them with was so distractingly good-looking that I wished she would leave so I would stop leering (but, of course, she didn't leave, and instead took off her sweater so then I had to avoid the temptation of leering at exposed cleavage as well).
Grolar vs. Pizzly
Like string theorist Leonard Susskind, I prefer the sound of "megaverse" to "multiverse," but I also prefer the moniker grolar bear rather than pizzly bear-- and we all know what happened with that one.
Super Extra Serendipitous Good Luck Bonus Sentence
On the way to work this morning-- and, appropriately, it was raining-- I passed by a tractor trailer double stacked with concrete sarcophagi.
My Son Already Has a Higher Rank Than Me?
While we walked to get some falafel Alex formulated an intricate plan to spring loose the baby pig he visits with my dad at College Farm-- he's seen Charlotte's Web and he knows that if he doesn't rescue the little swine he will end up as bacon; the plan includes an alarm to wake us in the middle of the night, a midnight bicycle ride, a bell Alex can ring if he needs me to pedal faster, a lantern on a stick, a knapsack to put the pig in, and-- most important-- a promise . . . that I won't say, "Oh, man!" when Alex gives me an order.
Parrot vs. Human
I just read an article in the New Yorker about this African gray parrot (who, unfortunately, just croaked) and he seems to know his colors and shapes slightly better than my two year old son.
Vocab Lesson
I just raced to the finish of Richard Price's new novel Lush Life, and along the way I learned a few new words and terms: want cards, a whistle, a bump, shirred, wits, paradiddle, etc.
Solar Flare Blues
If you're feeling down and you don't know why, it could be a solar flare bombarding your pineal gland with electromagnetically charged particles . . . or you might want to try to get more sleep.
Happiness is Having More Fun Than Your Brother
Alex lost video-watching-privileges last night because of his recalcitrance at the smoothie place, but while Ian was watching Dinotopia we had heard lots of rustling and stacking in his room; when I went up he showed me the castle he had built with his blocks and he made sure to tell me that he had built a "gigantic base" so it wouldn't fall, and that he used "different materials"-- both pieces of advice I had given him, so this was his subtle way of making up with me, and then he added, "so I had more fun than Ian."
Death By Venom Is Funny
Last night, Ian found someone willing to turn every page in his animal encyclopedia (she was ten) and with each animal he had a dire warning: "if you go near that crocodile, it will bite you and you will be dead . . . if you go by that bug and touch it, you will be dead . . . if you go by that snake, you will be dead" and although the animals he pointed out certainly are very dangerous and have probably killed many people throughout the world, it's still funny when it comes from a two year old.
Juno Impregnated My Brain (With a Desire For Orange Tic Tacs)
Yesterday, on my way to happy hour, I did something very uncharacteristic: I made an impulse buy . . . I had watched Juno the night before and I had a desire for orange Tic-Tacs which was obviously generated by the clever product placement in the film; normally I never make any frivolous purchases-- especially ones dictated to me by the media-- but I was feeling wild, and they were only a dollar (they tasted so good that I finished the entire box on the way home).
The Good, The Bad, The Lies, and a Booger
Alex told me that at school yesterday, "a tear went down my face and plopped onto the ground at lunch because I missed you so much" which is total bullshit but he knows that I love to hear it; a moment after, Ian handed me a booger.
Could You Demonstrate That Once More, Please?
Alex was in a creative mood yesterday: he told us how he had to call the police on Catherine's mom because she crawled under the couch and punched him in the eye when he wasn't looking-- "she sneaked up on me and when I was turned the other way she went like this . . ." and then he would pretend to punch himself in th eye, which we got him to do over and over by saying, "Wait, how did she do it? (and I think Catherine's mom was upset that he was making up this awful story about her, but we found it hysterical).
Food: Fuels You Up and Slows You Down
It took twenty-four minutes to walk to this really good (and really cheap) Mexican restaurant in New Brunswick-- even while pushing the kids in the stroller-- but on the way back we had to slow down because I got a stitch.
But . . .
Ian begins every sentence with the word "but" (e.g. but I have to pee, but I like this worm, but I was crying for you to get me) so it's like he's stuck in an eternal argument with everyone in the universe.
Sleep: That's Where I'm a Viking
Catherine and I have resolved to stop snacking so much after dinner-- we both want to get fit before the summer-- but the only way I could stop eating last night was to go to sleep.
Summer = Two Month Weekend
Although tomorrow seems bleak: rainy and the end of spring break, there is still the solace that in the school year as a week metaphor, it is the beginning of Friday (for those of you who are not teachers, my condolences).
Waves: They Just Keep Coming
We get up at five in the morning and drive home; our plan was for the kids to sleep int he car, but Alex is up like a shot, before he can rub the sleep out of his eyes he's calling dibs on the box of Apple Jacks, which he had been plotting to eat (there was only one box in the treat cereal selection) all week long on the ride home, but despite no napping the kids are well behaved-- thanks to modern technology: the LeapPad (Diego has a hang-glider!) and the DVD player (which isn't working so well because Ian likes to kick it when he loses his temper-- but one last thought, when Ian was playing in a hole full of water on the beach he kept looking up at me and saying, "I'm so happy . . . I'm so happy that the wave came!")
Bruce is Patient
Friday: my college buddy Bruce, who runs Kittyhawk Kites-- the largest hang-gliding school in the world-- gets Alex and Ian airborne in a glider; each of them fly two runs down the dune with Bruce and I holding onto the wires of the glider-- and Alex tells him he dreamed about it and then it came true; Bruce-- who is very patient-- also answers between four and five hundred of Alex's questions about the glider and teaches him what a "wing nut" is.
Wild Wild Life
Thursday: a list of the wildlife we saw: dolphins, raccoon, gray fox, fiddler crabs, sand crabs, ospreys, herons, terns, pelicans, and-- of course-- bikers (it was bike week).
The Mental Age Game
Wednesday: Good weather returns and we hike over the tallest dune on the East coast (Jockey's Ridge) to the sound, where Alex and Ian brave the cold water until their lips are blue; later in the day Whitney shows up for some beer drinking, and we stay up late computing everyone's mental age-- this is Whitney's new thing and it often offends people to hear his decision on their mental age so I'll just tell you his: 19 and mine: 91 . . . you'll have to figure out the rest on your own.
Two Visits in One Day
Tuesday: rainy day, so we visit the aquarium and my friend Bruce-- he has two boys of similar age and demeanor as Alex and Ian, so there are lots of experiments, wrestling, and couch diving.
Ominous Vacation Monday
Monday: things look grim, Catherine has a sinus infection and rain is headed our way, but we did get some beach time in the morning while Catherine was at the doctor's-- the wind was howling off the ocean and Ian spent his time huddled in a deep hole inspecting a sand crab.
Running: Young or Old, It Makes You Tired
Sunday: A great day on the beach , and even though I kept letting Alex and Ian beat me in countless footraces down the beach, Catherine and I were the real winners when they took a three hour nap (I did as well).
Loser = Whitney
Friday night, Whitney and I stayed up drinking beer until four in the morning-- which wasn't the brightest way to start vacation-- except for the fact that I won a crucial dart bet and now Whitney has to wear the t-shirt of my choice for an entire day of the fishing trip: I'm open to suggestions and so far I'm thinking either an Elton John concert tee or some kind of cheesy vacation slogan shirt (Board me, I'm a pirate!)
Sometimes You Should Think INSIDE Your Brain
No sentences for a week-- we'll be at the beach and I purposely left my laptop at home, but don't get your panties in a bunch, I'll be hand-writing sentences and I'll post them when I get home; last night while drinking beer I contemplated out loud about writing seven fictitious sentences, beginning with these two:
1) Woke up in Mexico next to my new bride;
2) Mexican divorce laws are complicated;
and I said the second one loudly just as a short brown woman and her tall brown boyfriend walked out the back door of Charlie Brown's and she gave me a withering glare and it took me a second to realize that she thought I was making a racial remark directed at her . . . and I wanted to run after her and explain that I wasn't talking about her but my Spanish is rusty and so she'll have to hate me forever.
Hard Habit to Break
I commuted to work twice today; Catherine actually made me recite "take the Jeep, take the Jeep" because she needed to clean and pack the Subaru for out trip, but still, I took the Subaru . . . and I didn't realize it until I was half-way down Route 18, playing with the satellite radio (that's what clued me in, I remembered that the Jeep doesn't have satellite radio)-- so I had to turn around and do it again.
Wherein Dave Eats A Young Lady's Food (Without Permission)
After a frantic morning in class (I screwed up and permanently burned the director commentary on the DVD I wanted to show-- there was no turning it off-- so I had to come up with something to do on the fly) I ran into the English office, grabbed my sandwich, had a co-worker look up the hours of Blockbuster, and decided to walk across the orchard to get a legal copy of Michael Clayton-- but as I was about to leave the office I realized something about my sandwich . . . there was yellow cheese on it . . . and we didn't have yellow cheese at home . . . we had Swiss cheese . . . nor did we have turkey; I had eaten nearly half of a co-worker's sandwich and I didn't know what to do, so I followed the advice of everyone else: "Finish it and play dumb!" but when I was half-way across the orchard I realized that I should have just cut the sandwich in half and gave her half of my ham, swiss, and lettuce along with her turkey, yellow American, and mustard-- but it was too late and I had to face the music (someone ratted me out), but Kristyna wasn't that angry and so we swapped sandwiches and she thought mine was pretty good (aside from the balsamic vinegar, which she liked but was mildly allergic to, but I didn't see any hives on her-- and now I have learned my lesson: I will look before I eat).
Mom's a Good Teacher . . . Just Great
Yesterday, when we informed Alex that we would be watching mommy on television (on "Classroom Close-Up" on NJN) he started pacing around the sandbox, ranting: "Just great. Great. Now we'll have to watch that. Now we won't get to watch any video. We won't get to finish Meet the Robinsons," and though my wife is a celebrated and wonderful teacher, it is because she saves all her sarcasm for in the home, and now it has rubbed off on Alex.
The Best Band Name Ever
Here we are-- "The Hanging Chads"-- a teacher posted our entire performance, including the interminable fiasco with the cords, so if you want to see us actually play, fast forward (also: you can hear Ian in the background yelling "Daddy!" although I am hard to recognize and usually blocked by the PA speaker.)
The Grand Total Is . . .
After much frustration, deliberation, and soul-searching, I spent the extra cash and sprung for my first Apple product-- an Ipod Nano-- and in honor of this purchase I would like everyone to tally how much they have spent in their lifetime on portable music players -- I know there's some closet in my parents house with thirty broken Walkmen in it; I think I'm over a grand.
Poetry Versus Chemistry
High school drama . . . science teachers denounce the poetry festival . . . students are denied access to the dark artists of the pen because of quarterly reviews and quizzes in their real courses . . . tension between the departments . . . will all be forgiven by June?
Dave vs. Squirrel
I was dreading it all day, but who am I to be afraid of a little squirrel?-- so I donned my goggles, a dust mask, and a rain jacket with the hood cinched tightly around my head and wriggled into the crawl space above our bedroom ceiling; although there were no rotting carcasses, the poison was eaten and there were signs of a struggle . . . a mangled glue trap and rodent droppings, but nothing attacked me, and I was able to staple screen around the venting fan and scatter repellent everywhere-- the result: our first squirrel free night of sleep in months!
Like Stanley Milgram, I Cross The Line (But It's For Science!)
I did an activity with my students today designed to replicate Stanley Milgram's infamous obedience experiment, and I found that students enjoy torturing a friend more than they do an acquaintance-- the worst punishment inflicted (I replaced Milgram's shocks with calisthenics) was twenty squat thrusts for one wrong answer . . . on a quiz the "teacher" knew was impossible-- I wish I could get away with this kind of positive punishment as an incentive . . . I'd have the smartest, fittest students in the school.
The Culprit? My Wife
Yesterday, the sports-watch I lost weeks ago reappeared on shelf where I keep my stuff, and my question was: how did it get there?-- but after a brief but successful interrogation of my wife, I discovered that she "hid it" when the alarm was going off while she was taking a nap, and just remembered yesterday where she put it-- in the kid's food cabinet-- but if I wouldn't have asked her, I don't think would have told me her role in the mystery/crime.
Ideas . . . Where Do They Come From?
I had an epiphany last night, and I'm annoyed that I didn't think of it sooner (but you can't really control when you think of an idea-- it took me seven months to realize that I can use the giant pull down movie screen in my classroom to cover a quiz on the board, so then I don't have to photo-copy it or dictate it-- and if I forget to write it on the whiteboard before class, then I can hide behind the screen and write the questions while the students are busy doing something else, which they find very amusing) and so when Alex stumbled in with his blanket at one in the morning and squeezed between Catherine and I, I went into to his room because now he has a full sized bed and I slept there-- but I was so comfortable that I was nervous I wouldn't wake up so I need to put an alarm clock in there for next time.
No More Mr. Nice Guy (to Squirrels)
Two things that shouldn't happen on a lazy hungover Saturday: 1) Alex hit Ian on the head with a metal shovel, ripping a gash in his scalp, and 2) a squirrel leaped over my head while I was wedged in a hole in the ceiling, standing on a ladder-- my lower body in our bedroom, my upper body in our attic-- with both hands occupied with a reciprocating saw, so that if the squirrel landed on my face and started biting my cheeks, I wouldn't be able to tear it off . . . and I was certainly running the risk that if I instinctively swatted the squirrel, I'd cut off my nose with the saw (my second trip up the ladder, with a lamp, the squirrel chuckled menacingly, and I think I'm going to purchase some poison today).
Courbet Foray
It was a long strange trip, including a detour to Queens, and we were definitely the most inebriated people in the gallery, but it was certainly worth it: Courbet is the king of dogs, trout, and fleshy nudes . . . and then there was the secret gallery, which I would have missed if it wasn't for Stacey, and that's where I saw "The Origin of the World"-- I was going to post a picture, but then I thought better of it-- Google it if you dare!
Jack Watches Everything
I knew that Sam Anders was reciting lyrics from "All Along the Watchtower" from the moment he said "No reason to get excited," and I don't think he's a Cylon-- instead I think the four of them are hearing music broadcast from Earth, but I don't have anyone to discuss this with because the only person that I know who likes to talk about Battlestar Galactica is in Turkey (but I guess there's always Jack-- Jack watches everything).
It's a Playground Not a Pee Ground
Conflict at the playground: Ian was involved in some kind of incident with a long-haired boy (who I mistakenly called a girl) but his mom and some other woman sorted it out so I didn't pay much attention (I was juggling a soccer ball) until three minutes later when I heard the woman loudly remarking to her friend "but that father just kept playing with his ball while his boy was blocking the step and when I said 'Excuse me, Nicholas wants to get through here' to him he grabbed both posts and wouldn't let go" and so I walked over and said, "You know I can hear you, and I don't like to intercede all the time with the kids, and if you've got something to say you can say it to me" and she said, "If I have something to say to you I will" and then went back to talking to her friend about the consequences of allowing "aggressive behavior" but I found an ally in the other mother that was there-- she came over and made a point to tell me how much she appreciated Alex playing with her son (who had some social problems because he was on the autistic side-- but, if pressed, Alex will socialize with a fence post) and I was starting to feel better about myself as a parent, until Alex ran over and yelled "Ian peed on the mulch" and I realized my rule about being able to pee on a tree if we're outside had backfired, because now Ian was peeing on the metal post of the jungle gym, and then minutes later, sensing weakness in the long-haired boy he had bullied (who I must say, was a head taller and probably a year older than him) Ian slid down the slide and knocked him into the mulch-- but I don't think it was the same mulch that he peed on . . . and while I was discipling Ian for sliding with malicious intent (which he is normally allowed to do, with is brother . . . but considering) Alex was introducing his new friend to tree-peeing, but they were not hidden in the woods-- they were only a couple yards off the playground, so I'm sure that all these moms think I'm raising savages.
Tales of Vinnie the Roofer
Apparently, back when he lived in Youngstown, Ohio, Vinnie the Roofer was friends with Ray "Boom Boom" Mancini's brother, and he would often watch "Boom Boom" in his amateur fights; Vinnie was telling me about this while my son Ian ran around the house in a diarrhea filled pull-up diaper, so it was hard for me to pay close attention to the details because I was thinking about fecal leakage-- but I didn't want to interrupt Vinnie because he had just removed a squirrel's nest from my attic and I didn't want to seem ungrateful.
Dave Throws in the Sentence Writing Towel
After over a hundred posts, I think it's time to hang it up: I'm having trouble coming up with new ideas, I'm losing time with my family, and I've finally realized that if I could channel the energy I spend on this blog towards just one needy child, I 'd be doing the world a great service-- in short this blog is trivial, frivolous, and in no way contributes to the betterment of man; in fact, not only am I ashamed of myself for perpetuating this self-serving, egotistical waste of time and bandwith, but I'm also ashamed of you, my fans, who could be taking more initiative at work, spending more time with your own family or pets, or simply planting trees and cleaning up litter in your neighborhood instead of reading these long-winded and often grammatically suspect sentences from a small-minded man.
Alex Tries to Bar the Door
This morning, Alex decided that he loved my company so much that he was going to bar the door so that I couldn't leave for work-- but after thirty seconds, he looked at me and said in his toughest voice, "I'm going to pee really fast, don't you dare leave" and then he sprinted to the bathroom.
Can't We All Just Remain Polarized?
As far as I can tell, any policy or strategy that is bi-partisan is doubly dumb; e.g. Big Corn, ethanol, energy independence, the War on Terror, the War on Drugs, etcetera (as for how dumb ethanol is: we get taxed on it three times-- we pay billions in subsidies to grow the corn, billions in subsidies to turn the corn into ethanol, and billions in higher food prices because there is more "demand" for corn to make into a fuel that pollutes as much or more than gasoline and uses more water and energy to create than gasoline-- McCain and Clinton both used to be against these subsidies, but since they started running for President they have changed their tune-- because of Iowa . . . I don't know why I bother to read about this stuff because it makes me angry for days).
How Do You Spell The Plural of Mississippi?
I had to urinate for the majority of our hellish ninety minute ride to Queens last weekend, and by the time I got into the bathroom my bladder was ready to rupture, so I decided to count how long the stream lasted (without trying to extend the time by constricting the flow) and I urinated for 63 "Mississippis"-- and to put that in perspective, I had to whiz pretty badly yesterday after teaching three classes in a row and it lasted 20 "Mississippis."
Chads! Chads! Chads!
I was pleased with the last minute name I thought of for our faculty band's "Rock the Vote" performance: "The Hanging Chads"-- it has it all, an allusion to voting, a vaguely phallic sound, and a "the" at the beginning (Jimmy Rabbit says that all the great band names start with a "the")-- but my fellow band-members didn't know what I was talking about, and even though we rocked to a packed auditorium, I think only one nerdy kid got the joke; I also think I had the best "look" in the band (my typical school outfit, but black, sunglasses, my school ID, a pencil in my pocket, and a FILA hat) though I needed to be cued to do my guitar solo (Bob said, "Mr. Pellicane on the guitar" to remind me and we had to backtrack to it-- other highlights included Bob and I singing different words to the chorus of "American Idiot" and what felt like ten minutes of fumbling around on stage before we found the right cords to plug in) and I also had the most rabid fans-- Alex and Ian-- in fact, Alex told me I was the "greatest rock guitar guy in the world" and that when he was big he "wanted to get up on a stage a play a guitar" so I'm sure that this stunt will cost me in the end.
Dave's Fortune: The Future Will Be Stupid
Randomly reading recommendations that Amazon selected for me, I found this gem of a sentence-- if you're wondering about the future of popular music, here it is: "Thanks to the overwelming popularity of his Drumma Boi single Umma Do Me, Rocko is now at the forefront of the new Southern movement in hip-hop where business acumen and consumer awareness reign supreme."
You Shouldn't Feed My Ego
We All Love to Ignore Our Parents
After I took a plastic dagger and sheath away from the boys because it cracked and needed gluing, Ian tried to sneak behind my back-- walking on tip-toes and carrying the stool from the bathroom-- in order to retrieve the toy from the counter; even though he knew I was staring at him, he ignored me and set the stool up and climbed up so he could reach -- it was as if he believed that if he was quiet and didn't acknowledge that I was watching him, then I wouldn't stop him (then I put the broken weapon on top of the refrigerator and he moved the stool over to there, climbed up, and pathetically waved his arms-- a good four feet short of his target).
Bunny Logic
My parents took Alex and Ian to their church yesterday for an Easter egg hunt and to meet the bunny himself, but Alex was not duped: he said, "That's not a bunny, it's a man in a bunny suit, rabbits hop on four legs, but he walks on two-- he's more like Bugs Bunny."
Arr?
Piracy has been so romanticized that I'm having a hard time explaining to my kids that pirates are thieves-- and often ruthless and sanguinary as well (there were actual instances of plank walking) and I'm having further difficulties explaining that some piracy is okay-- like when Daddy uses BitTorrent to download hundreds of albums he'll probably never be able to listen to, because they have explicit lyrics and you can't have your kids swearing like sailors when they're playing pirates, right?
Follow the Link
Two things:
1) never drive to Queens (we went to the Hall of Science there today, which was nice, but the drive out of a Mad Max movie;
2) Celine made a fantastically disgusting typographical error on yesterday's sentence-- check it out.
Funny How?
One of Ian's absurdist knock-knock jokes: knock knock . . . who's there? . . . diaper apple . . . diaper apple who? . . . apple diaper poopy-head!!! . . . ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha . . . repeat until bed-time.
Creative Gluttony
Someone put out a huge spread of goodies in the English office, but I had a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich to eat-- so to maximize my consumption I put a chocolate covered pretzel inside the peanut butter and jelly sandwich-- and it was delicious.
There's Nothing Better Than Not Shitting Your Pants
It's official: Ian has toilet-trained himself (and with no encouragement, charts, stars, prizes, or treats-- which Alex thinks is unfair, since we did a lot more to motivate him, but Ian's reward is obviously intrinsic-- he doesn't like to walk around with a load in his pants).
Is It So Wrong To Enjoy Refrigeration?
Last night I ate a big bowl of peanut butter gelato with sprinkles and chocolate chips on top and it tasted that much better because I was watching Christian Bale and his fellow captives slowly starve in Rescue Dawn.
Cold Choices
Precision
Dave Channels Carl Spackler
I was debating what to do with the squirrels in my attic after I catch them in the humane trap I'm going to purchase, but after the taunting minuet they did last night at 3 AM (right above my head), I have decided that I am going to kill them.
The Costs and Benefits of a Pus Filled Boil
Having my abscess infection scooped out was no bargain, but at least I'll be able to enjoy an episode of "Flight of the Conchords" tonight under the influence of Tylenol with codeine.
They're Building Something Big . . .
This morning I awoke alone in bed and found Catherine asleep downstairs on the couch; I hoped that it wasn't a bout of noxious flatulence in the night that drove her out of our bedroom, but it turns out it wasn't my fault . . . it was the squirrels in our attic keeping her awake (the other night she woke me up at midnight, she was banging our ceiling with a rubber rain boot to drive them out) and she claimed this morning, (half asleep) "They're building something up there, some kind of big thing . . . and I can't stand to think of them peeing and pooping up there, while they're building some kind of nest."
Our Phone Probably Doesn't Have Athlete's Foot
Catherine told me I couldn't write about this because she didn't want people to think we're dirty, filthy people, but then it broke, so now I'm allowed to say it: on Sunday, I was calling Catherine and helping Ian urinate at the same time, and I dropped the phone into the toilet-- but I wiped it off and put it outside to dry in the sun and the wind, and after that it worked-- I talked to someone on it (and that's when Catherine made me swear never to tell anyone) but it stopped working yesterday, so I'm going to buy a new one.
Gary Gygax is Dead
Way back in 1992, Whitney and I capitalized on the death of Dr. Seuss with our eponymous "tribute" song . . someone should do the the same for the King of the Dorks.
Justice is Served
For Sartre, "l'enfer, c'est les autres," but for me hell is a high school musical, and yesterday I was definitely in a circle that Dante designed especially for me: Catherine's nephew was in "Beauty and the Beast" and so we all went-- Catherine, me, Alex, Ian, Catherine's mom, Catherine's brothers and their significant others (I think the French have a more elegant word for this . . .) and I mention this only because there were a lot of people around to hear me complain, and complain I did, because it was hot as hell in the theater-- and those of you who know me know I have a low tolerance for heat, but this was ridiculous pumping death heat, rivulets of sweat rolling down my back heat, my buttocks floating in a pool of liquid heat, Ian getting red-faced and croaking "water" heat, and we were in the first row on the side (great for the kids, they loved it, and I must admit, it was an amazing production, hundreds of times better than what is put on at my high school-- but it was still insipid) which was right next to the speaker, and my ears are sensitive from years of listening to bad guitar rock, so I was miserable, and I took Ian out early before intermission because he was sweating so much, but Catherine guilted me into going back in after the break (and this thing was LONG) so I switched to sit back by her brother and his "le petite amie" but she tried to voice a concern but she was too nice to say it, and it was this: they were sitting next to an EXTREMELY obese woman who hadn't booked ahead of time and could only get one seat for her AND her two kids, so in my quest to finder a cooler, quieter place, I instead found myself punished for my complaining, and squashed against a mountain of flesh, with someone else's seven year old on my lap (and she kicked the thirteen year old girl in front of me and the girl thought that it was me that touched her head and kept looking back at me like I was some kind of child molester) and then we ended up waiting for pizza for over an hour at Pete and Elda's-- it was packed, so the kids went sort of nuts, and Catherine was mad at me because I thought that I should be able to drink beer at the restaurant because this was her idea and trip, and I didn't even bring up the rule of etiquette, which is this: the person whose family it is NOT gets to drink, but now is not the time to bring this up.
Playground Illusions (and Allusions)
Alex and Ian were playing "pirate-ship" on the jungle gym with a bunch of kids the other day, and Alex started yelling, "sirens, sirens, watch out for the sirens!" and I thought he was talking about some sort of imaginary approaching police boat, but then he continued, "don't listen to the Sirens' singing! we're going to crash into the rocks!" and I realized that-- for better or worse-- that I am raising a nerd.
This IS Going to Hurt
You know it's trouble when the dentist actually tells you something is going to hurt-- but I did learn something: a pus-filled abscess infection can reverse the polarity of anesthetic, rendering it useless, unless the infection is irrigated and-- and this is the part that hurt-- the dentist gives you a shot of Novacaine in the roof of your mouth.
These Are My Demands
We're meeting with the architect today to tell him what we want our new kitchen to be like, and I want to give him a few unrealistic demands-- just to keep him sharp-- so I'm going to tell him that I need eight kegs of beer chilled at all times, that once or twice a year I like to roast a camel, and that I cultivate escargot and I need a large aquarium within reach of the stove-top.
Am I Some Kind of Dancing Monkey?
It's been a busy day (I had to sign Alex up for pre-school among other things) and I haven't been able to think of anything particularly clever for my sentence, but what am I?-- some kind of clown?-- some kind of talking monkey here to amuse you?-- do I look like your clown?-- your puppet?-- your marionette? your blow-up sex doll, to be treated like some piece of passive plastic?
How To Get to Leave Work Early
Yesterday, I had to leave school early because the zipper on my fly broke (I tried to fix it with a piece of double-sided tape because I was supposed to cover a class for my friend, but she said, "I can't even look at you. Go home.")
Anapestic Birthday Wishes
Today is the day-- now I'm thirty-eight!--
The Doctor and I share the same date--
If Seuss were alive, he'd be one-o-two,
And if I were like Horton, then I'd hear a Who!
(Actually, Seuss would be one-o-four,
but that is a fact that I choose to ignore).
The Doctor and I share the same date--
If Seuss were alive, he'd be one-o-two,
And if I were like Horton, then I'd hear a Who!
(Actually, Seuss would be one-o-four,
but that is a fact that I choose to ignore).
Other Minds
Alex turned four today, and he's he's having a few friends from school over, which is very weird-- that he has this life of his own separate from ours-- but then I guess I find it weird that anyone has a life of their own separate from mine; I generally think that when people I know aren't with me, then they're just hanging around thinking: "I wonder what Dave is doing?"
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.
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