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.
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."
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