A couple of months ago I wrote about my hitchhiking escapades.
I ended up hitchhiking a few more times after that fateful trip, again mostly out of necessity, but none quite as eventful.
A year later I had transferred to a different college (ironically in Baltimore County) and wound up taking a theater class for shits & giggles.
As a class requirement for Intro to Theater, we had to read Waiting For Godot and Rosencrantz And Guildenstern Are Dead.
I got inspired and wrote a play that semester.
I was like 21 when I wrote this.
KEEP ON MOVING
A ONE ACT PLAY
by Greg Barbera
The Players:
Joseph
Man driving car
SCENE I - THE ROAD
The play consists of Joseph standing on stage. He is holding a duffle bag and wearing jeans and a jacket.
The Man in The Car is projected on a screen. The entire conversation takes place in this "space" so that it appears that both players are not really talking to anyone but themselves.
(As the play begins, Joseph is standing on the side of the interstate. There are a few hedges scattered along the roadside behind him. Across the interstate are rows and rows of corn, which is all that can be viewed in either direction.)
JOSEPH: (speaking toward the screen. He is young, about 22.)
Damn, it's hot out. No wonder the crops are damaged. It's a shame they are brown and not that luscious green.
(He looks down and huffs with a slight tone of dejection and kicks the ground.)
At least they have some sort of fate — a destiny. I mean what is my fate? And where am I going? I mean I'm on a road and this road leads to somewhere but is that where I'm going to stop or will I keep on moving? But the roads are so plenty (pauses) does that mean that I'll never stop? (He whispers to himself) Never really get... anywhere?
(He looks up at the sun. It's high noon and the sun is beating down on the earth relentlessly. He turns his eyes away from the bright light and looks at the ground. He begins to walk, looking at his feet with an occasional glance up at the road/screen.)
JOSEPH: Well, if I stop then it is done. I mean my fate will be sealed. I'll be here and here is where I will remain... (muttering the last word under his breath) forever. Forever seems like a mighty long time. Especially here. Here's definitely not where I want to stay. But where am I going? I mean I know I'm on this road and this road leads to somewhere but is somewhere where I want to be? Is somewhere the end? And how will I know if that is the end? (whispers to himself again) Does it ever end?
(He bows his head in contemplation, then squats on his duffle bag and assumes the form of "The Thinker")
Think about it for a second. Nothing and I mean nothing ever ends. Does it? You read a book and there's this plot about a guy who kills his best friend. On the last page of the book it reads "The End". But then you think about it. How could anyone kill their best friend? And years later you're sitting in a cafe somewhere and two guys walk in, they appear as if to be best friends, and then Bam! You think about that story you read years ago and say to yourself "How could anyone kill their best friend?" And then you think about murder and how could any-body really take the life of another and all this because you read a book?! You begin to curse the author for invading your world and putting ideas in your head that can never be erased. 'The End'. What a joke.
(Joseph hears the sound of a car coming behind him. He gets up off his bag and turns around, glances down the road and sees a car in the distance. Once again we are seeing his point of view on screen as his head turns on stage. He then puts his thumb out in traditional hitchhiking manner. He begins to squint to try and get a look of the person inside the car. The car comes closer and drives by as the Doppler Effect takes over. Joseph turns back around and resumes walking.)
JOSEPH: I wonder where he's going? She's going? or if he/she is even trying to get somewhere. Could be one of those types who just floats around from here to there. A gypsy. A nomad. But that's not me. Nope. (shakes his head) I'm going somewhere. I'm going to do something with my life. (He says real emphatically, then trails off to lower tone of voice) But where am I going and when will I get there? Will it be days, months, and years? Well, as long as I'm moving I guess I'm getting closer to there, where ever it may be. I hope I like it when I get there. I kinda like it here. It's quiet and peaceful. But I'm sure this isn't there, I mean, here isn't where I want to go. At least I don't think so. It just doesn't feel right. I mean I just want it to feel right. That unexplainable voice inside that tells you "This is it. This feels right."
(Joseph stops again. This time to tie his shoe. As he bends over to tie his shoe, he sees another car coming down the road. It is just a speck on the horizon. After he ties his shoe he stands once again with his thumb out.)
JOSEPH: (whispering to himself) I hope this car is going where I want to go. Or at least in that direction. (dumbfounded) But what direction am I going in anyway? If they do stop to give me a ride, where will I tell them I'm going?
(the car slows down as it passes Joseph. It pulls over to the side of the road. The driver opens the passenger door. The MAN IN CAR is older, probably in his thirties with a beard and beer belly a.k.a a plumber.)
EXIT
SCENE II-THE CAR
(the following conversation takes place on screen)
MAN: Where you headed?
JOSEPH: huh?
MAN: Where ya going?
JOSEPH: (mumbles) The eternal question.
MAN: What!
JOSEPH: uhhh, just down the road a ways (he pauses) And yourself?
MAN: To the next town.
JOSEPH: What's there?
MAN: Work I hope. I'm flat broke and need a job.
JOSEPH: What if there isn't any work? Where to then?
MAN: I dunno. I'll take it one step at a time. (he pauses) So are you also going to the next town?
JOSEPH: I suppose, but I 'm not really sure. I mean I'm going somewhere and its not here so that means that I'm headed in some sort of direction but if that is where I'm going to stay (pauses) well, I just can't say. What direction are you headed in?
MAN: (a little irritated) To the next town, but I already told you that.
JOSEPH: Right, right (nods his head and pauses) but I mean, you know, where is your fate headed? Where are you going? Where will you be when you stop going?
MAN: (more perplexed than irritated) When I stop, I'll be in the next town. That's about all I can tell ya.
JOSEPH: (smiling) Ahhh, nearsightedness. I suppose it is some sort of virtue, but I don't seem to possess it. I mean I want to know my destiny. You know, like where I'm gonna be when I stop. When it all ends.
MAN: (in a matter of fact tone) Well, pal, for me its gonna end when I die. (speaks in a tone of self revelation and shakes his head up and down) Yea! When I die is when it will all end for me.
JOSEPH: (agreeing) That's what I mean. Where will you be when you die?
MAN: In the ground.
JOSEPH: (chuckles) Yea, I see. But you've missed the point. In that instant before you die where will you be?
MAN: Probably in pain. That's where I'll be.
JOSEPH: Pain, hmm, but is that a place you can go to?
MAN: Hey man, I don't know about you, but I've been in pain before.
JOSEPH: How did you get there?
MAN: In pain?
JOSEPH: Yeah.
MAN: (speaks loudly and quite animated) I hit my thumb with a hammer, that's how I got there!
JOSEPH: So you did that just to get to pain?
MAN: No idiot! It was an accident.
JOSEPH: So you didn't subconsciously do this to "get" to pain?
MAN: (vehemently) No! Pain isn't a place, it's a feeling.
JOSEPH: So you think that if I feel like getting some where then Iwill be there?
MAN: All I'm saying is that if you hit your hand with a hammer, it hurts.
JOSEPH: So if I think I am in this car then I am in this car?
MAN: Well. it sure looks to me like you are in a car. My car. For the time being, anyway.
JOSEPH: I see. So if I "feel" pain then I'm at "pain" and if I "feel" that I'm in a "car", then I am at that place, "car".
MAN: Whatever you say man.
JOSEPH: I guess I just don't know where I "feel" like going and that's why I can't get there. Because I just don't know. I just don't "feel" anything.
MAN: I bet you I could make you feel. (he leans over and thunks Joseph on the head with his finger.)
JOSEPH: Ouch! What are you doing?
MAN: Taking you to that place "pain". Did you "feel" it?
JOSEPH: I felt something.
MAN: That's pain. Although not much of it.
JOSEPH: There's more of it?
MAN: Sure! A lot more from where that came from.
JOSEPH: So you're admitting that it came from somewhere.
MAN: Hey pal, if you want to feel pain I can make you feel pain.
JOSEPH: I'm not that into pain but I would like to "feel" like I am going somewhere.
MAN: I feel like I'm going somewhere. I'm in my car and my car's moving...to the side of the fucking road to boot your sorry ass out.
JOSEPH: But where is your car going to stop?
MAN: In the next town, but you only asked me if I felt like I was moving, going somewhere.
JOSEPH: Of course your car could run out of gas and then it would stop and we would be out here in the middle of nowhere. And do we really know if we have moved? I mean the scenery hasn't changed.
MAN: But my odometer has.
JOSEPH: I don't "feel" like we are moving.
MAN: Are you still where you were when I picked you up?
JOSEPH: Um, I don't think so.
MAN: Then you've moved because you're no longer where you once were. Even if you haven't moved you're still no longer where you once were because you can't remember where you were before can you?
JOSEPH: Before what?
MAN: Before me.
JOSEPH: I was on the side of the road.
MAN: And before that?
JOSEPH: (He looks down and puts his head in his hand) Hhhhmmm, where was I before that?
MAN: What have you done?
JOSEPH: A little of this, a little of that. Nothing special.
MAN: So why now? Why the desire to "do" something. To go somewhere when you don't know where you've been?
JOSEPH: Because I feel it.
MAN: So you do "feel" !
JOSEPH: Somethings.
MAN: Like what?
JOSEPH: I feel like I should be going somewhere to do something to get to that "place" so it all can end.
MAN: That's quite a task you've taken on my friend.
JOSEPH: So we're friends now? I've never had a friend.
MAN: Its just a phrase. You're not my friend.
JJOSEPH: I'm not?
MAN: (shakes his head) Afraid not.
JOSEPH: Then what am I?
MAN: A freak.
(There is a long moment of silence as the two stare at each other.)
MAN: (with a nervous chuckle) But that doesn't have to be a bad thing.
JOSEPH: Sure sounded like it.
MAN: Can't believe everything you hear.
JOSEPH: What can you believe in?
MAN: Nuthin'. there's just life...and death.'Course them Christians believe in life after death. Me, I'm like an elephant. I've moved around all my life, from small towns to big cities just trying to put food in my belly and find a warm place to sleep. Then when I'm all done and ready to leave this world, I'll just walk to that final resting place and close my tired eyes one last time.
JOSEPH: Just keep on moving.
MAN: And never stop.
JOSEPH: Never.
MAN: But there are people who try to stop you. And try to keep you down.
JOSEPH: Why?
MAN: To keep themselves ahead I guess. I mean if everyone keeps on moving, someone's got to fall behind.
JOSEPH: How do they keep you down? What do they do to stop you?
MAN: Anything they can. Anyway they can. Anyhow.
JOSEPH: That's harsh.
MAN: It sucks.
JOSEPH: So what do you do? I mean how do you deal?
MAN: Well, kid there's only one person in control of what goes on and that's yourself. You gotta make it happen, whatever it is.
JOSEPH: (shaking his head in heavy disbelief) Man.
MAN: Hate to burst your bubble kid, but it is time to "feel" the real world. The world where people kill people and fuck each other just to get to the top. It's a jungle and no one gets out alive. You got to kick and claw and scratch to get what you want and never turn your back on anyone because once they see that vulnerable spot, they chomp at it like a pack of wolves.
JOSEPH: The hunter and the hunted.
MAN: That's right kid. You're learning.
JOSEPH: "Speak softly and carry a big stick."
MAN:Yep, biggest one you got. And don't be afraid to swing that thing. Do what you got to do. Give yourself some room if you know what I mean.
JOSEPH: I think I get your drift.
MAN: Good! And don't forget it.
JOSEPH: "Only the strong survive."
MAN: The strongest.
JOSEPH: One life to live.
MAN: One and only one. Then you meet your maker.
JOSEPH: Who's he? Who's your maker?
MAN: God, boy! And it's a pretty safe bet that He's your maker too.
JOSEPH: You sure?
MAN: Positive.
JOSEPH: I don't like to gamble.
MAN: Especially when the stakes are high. But you've got no choice.
JOSEPH: But I don't know about God.
MAN: Well, whether you know about Him or not boy, you can't argue with God.
JOSEPH: You can't?
MAN: No man.
JOSEPH: So you believe in God then?
MAN: Sorta.
JOSEPH: What do you mean sorta?
MAN: I have my doubts.
JOSEPH: So God only exists when you "feel" him to exist?
MAN: Uh, He's there when I need Him.
JOSEPH: So when you don't think about Him then He's not there.
MAN: That sounds about right.
JOSEPH: So if you don't think about me then I won't be here?
MAN: But if I stop thinking about you you'll still be here... (he points to the seat in his car) in my car.
JOSEPH: Try it.
MAN: What?
JOSEPH: Stop thinking.
MAN: (quizzical) Stop thinking?
JOSEPH: About me.
(The screen goes black. Joseph is standing on stage.
There is one bright light on him. His duffle bag is by
his feet. His thumb is sticking out. The stage is black)
EXIT
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Monday, October 13, 2008
The End Of An Era
So tomorrow I start a new job.
I always knew that I would one day return to work after the kids had grown, I just can't believe that time has come.
Along the way I made friends with some other at-home dads, pissed off a few moms, had a health care scare, started a band, got a vasectomy, catered my ass off, appeared on NPR and on the front page of the local daily.
I'm changed shit tons of diapers and potty trained two boys. I've had to confront the existence of the tooth fairy, resurrect Rudolph, defend Santa and generally try to keep keep my wits amongst utter chaos.
It's by far been the toughest yet most rewarding job I have ever had. And it's not like my job as dad and parent has gone out to pasture, it's just that the boys are older now and don't need me as they did when they were infants and toddler so I'm rollin' back to the 9-to-5.
I've got endless stories to share especially ones from the early years before I started blogging that I have been working on under the guise of "memoir" that I'll most likely share because as a literary agent once told me, "Men don't read parenting books."
Oh, but they read blogs...
I always knew that I would one day return to work after the kids had grown, I just can't believe that time has come.
Along the way I made friends with some other at-home dads, pissed off a few moms, had a health care scare, started a band, got a vasectomy, catered my ass off, appeared on NPR and on the front page of the local daily.
I'm changed shit tons of diapers and potty trained two boys. I've had to confront the existence of the tooth fairy, resurrect Rudolph, defend Santa and generally try to keep keep my wits amongst utter chaos.
It's by far been the toughest yet most rewarding job I have ever had. And it's not like my job as dad and parent has gone out to pasture, it's just that the boys are older now and don't need me as they did when they were infants and toddler so I'm rollin' back to the 9-to-5.
I've got endless stories to share especially ones from the early years before I started blogging that I have been working on under the guise of "memoir" that I'll most likely share because as a literary agent once told me, "Men don't read parenting books."
Oh, but they read blogs...
Friday, October 10, 2008
Flashbacks!
This time last year I was talking about speeding tickets and religion.
In 2006, I was giddy over scoring this charcoal grill for free.
And in 2005 I just couldn't get this song out of my head.
Big changes loom on the horizon... stay tuned.
In 2006, I was giddy over scoring this charcoal grill for free.
And in 2005 I just couldn't get this song out of my head.
Big changes loom on the horizon... stay tuned.
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Crossed Up And Kicked Out
I rode my bike a lot with the kids in the neighborhood this summer.
It’s kinda weird because it made me feel like I was ten again.
Some of the kids were into trying do to some tricks with the plastic launch ramp we found at the dump awhile back. They all had one goal in mind: to jump off the launch ramp.
I felt obligated to chaperone these types of shindigs for two reason: because my 5-yr-old still hasn’t shed his training wheels and thinks its cool to do bar stands on the top of his frame and because two kids in the ‘hood don’t have helmets.
I was trying to give them some pointers on getting off the jump when the peanut gallery chimed in and demanded that I show them “since I know so much.”
One of the things I’ve tried to instill in my sons is that you need to master the basics of a sport before you can excel at it. Last summer I spent many days trying to teach my oldest how to ollie, fakie and kickturn on a skateboard.
So now I’m trying to apply the same basic elements to bmx: if you can do a wheelie, bunny hop and endo then you can safely say they’ll be able to handle anything above and beyond that.
Of course they wanted me to show them how to do a wheelie so I pedaled around in circles a few times, readied my footing, pointed my bike uphill and went at it. I knocked off one – a huge one – about 30 yards (passed two driveways) and as soon as my front wheel hit the ground, howls of joy and excitement erupted from the gang.
I then made a bet with them: that I would try and make it to the top of the hill by the end of the summer. I figured that way I’d have something to do while I was out there “supervising” the kids. But after a few days it became more like a circus act with other kids coming over and asking to see me “pull a wheelie.”
One day an elderly neighbor- while on his daily walk through the neighborhood -saw me in the midst of one of my many wheelie attempts up the hill.
“I’ve never seen any thing like that,” he said.
“Darndest thing I’ve ever seen… really” he paused then said, “Ya ought to charge for that”
When I came back down the hill the kids asked me what he said and I told them he told me I should charge for it.
“Yeah!” said one kid. “Like 50 cents!”
“No, no… two dollars!” said another kid.
All this talk about being the wheelie king of the ‘hood got me thinking about my own bike gang growing up and Rockville BMX .
I worked briefly at Rockville BMX. I would put spokes in rims and then hand them over to Tiger who would tighten and true them. There was a whole cast of characters at that place starting with the owner Jay and his sister (?) Root Girl and right on through to every nicknamed employee.
It was there that I met two of my best friends Scooby and Nubby. The guys I had met at the Alligator Pit jumps - Jeff, Andy and Joey – were regulars there as well. Rockville BMX wasn’t just a store, it was a place to hang out and Jay was the ringleader. He had a soda machine that had a mystery button on it: you could get a V8 or you could get a beer.
The place was also a stop on the bmx trick team circuit and every summer a team of riders would come out and do demos. The bible of bmx, Freestylin’ magazine, would run photos of these contest and suddenly The East Coast had reared its head as a viable spot for bmx, it didn’t just belong in SoCal anymore.
Even Pennsylvania got in on the act, with York being ground zero for the Plywood Hoods. Plywood Hood alum Mike Daily went on to be the editor of GO:The Rider’s Manual, which was the publication Freestylin’ had morphed into. “Martin’s BBQ Waffle Potato chips, Tastykake Butterscotch Krimpets and peanut butter Kandy Kakes with Turkey Hill iced tea was all we ever needed,” said Daily in a recent e-mail.
Times were simpler then.
This summer, a coffee-table book retrospective was released. Freestylin’: Generation F chronicles those simpler times when bmx wasn’t an actions sport sponsored by the Dew. The book had a limited run but you can go here and peep it.
Eventually, part of my crew would be absorbed into this traveling circus. Scooby and Nubby would leave and return from tour with a bunch of swag, an assload of stickers and mighty tall tales from the road. “I use to take care of shit,” said Scooby during a phone conversation I recently had with him after I tracked him down in Colorado. “The East Coast invasion changed bmx,” said Scooby, again without explanation.
One kid, the runt of the bunch that was probably 60 pounds soaking wet, named Spoke left and soon migrated to California for greener BMX pastures. Somewhere along the way, Spoke became Spike.
Yeah, that Spike.
I’m not sure why Scooby and Nubby never made the move out west. I know both of them had very close-knit families and I guess that is what kept them coming back to Maryland.
Years later, after bmx faded, Scooby and I took up mountain biking often riding to work together to our job at Topel Blueprinting. And much like the days of Rockville BMX, Topel became the place to work. And again another colorful, motley crew came together called the Dickie Boys but that’s a whole ‘nother post right there…
Pictured: Brian Blyther, summer 1987, Rockville BMX
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
On Assignment
I landed a job covering the Carolina Hurricanes for the local daily...
Okay, so I didn't but after today, where I spent the majority of the morning watching an open practice at the RBC center in Raleigh, I'm thinking that would be a cool job.
It was a surreal experience: I got to walk into the locker room with some other guys from the local media and ask several players a few questions about an upcoming article that I pitched to the local weekly. I've been a hockey fan since I was a kid, caught up in the hype of the 1980 Olympics team and the wonderkid Wayne Gretzky. So it was strange to find myself in the locker room of a professional hockey team.
Even stranger was how young they all looked.
And how tall Eric Staal was.
Pictured: Right winger, number 44, Patrick Eaves.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Tales From The Catering Tent
It is the busy season for catering.
September is not only a popular time for people to get married (I work a lot of weddings) but it is also the time for the local universities to stroke their employees and for people to party in the name of Devils and Heels.
This weekend I worked a rehearsal dinner in the Pope Box at Kenan Stadium on the campus of UNC.
"This is a nice place for a party," said one guest as he approached the bar.
"Yeah, especially if you're a Tar Heel fan," I said.
He grimaced and said, "that's the thing, most of us here are Wake Forest fans."
Oh the irony.
Because you know how Wake fans can be.
I also worked two school functions recently. One was a party for new students at UNC's graduate program for pathology.
A lively bunch indeed.
Another was at the Hart House - the home for Duke's president - which was a reacharound, er, cocktail hour for tenured professors.
Then there was a series of wedding receptions, one where a drunken guy danced to the music with his toddler backpack'ed to himself. This same fellow, after his son fell asleep, took him off and laid him on a blanket under the magnolia tree behind my bar.
"Looks like yer also gonna be doing some babysitting," he said to me as he laid his kid down on the ground.
They almost left without him.
Some people shouldn't be allowed to have kids.
At another wedding, some guy showed up in a kilt and asked where he could park. My Egyptian co-worker confessed he had never seen anything like it. I told him he was probably going to play the bagpipes during the ceremony. Then the wedding party showed up and all the groomsmen wore kilts.
I told him I had never seen anything like it.
Just the other night, while moving some rental equipment (china, flatware), a few of us spotted this gigantic spider.
"Be careful," said one of my co-workers. "It could be a brown recluse". I told her I thought it was far too big to be a brown recluse. See came over to look at it as another girl took a picture of it with her phone.
"Yeah, brown recluses don't have all that fuzzy stuff on their backs," she said agreeing with me.
I moved the container that the spider had set up shop in over to some bushes and attempted to tip it so that the spider could go back to nature but the spider fell to the ground and when it hit the cement an explosion of tiny dots radiated out from the arachnoid.
"Oh my," said the girl with the phone.
"Guess she was a mama."
I immediately thought of Charlotte's Web.
September is not only a popular time for people to get married (I work a lot of weddings) but it is also the time for the local universities to stroke their employees and for people to party in the name of Devils and Heels.
This weekend I worked a rehearsal dinner in the Pope Box at Kenan Stadium on the campus of UNC.
"This is a nice place for a party," said one guest as he approached the bar.
"Yeah, especially if you're a Tar Heel fan," I said.
He grimaced and said, "that's the thing, most of us here are Wake Forest fans."
Oh the irony.
Because you know how Wake fans can be.
I also worked two school functions recently. One was a party for new students at UNC's graduate program for pathology.
A lively bunch indeed.
Another was at the Hart House - the home for Duke's president - which was a reacharound, er, cocktail hour for tenured professors.
Then there was a series of wedding receptions, one where a drunken guy danced to the music with his toddler backpack'ed to himself. This same fellow, after his son fell asleep, took him off and laid him on a blanket under the magnolia tree behind my bar.
"Looks like yer also gonna be doing some babysitting," he said to me as he laid his kid down on the ground.
They almost left without him.
Some people shouldn't be allowed to have kids.
At another wedding, some guy showed up in a kilt and asked where he could park. My Egyptian co-worker confessed he had never seen anything like it. I told him he was probably going to play the bagpipes during the ceremony. Then the wedding party showed up and all the groomsmen wore kilts.
I told him I had never seen anything like it.
Just the other night, while moving some rental equipment (china, flatware), a few of us spotted this gigantic spider.
"Be careful," said one of my co-workers. "It could be a brown recluse". I told her I thought it was far too big to be a brown recluse. See came over to look at it as another girl took a picture of it with her phone.
"Yeah, brown recluses don't have all that fuzzy stuff on their backs," she said agreeing with me.
I moved the container that the spider had set up shop in over to some bushes and attempted to tip it so that the spider could go back to nature but the spider fell to the ground and when it hit the cement an explosion of tiny dots radiated out from the arachnoid.
"Oh my," said the girl with the phone.
"Guess she was a mama."
I immediately thought of Charlotte's Web.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Breakfast
I always think of these great posts I want to write about food but then I forget to snap a picture or get caught up in the daily grind and never managed to make the meal I had planned. So here's a wrap up of what's recently been going into my mouth.
Last week the wife and I made the mistake of not filling up on breakfast before we headed out to the boys' first football games and we paid handsomely for it.
This week we were slightly more prepared: we made it to the stadium early enough that I was able to duck out and head down the street to Bagels On The Hill for some breakfast bagels.
It's hard to get real, fresh bagels in the area, not like the bagels my Jewish mother-in-law gets that's for sure.
But these bagels came close and my breakfast was cooked to order because this ain't a fast food chain folks.
This bugger was tasty although nothing at the moment can hold a flame to Blitz's Market morning eats down at the shore...
Lunch
I have picked up many a good recipes over the years working for local catering companies and this is one of them.
It's a refreshing salad that's quick to make and features a cavalcade of flavors.
Basically, it's spinach, thinly sliced red onion, sliced pear, goat cheese, pine nuts and a raspberry poppyseed vinaigrette.
Yeah, yeah with salt and ground pepper because you should (kosher) salt and (ground) pepper everything.
And Dinner
Made this last week for dinner because it is quick and easy.
It's the infamous chick can recipe and it's always an easy way to cook a bird.
This version was an olive oil, cilantro, lime and salt and pepper rub with the cavity stuffed with garlic, red onion, orange/red peppers, zuccinni and halved limes.
I then poured out half a can of beer and shoved it into the cavity and placed the chicken on a pie backing dish for the greasy cast off.
Cooked it at about 325 degrees for about two hours (or until the drumstick easily tears off) and then served it with rice.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Haikus
I'm writing haikus over at Whit's place today.
Dream Song 14
Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.
After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
we ourselves flash and yearn,
and moreover my mother told me as a boy
(repeatingly) "Ever to confess you're bored
means you have no
Inner Resources." I conclude now I have no
inner resources, because I am heavy bored.
Peoples bore me,
literature bores me, especially great literature,
Henry bores me, with his plights & gripes
as bad as Achilles,
who loves people and valiant art, which bores me.
And the tranquil hills, & gin, look like a drag
and somehow a dog
has taken itself & its tail considerably away
into the mountains or sea or sky, leaving
behind: me, wag.
Dream Song 14
Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.
After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
we ourselves flash and yearn,
and moreover my mother told me as a boy
(repeatingly) "Ever to confess you're bored
means you have no
Inner Resources." I conclude now I have no
inner resources, because I am heavy bored.
Peoples bore me,
literature bores me, especially great literature,
Henry bores me, with his plights & gripes
as bad as Achilles,
who loves people and valiant art, which bores me.
And the tranquil hills, & gin, look like a drag
and somehow a dog
has taken itself & its tail considerably away
into the mountains or sea or sky, leaving
behind: me, wag.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Parent Pride
Both my sons played their first games of football last weekend.My 5-year-old played a game of flag football and it was as expected - like herding sheep. Kids ran in all directions and general confusion ensued for the first half of the game. By the second half most of the kids had started to grasp the "don't move until the ball is hiked" concept.
This game was followed by his older brother's, who just happens to be playing tackle football.
And he couldn't be more excited about the prospect of game days in full pads.
Much like the opening game, there was plenty of confusion at the start. They don't have enough players on their team to actually scrimmage each other. It appeared early on that the concept of facing opponents, some decidedly bigger than them, was daunting.
My son, who plays running back, got the ball a few times. He also made a few nice tackles. I was glad to see that he wasn't afraid to stick his nose in there and get dirty.
Then it happened: on a broken play up the middle, he scampered outside and made it to the sidelines, then turned and headed up field, a chase of about five players behind him.
He crossed midfield and the parents in the bleachers started to scream.
I'm sure my friends in California could have heard me yelling, "Run! Run! Run!"
One of the larger kids was on his tail and began to gain on him.
They crossed the 20 yard line and one of the opposing team's coaches yelled, "Dive!"
The team that was set to play next now had lined up on the sidelines and were cheering him on.
The kid dove...
And missed!
And a roar came up from the bleachers and the sidelines and pandemonium broke loose among his teammates as they ran to congratulate him in the end zone.
I don't think I've ever felt that kind of pure joy in my life.
My son had just scored his first touchdown in his first football game on a 60 yard, knuckle-biting broken play.
I wanted to cry.
Parents came up to me and asked me, "Is that your son?" with gleaming eyes.
"Yes, that's my boy," I said proudly pondering how they would view me next week if I just fell down and cried tears of joy.
Then he had to kick off.
And play safety on defense.
He got juked bad and the kid scored.
He came out for a rest and some water but while he was out their quarterback got the wind knocked out of him. So he went back in as quarterback. He later told me he was scared because their quarterback kept getting sacked. But after getting sacked twice himself because the textbook hand-offs he was attempting were left with confused running backs going in opposite directions, he just kept it on third down and bootlegged his way around the corner for a decent gain.
Then the first string kid came back in and he went back to running back.
They may have lost the game but boy howdy did seeing my son score a touchdown tickle my spine in a new and unfound way.
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
The Frog Who Wanted To Be A Singer
Since my early days as a dad blogger, I have been singing the praises of local library book sales.
Well a few weekends ago, just as summer was coming to a close, my oldest son and I went to the Chapel Hill Public Library for one of their book sales. My youngest didn't want to come but he did request that we get him a book on "skateboarding, snowboarding or dinosaurs."
When we got there the stock was pretty much picked over and we weren't having much luck with our searches.
I did managed to get another Ross Macdonald book as well as replacing my copy of Ray because a few years back I passed on my precious, tattered and worn copy to one of my nimrod friends.
We didn't find any action sports or dinosaur books for my youngest but I knew we needed to come home with something. He's got a mild obsession with aliens but the alien books I saw would surely have crept him out more than entertain him.
I rummaged through a bunch of kids' books boxes and finally just grab bagged a book from the depths.
It was called The Frog Who Wanted To Be A Singer. It's a book about a frog who wants to be a singer but is told that frogs don't sing. Against every one's better judgement, the frog labor's on in the face of adversity and finally manages to pull off singing his song in front of an audience.
And it becomes a huge hit.
I have read my fair share of kids' books, most drive you bat shit insane with their quaint rhyme schemes and second-rate graphics, but this sucker fucking delivered!
It reminded me of the time I tried to tackle writing a story for kids. A friend of mine was part of this "write a book in a month" web site and convinced me I should sign up. Now I have enough unfinished writing that nags at me that it seemed like a silly thing to do.
And quite honestly, a waste of time.
But as a writer I'm always looking for a good way to exercise my chops without the frustration of having to rewrite a chapter or fine tune a character that has been in my head for years. So I signed up and said I would try and tackle a children's book.
As you can see from the excerpt below, I derailed from my original plan quite quickly...
Willie The Worm
“My name is Willie,” he said.
“Hello Willie!” said the crowd, some seated on fold-out chairs, others standing by the walls of the activity room of the local Unitarian Church.
“And I am a worm,” he said.
“Let’s welcome Willie with open arms and hearts,” said a whisker-scratching Harold, who was clearly the moderator here tonight.
“What if you don’t have arms?” chimed out that old crow Terence from the back.
“You know what I mean Terrance,” said Harold.
“Must you do that every meeting?”
Then Harold turned back to Willie.
“You may continue,” he said.
It all started when Willie began hanging out with the moles. They would go and dine on freshly-fertilized soil and then sit back and wait for their buzz kick in. The moles would tunnel endlessly and let the kaleidoscope of colors exploding in their heads guide their way.
At first it was fun for Willie. He’s slither behind his mole buddies riding their newly dug tunnels like a water slide at a theme park.
It was a blast.
The one day Marty didn’t show up for the party. They sent out a search party to find him. But the search party returned with bad news.
Marty had passed away.
“One too many trips to the DDT cabbage patch,” said a snarky Steve.
They memorialized him by doing what they do best: getting wasted.
A few weeks later, Willie had his own close call when he nearly drowned in a mud puddle because he was too far gone to get his butt out of it. So he stayed above ground for a few weeks, living under rocks and inside leaf piles until he could get his head straight. One thing he knew for sure: no more tripping with the moles.
It was his good friend Gary, a bulbous grub, who told him about the meetings at the church.
“But the church is a people place,” said Willie.
“Peoples can be cool,” said Gary who was cool like a jazz musician.
So Willie took his advice and now he found himself staring at a crowd of strange faces all wanting to hear his story.
“Wow, that was some story,” said Carrie the cow from the back of the room.
“Makes kicking my salt lick habit seem like a game of Chutes & Ladders.”
“Willie,” said Harold.
“Listen to me: When your friends start dying, it’s time to change your lifestyle,” he said.
“Do you hear me?”
“I do Harold,” said Willie.
“I guess that’s why I’m here… to, to, to get help,” he said with a hard swallow.
“Rehab! Rehab!” squawked Terence.
“I think you’re right on this one Terence,” said Harold as he took his back paw to his ear for a scratch.
“The boy needs to dry out and sober up,” he said.
The pastor – a tall, slender man with graying temples – rolled out a wheelbarrow. With shovel in hand he scooped up the poop left behind from the meeting and cleaned up the batch of compost he’d left as a snack for the rodents. He then genuflected at the front of the altar and made the sign of the cross. He said a short prayer in silence for God’s troubled creatures who had just left the building and then went out back and dumped the contents of the wheelbarrow into the church’s community garden.
Willie didn’t like rehab because he never slept. And when he did sleep he had the most horrific nightmares. His dreams were an amalgamation of memories and hallucinations.
One dream his had over and over again was the dad he watched his father die. It was a memory he could never shake and one night as he lay awake trying not to return to the horrid memory he can to the conclusion that he got loaded to erase the past.
So Willie surmised that if he could confront the one reoccurring bad dream, then it was be one giant step toward facing life sober. But then he drifted off back to sleep…
“Willie, c’mon!” he dad yelled. “Hurry up goddamn it,” he said angrily.
“You’re putting our lives on the line!”
Willie and his father we making a calculated risk trying to get from one side of the creek bed to the other in search of a food source and possibly a better home. Exposing themselves was a great risk and one his father ingrained into him over and over again.
“I know Dad, I know!” said Willie. And as he said this he went over the litany of dangers in his head. They were birds of every variety to fear: crows, owls, eagles, finches, woodpeckers… you name it. Not only that, but there was fowl and snakes and mice and all kinds of dangers out there. But one was the most dangerous of all: the fisherman. And it was at that moment, when Willie thought it, that the fisherman appeared behind a thicket of holly bushes. His boot barely missed squishing him. Just as he was catching his breath the fisherman’s dog came sniffing around, licked up Willie only to spit him back out on the ground.
“Hold up!” said the fisherman. “What do we have here?” he said.
Willie can’t remember much after that, or rather he tries not to but suffice it to say he had to watch his father be turned into bait.
Seeing you’re fathered skewered on a fisherman’s hook is not something you easily forget and suddenly Willie stirred from his dream and awoke.
He wanted to get wasted.
Well a few weekends ago, just as summer was coming to a close, my oldest son and I went to the Chapel Hill Public Library for one of their book sales. My youngest didn't want to come but he did request that we get him a book on "skateboarding, snowboarding or dinosaurs."
When we got there the stock was pretty much picked over and we weren't having much luck with our searches.
I did managed to get another Ross Macdonald book as well as replacing my copy of Ray because a few years back I passed on my precious, tattered and worn copy to one of my nimrod friends.
We didn't find any action sports or dinosaur books for my youngest but I knew we needed to come home with something. He's got a mild obsession with aliens but the alien books I saw would surely have crept him out more than entertain him.
I rummaged through a bunch of kids' books boxes and finally just grab bagged a book from the depths.
It was called The Frog Who Wanted To Be A Singer. It's a book about a frog who wants to be a singer but is told that frogs don't sing. Against every one's better judgement, the frog labor's on in the face of adversity and finally manages to pull off singing his song in front of an audience.
And it becomes a huge hit.
I have read my fair share of kids' books, most drive you bat shit insane with their quaint rhyme schemes and second-rate graphics, but this sucker fucking delivered!
It reminded me of the time I tried to tackle writing a story for kids. A friend of mine was part of this "write a book in a month" web site and convinced me I should sign up. Now I have enough unfinished writing that nags at me that it seemed like a silly thing to do.
And quite honestly, a waste of time.
But as a writer I'm always looking for a good way to exercise my chops without the frustration of having to rewrite a chapter or fine tune a character that has been in my head for years. So I signed up and said I would try and tackle a children's book.
As you can see from the excerpt below, I derailed from my original plan quite quickly...
Willie The Worm
“My name is Willie,” he said.
“Hello Willie!” said the crowd, some seated on fold-out chairs, others standing by the walls of the activity room of the local Unitarian Church.
“And I am a worm,” he said.
“Let’s welcome Willie with open arms and hearts,” said a whisker-scratching Harold, who was clearly the moderator here tonight.
“What if you don’t have arms?” chimed out that old crow Terence from the back.
“You know what I mean Terrance,” said Harold.
“Must you do that every meeting?”
Then Harold turned back to Willie.
“You may continue,” he said.
It all started when Willie began hanging out with the moles. They would go and dine on freshly-fertilized soil and then sit back and wait for their buzz kick in. The moles would tunnel endlessly and let the kaleidoscope of colors exploding in their heads guide their way.
At first it was fun for Willie. He’s slither behind his mole buddies riding their newly dug tunnels like a water slide at a theme park.
It was a blast.
The one day Marty didn’t show up for the party. They sent out a search party to find him. But the search party returned with bad news.
Marty had passed away.
“One too many trips to the DDT cabbage patch,” said a snarky Steve.
They memorialized him by doing what they do best: getting wasted.
A few weeks later, Willie had his own close call when he nearly drowned in a mud puddle because he was too far gone to get his butt out of it. So he stayed above ground for a few weeks, living under rocks and inside leaf piles until he could get his head straight. One thing he knew for sure: no more tripping with the moles.
It was his good friend Gary, a bulbous grub, who told him about the meetings at the church.
“But the church is a people place,” said Willie.
“Peoples can be cool,” said Gary who was cool like a jazz musician.
So Willie took his advice and now he found himself staring at a crowd of strange faces all wanting to hear his story.
“Wow, that was some story,” said Carrie the cow from the back of the room.
“Makes kicking my salt lick habit seem like a game of Chutes & Ladders.”
“Willie,” said Harold.
“Listen to me: When your friends start dying, it’s time to change your lifestyle,” he said.
“Do you hear me?”
“I do Harold,” said Willie.
“I guess that’s why I’m here… to, to, to get help,” he said with a hard swallow.
“Rehab! Rehab!” squawked Terence.
“I think you’re right on this one Terence,” said Harold as he took his back paw to his ear for a scratch.
“The boy needs to dry out and sober up,” he said.
The pastor – a tall, slender man with graying temples – rolled out a wheelbarrow. With shovel in hand he scooped up the poop left behind from the meeting and cleaned up the batch of compost he’d left as a snack for the rodents. He then genuflected at the front of the altar and made the sign of the cross. He said a short prayer in silence for God’s troubled creatures who had just left the building and then went out back and dumped the contents of the wheelbarrow into the church’s community garden.
Willie didn’t like rehab because he never slept. And when he did sleep he had the most horrific nightmares. His dreams were an amalgamation of memories and hallucinations.
One dream his had over and over again was the dad he watched his father die. It was a memory he could never shake and one night as he lay awake trying not to return to the horrid memory he can to the conclusion that he got loaded to erase the past.
So Willie surmised that if he could confront the one reoccurring bad dream, then it was be one giant step toward facing life sober. But then he drifted off back to sleep…
“Willie, c’mon!” he dad yelled. “Hurry up goddamn it,” he said angrily.
“You’re putting our lives on the line!”
Willie and his father we making a calculated risk trying to get from one side of the creek bed to the other in search of a food source and possibly a better home. Exposing themselves was a great risk and one his father ingrained into him over and over again.
“I know Dad, I know!” said Willie. And as he said this he went over the litany of dangers in his head. They were birds of every variety to fear: crows, owls, eagles, finches, woodpeckers… you name it. Not only that, but there was fowl and snakes and mice and all kinds of dangers out there. But one was the most dangerous of all: the fisherman. And it was at that moment, when Willie thought it, that the fisherman appeared behind a thicket of holly bushes. His boot barely missed squishing him. Just as he was catching his breath the fisherman’s dog came sniffing around, licked up Willie only to spit him back out on the ground.
“Hold up!” said the fisherman. “What do we have here?” he said.
Willie can’t remember much after that, or rather he tries not to but suffice it to say he had to watch his father be turned into bait.
Seeing you’re fathered skewered on a fisherman’s hook is not something you easily forget and suddenly Willie stirred from his dream and awoke.
He wanted to get wasted.
Sunday, September 07, 2008
Backyard Skimboarding
Peeking out at our flooded backyard with my kidz, we hatched an idea to do some backyard skimboarding.
The wife quickly put the kibosh on it with her talk of snakes, sticks and snapping turtles.
But it seemed like such a good idea.
I mean, when you can't be at the beach, you bring the beach to you right?
Rise & Shine
Tropical Storm Hannah arrived in the late afternoon on Friday. The hype was in full force yet my 8-year-old still managed to have football practice in the rain. The brunt of the storm wasn't due to hit the area until the middle of the night, so practice was held in what could be referred to as a Seattle sprinkle. Kudos for the coaches who stood out there for two hours and taught the game to fledging Mosses, Mannings and Manns'.
I got several WTF? phone calls from my wife during my two hour stint sitting under an oak tree watching practice. But honestly, at no point did the weather seem life threatening. There was no thunder and no lightening... just a steady, fine mist of a rain.
It wasn't until much later that the ass whoopin' came and still it was mild in comparison to other storms I have encounter here in North Carolina.
We didn't get the word that my boys' football games would be cancelled until about 7:30am on Saturday.
Once we got the news, my wife and I laid in our bed with the window open and just listened to the rain; about every twenty minutes it would surge hard then cut back to a trickle.
Seeing an opening in unscheduled time (a rare site these days with school, football and work), I convinced the boys to make us a pot of coffee which they did and then brought us our cups in bed (how sweet is that?). Feeling the need to satiate my inner gourmand, I headed to the kitchen and whipped up some huevos rancheros for the wife and I while some Cornell Campbell wafted through the house.
Friday, September 05, 2008
Feeling Like One Of Those Army Commercials Today
You know, the one from a few years back about how they do more by 6AM than most people do all day...
I got up at 7:30am and made sure the kids had breakfast. It wasn't a breakfast of champions as the cupboards were bare so they turned to Kix cereal with soy milk and a strawberry pop tart each. Then I corralled them into brushing their teeth and getting dressed while I made them lunch.
As I was making lunch, I threw in a load of laundry - I had it in the dryer by the time we left for school. Oh, and I changed the kitty litter because today is trash day so it just made sense.
I had a pang in my heart for my youngest; he's going through growing pains and is now realizing that school happens everyday all day and he's not happy about that. Plus it appears he has inherited the seasonal allergies that wreak havoc on his older brother and me so the little fella was a wee bit tired - from school and from a stuffy nose that kept him from a good night's sleep.
After I dropped the boys off I came home and took a shower because I stunk like an ashtray from the show my band played last night in Raleigh. I didn't get home until close to 1am because the city had all these streets closed off for today's celebration of the new convention center. With the street closings and all the construction that the city has seen, I got all turned around and lost my bearings. By the time I readied my ship and got to I40 to head home, I was greeted by the cops who had closed off the west bound ramp. So I got on the east bound ramp and figured I'd just go down one exit and turnaround. But as soon as I got on the interstate I was greeted by more orange cones than I could count and an assload of blinking lights.
Guess the city decided to re-stripe that part of the interstate and I have a hunch it was on account of the previously mentioned celebration because once I got past the city it was nothing but open road.
I also needed to go to the grocery store but to do that I had to manhandle my bass cabinet out of the wagon.
The grocery store was mobbed.
Of course because there's a hurricane headed our way and people like to clog the grocery stores in the name of preparation. I can't blame then, the hype is heavy on Hanna even though the poor bitch has been downgraded to a tropical storm. I have been on the receiving end of poor hurricane preparation and it wasn't pleasant and that was before I had kids.
And then I had the good fortune to have one of those baggers who likes to put like three items in a bag. I should have done it myself like I usually do but the bagger was already halfway into it by the time I finished unloading my cart. Suddenly I felt bad about how environmentally unfriendly my trip to the store had become... then again we do have a rain barrel and we still do use the bucket in the shower.
It's not even noon yet.
I'm not even halfway done with what I need to do today.
And I can't get this song out of my head...
I got up at 7:30am and made sure the kids had breakfast. It wasn't a breakfast of champions as the cupboards were bare so they turned to Kix cereal with soy milk and a strawberry pop tart each. Then I corralled them into brushing their teeth and getting dressed while I made them lunch.
As I was making lunch, I threw in a load of laundry - I had it in the dryer by the time we left for school. Oh, and I changed the kitty litter because today is trash day so it just made sense.
I had a pang in my heart for my youngest; he's going through growing pains and is now realizing that school happens everyday all day and he's not happy about that. Plus it appears he has inherited the seasonal allergies that wreak havoc on his older brother and me so the little fella was a wee bit tired - from school and from a stuffy nose that kept him from a good night's sleep.
After I dropped the boys off I came home and took a shower because I stunk like an ashtray from the show my band played last night in Raleigh. I didn't get home until close to 1am because the city had all these streets closed off for today's celebration of the new convention center. With the street closings and all the construction that the city has seen, I got all turned around and lost my bearings. By the time I readied my ship and got to I40 to head home, I was greeted by the cops who had closed off the west bound ramp. So I got on the east bound ramp and figured I'd just go down one exit and turnaround. But as soon as I got on the interstate I was greeted by more orange cones than I could count and an assload of blinking lights.
Guess the city decided to re-stripe that part of the interstate and I have a hunch it was on account of the previously mentioned celebration because once I got past the city it was nothing but open road.
I also needed to go to the grocery store but to do that I had to manhandle my bass cabinet out of the wagon.
The grocery store was mobbed.
Of course because there's a hurricane headed our way and people like to clog the grocery stores in the name of preparation. I can't blame then, the hype is heavy on Hanna even though the poor bitch has been downgraded to a tropical storm. I have been on the receiving end of poor hurricane preparation and it wasn't pleasant and that was before I had kids.
And then I had the good fortune to have one of those baggers who likes to put like three items in a bag. I should have done it myself like I usually do but the bagger was already halfway into it by the time I finished unloading my cart. Suddenly I felt bad about how environmentally unfriendly my trip to the store had become... then again we do have a rain barrel and we still do use the bucket in the shower.
It's not even noon yet.
I'm not even halfway done with what I need to do today.
And I can't get this song out of my head...
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
ESL, Ike And The Like
Hurricane season is shaping up to one real mother what with Gustav just landing and Hanna, Ike and Josephine lined up like a string of pearls off the coast.
North Carolina has a long history with hurricanes and since I moved to the Tar Hell state in '95, we've had 8 notable ones that have made landfall, ones with names like Fran, Bertha, Bonnie and Floyd.
I'm about 160 miles from Wilmington which isn't that far by weather standards but I had to find that out the hard way. When Fran came through in the summer of '96, some friends and I decided we would stay up and watch the doppler radar on the Weather Channel.
The rains came heavy but soon it got late and we all retired to bed.
"Hurricanes are nothing," I thought.
I had lived through the Northridge earthquake just a couple of years earlier - I felt I knew what total destruction was and what it could look like.
At some point in the middle of the night I woke up to what I thought was someone knocking at my door.
Nobody was knocking at my door.
No, but my little mill house was getting pelted with trees branches and other debris.
The next day we woke up to one of the most gorgeous days ever only to be greeted by power outages and fallen trees. Suddenly you realize how dependent you are on electricity: for money, for food, for communication.
Fran left her mark alright, plowing through beaches towns and straight up I40 through Raleigh and on to Durham, Chapel Hill and Carrboro. Some people I knew didn't have power for weeks.
Weeks.
Crazy shit.
And that's why sometimes things can get tricky when you try to explain these things to kids. You don't want to scare them so that every time they hear the word "hurricane" in passing they'll start to freak out. Yet at the same time you want to instill in them the importance of being informed and prepared.
And to respect the power of Mother Nature.
That said, I'll take a hurricane over an earthquake any day... at least you can see it coming.
North Carolina has a long history with hurricanes and since I moved to the Tar Hell state in '95, we've had 8 notable ones that have made landfall, ones with names like Fran, Bertha, Bonnie and Floyd.
I'm about 160 miles from Wilmington which isn't that far by weather standards but I had to find that out the hard way. When Fran came through in the summer of '96, some friends and I decided we would stay up and watch the doppler radar on the Weather Channel.
The rains came heavy but soon it got late and we all retired to bed.
"Hurricanes are nothing," I thought.
I had lived through the Northridge earthquake just a couple of years earlier - I felt I knew what total destruction was and what it could look like.
At some point in the middle of the night I woke up to what I thought was someone knocking at my door.
Nobody was knocking at my door.
No, but my little mill house was getting pelted with trees branches and other debris.
The next day we woke up to one of the most gorgeous days ever only to be greeted by power outages and fallen trees. Suddenly you realize how dependent you are on electricity: for money, for food, for communication.
Fran left her mark alright, plowing through beaches towns and straight up I40 through Raleigh and on to Durham, Chapel Hill and Carrboro. Some people I knew didn't have power for weeks.
Weeks.
Crazy shit.
And that's why sometimes things can get tricky when you try to explain these things to kids. You don't want to scare them so that every time they hear the word "hurricane" in passing they'll start to freak out. Yet at the same time you want to instill in them the importance of being informed and prepared.
And to respect the power of Mother Nature.
That said, I'll take a hurricane over an earthquake any day... at least you can see it coming.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Life Ain't Nuthin' But A Funny Funny Riddle
I stumbled upon an old high school classmate because I was stumblin' around and, as is the case around here, found a great bit of joy in blogging just for the sake of blogging.
Cheers to the new revolution, er, resolution.
Learn your skill sets folks, because soon you will need them.
Insert random punk rock YouTube clip here:
Cheers to the new revolution, er, resolution.
Learn your skill sets folks, because soon you will need them.
Insert random punk rock YouTube clip here:
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Have Mercy
I had to wait for the bus again today.
In the pouring rain.
Fay came... although a few days ago they said she wouldn't.
And she was about as exciting as a Larry Brown novel.
My sons came off the bus and started to run for the cover of my umbrella.
"Where's your raincoats?" I hollered to them as they were in mid-stride.
"Cole left his at school," said my 8-year-old third grader with a flash drive.
"And he left his lunch box too," he said.
"Wh-wh-what?" I gasped.
"Go easy on him dad," he said,
"It was his FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL!!"
And how was his first day of school?
"Great," said Cole.
In the pouring rain.
Fay came... although a few days ago they said she wouldn't.
And she was about as exciting as a Larry Brown novel.
My sons came off the bus and started to run for the cover of my umbrella.
"Where's your raincoats?" I hollered to them as they were in mid-stride.
"Cole left his at school," said my 8-year-old third grader with a flash drive.
"And he left his lunch box too," he said.
"Wh-wh-what?" I gasped.
"Go easy on him dad," he said,
"It was his FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL!!"
And how was his first day of school?
"Great," said Cole.
School Daze
School started this week and with it came a whole lot of drama.
The school has swelled past its student limit in recent years and now the campus is littered with trailers which, as it turns out, still isn't enough so they have decided to do some construction.
However, due to the construction of the new wing, the school has changed the procedure for drop-off and pick-ups: you can no longer park your car and walk your kid into school or park your car and pick your kid up from school.
Anybody who has ever spent any time in long car lines knows that having the option to park and avoid the shenanigans is key.
I really only need to endure it in the mornings as both kids will be taking the bus home (although the first two days the bus was 45 minutes late. WTF?).
When you go to your kids' school's open house, they give you a list of things your kid will need to bring in for the following year. Usually this involves things like rulers, wipes, notebooks and your basic scholastic swag. But this year my 3rd grader needs to bring in a flash drive.
I shit you not.
A sign of the times indeed.
School starting is a mixed blessing; I'm excited my youngest is going to school but it seems like only yesterday he was being born. It's hard to make the transition even though I have been looking forward to it for so long. Not only is my youngest officially out of the nest, but it also signifies that my job as a stay-at-home-dad is drawing to a close. Not that I couldn't find a job - like freelance writing - where I work from home, but rather the day in/day out sheep herding of infants and toddlers has come and gone.
I'm happy and sad at the same time.
I guess that's why I had that dream where all my teeth fall out the other night.
School starting also means summer is over. I had an insane summer last year with a bachelor party in Hollywood, hernia surgery,tick bites and a CD release show.
There was going to be no way that this summer could trump that...
But it did.
It wasn't all bad.
There was the beach trip to the Jersey Shore to see family and I lost my lake virginity.
But now it is fall, the boys have started football (flag for the youngest, tackle for his older brother) and the future most certainly must be brighter than the recent past.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Mustard & Jelly
This has been circulating around the at-home dad blogsphere.
I always wanted to do heavy metal versions of fairy tales...
I always wanted to do heavy metal versions of fairy tales...
Friday, August 22, 2008
Hitchhiking
In recent posts I've talked about one of my brothers and life at the beach.
This one involves both.
And a bachelor party...
In the spring of '87, I was a freshman at Salisbury State, a small college on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. It was March and my brother was set to get married to his college sweetheart (on his birthday no less) in Pennsylvania.
I was living off-campus with my roommate Crazy Marty, playing rugby and barely going to class. These were the days before cell phones and emails so I didn't find out about my brother's bachelor party until the last minute.
I had missed my opportunity to catch a ride back home with some of the kids I knew who often made the 3-and-a-half hour trip. They call campuses like these suitcase colleges because a majority of the students went home on the weekends.
So I was sitting around with my rugby friends lamenting the fact that I was going to have to miss my brother's bachelor party when one of them chimed in, "why don't you hitchhike?"
He went on to explain that it pretty much was a straight shot down US 50 with not much in between. They convinced me without a doubt that it would be easy to score a ride. All I had to do was get a ride from Crazy Marty to the liquor store on the outskirts of town and find a eastbound traveler.
I managed to land one pretty quickly and the guy happened to be from my home town... but he was only going as far as Cambridge. Depending how you look at it, this could have been a crucial mistake because now I was farther away from school and in a town few stop at on the way out. I set up camp in front of a store with my duffel bag and waited.
And waited.
Bored of waiting, I figured I would just start walking and eventually I would find a ride. So I crossed the bridge and started walking. My logic was that with each step I would only get closer to my goal; sitting on the side of the road seemed like a waste of time. That was until I walked for about two hours with my thumb out and didn't have much luck.
It was then, looking out at the vast nowhere in front of - and behind me - that I started to curse my friends for what now appeared to the most ridiculous of all ideas. Out there on the open road, I had a lot of ideas to ponder.
And that's when a car pulled off the side of the road in front of me. I saw the reverse lights come on and I knew I had a ride.
He told me he was headed to Pennsylvania and that he figured he needed some company for the long ride. He had recently been divorced and had come down to visit his brother in Ocean City. His brother, so he claimed, was a major drug dealer at the beach and he'd done partied enough and decided it was time to head back home.
There was some general talk of drugs and cops and other hazards of his brother's occupation. As we spoke he reached into some sort of olive green army bag and scooped out a handful of bullets, waved them in front of my face and said, "Nobody is going to fuck with me."
"Fuck me," I thought.
Always one to face the most darkest times with the most driest humor, I bellowed out, "Now why would you need those?"
It was then that he reached under the driver's seat and pulled out a mayo jar full of a white powdery substance.
"Because I've got all this blow I need to unload," he said.
Great, here I am in a primer grey Ford Pinto station wagon with some guy tweaked out on blow who appears to be packing heat. He's got loose lips and a few hours to kill on a drive and I became his guinea pig passenger. I blew through my arsenal of stories about rugby hi jinx fairly quickly and had to labor through him endlessly bitching about his ex-wife and all the hot coke sluts he banged back at the beach.
"I'm not lookin' for a relationship right now, just lookin' for some fun youknowwhatImean?" he said while elbowing my rib cage.
Caught up in conversation - and wanting to avoid any possible confrontation - I didn't have the heart to speak up when we came to the DC/Baltimore split. About twenty miles later when he noticed a sign for Baltimore he recalled that I had originally stated DC as my destination. He offered to turn around but I insisted Baltimore was okay. My sister lived there after all so I was going to have to just roll with the plan.
When we got to Baltimore, he thanked me for the conversation and I thanked him for the ride.
There I was standing on the edge of the Inner Harbor looking for a pay phone with my head up my ass.
I rang up my sister and explained the situation.
Living in the city, she didn't have a car but her boyfriend did and she'd have him come get me. Once again I decided to split the distance and started to walk towards my sister's place on Calvert Street. But at some point I got disoriented and switched streets. It didn't help that I had only met my sister's boyfriend once and wasn't sure who to look for. Suffice it to say I ended up walking most of the way before I got the smarts to call from a pay phone and give the cross streets on the corner I was at to him.
He was an English teacher and Dead Head and the cool guy whose class everybody probably wanted to take. Intrigued by my adventure, he was eager to hear my tale. He was a Dead Head after all and had traveled all over the country following that band. There was a deli below my sister's place and he bought me a sub and a pitcher of beer. I flipped through the pages of the City Paper while I told him my ordeal and that's when I noticed an ad for the Descendents playing that night at the now legendary punk rock dump the Marble Bar.
"You know what would make this day even crazier?" I said to him.
"If I went to this show."
No doubt he could relate. So he promised me he would drop me off there. My sister was planning on going to Mexico for her law school spring break the next day so she asked I not come home real late. Her boyfriend also volunteered to drive me back home the next day to get to my brother's bachelor party.
So he dropped me off and there I was sitting at a punk club about to watch one of my favorite bands when all of the sudden these skater kids I knew from Salisbury show up. They had driven up from school to see the show and we going to drive back afterwards. People did shit like this for punk rock back then.
When the show was over I asked the skater kids if they could give me ride up the road to my sister's and they said sure but on the way we past Loyola and feeling like I wanted to continue down this Kerouacian road to nowhere that I was on, I had them stop and let me out there. One of my best friends from high school went to Loyola and I knew he'd hook me up with a place to stay so I ran up the hill to campus and made a bee line for his dorm.
But the dorm door wouldn't open.
And the place was like a ghost town.
I asked a security guard what was going on and he said, "spring break."
Fuck me.
At this point, it was too late to call my sister so I did what I had done all day: I walked.
I walked for hours and miles before finding my way to my sister's place. The kicker was that it was just after 4am and she wasn't going to get up until 6am. So I attempted to sleep on a bus stop bench, then made my way into the alley behind her building and propped myself up against the wall. I didn't really sleep much so I decided I'd go back to the bench - at least from there I could see a clock on a building - a clock I would watch until I saw the light come on from my sister's room.
I waited about a half hour before I buzzed her to let me in, then immediately passed out on her couch.
After my mid-morning nap, because that's really what it was, I got my ride home and by night's end was at some house with a bunch of dudes watching blue movies and drinking beer. At some point we made our way into DC to go to a strip bar.
I have no idea how I got back to school.
I think my oldest brother Jimmy gave me a ride back...
This one involves both.
And a bachelor party...
In the spring of '87, I was a freshman at Salisbury State, a small college on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. It was March and my brother was set to get married to his college sweetheart (on his birthday no less) in Pennsylvania.
I was living off-campus with my roommate Crazy Marty, playing rugby and barely going to class. These were the days before cell phones and emails so I didn't find out about my brother's bachelor party until the last minute.
I had missed my opportunity to catch a ride back home with some of the kids I knew who often made the 3-and-a-half hour trip. They call campuses like these suitcase colleges because a majority of the students went home on the weekends.
So I was sitting around with my rugby friends lamenting the fact that I was going to have to miss my brother's bachelor party when one of them chimed in, "why don't you hitchhike?"
He went on to explain that it pretty much was a straight shot down US 50 with not much in between. They convinced me without a doubt that it would be easy to score a ride. All I had to do was get a ride from Crazy Marty to the liquor store on the outskirts of town and find a eastbound traveler.
I managed to land one pretty quickly and the guy happened to be from my home town... but he was only going as far as Cambridge. Depending how you look at it, this could have been a crucial mistake because now I was farther away from school and in a town few stop at on the way out. I set up camp in front of a store with my duffel bag and waited.
And waited.
Bored of waiting, I figured I would just start walking and eventually I would find a ride. So I crossed the bridge and started walking. My logic was that with each step I would only get closer to my goal; sitting on the side of the road seemed like a waste of time. That was until I walked for about two hours with my thumb out and didn't have much luck.
It was then, looking out at the vast nowhere in front of - and behind me - that I started to curse my friends for what now appeared to the most ridiculous of all ideas. Out there on the open road, I had a lot of ideas to ponder.
And that's when a car pulled off the side of the road in front of me. I saw the reverse lights come on and I knew I had a ride.
He told me he was headed to Pennsylvania and that he figured he needed some company for the long ride. He had recently been divorced and had come down to visit his brother in Ocean City. His brother, so he claimed, was a major drug dealer at the beach and he'd done partied enough and decided it was time to head back home.
There was some general talk of drugs and cops and other hazards of his brother's occupation. As we spoke he reached into some sort of olive green army bag and scooped out a handful of bullets, waved them in front of my face and said, "Nobody is going to fuck with me."
"Fuck me," I thought.
Always one to face the most darkest times with the most driest humor, I bellowed out, "Now why would you need those?"
It was then that he reached under the driver's seat and pulled out a mayo jar full of a white powdery substance.
"Because I've got all this blow I need to unload," he said.
Great, here I am in a primer grey Ford Pinto station wagon with some guy tweaked out on blow who appears to be packing heat. He's got loose lips and a few hours to kill on a drive and I became his guinea pig passenger. I blew through my arsenal of stories about rugby hi jinx fairly quickly and had to labor through him endlessly bitching about his ex-wife and all the hot coke sluts he banged back at the beach.
"I'm not lookin' for a relationship right now, just lookin' for some fun youknowwhatImean?" he said while elbowing my rib cage.
Caught up in conversation - and wanting to avoid any possible confrontation - I didn't have the heart to speak up when we came to the DC/Baltimore split. About twenty miles later when he noticed a sign for Baltimore he recalled that I had originally stated DC as my destination. He offered to turn around but I insisted Baltimore was okay. My sister lived there after all so I was going to have to just roll with the plan.
When we got to Baltimore, he thanked me for the conversation and I thanked him for the ride.
There I was standing on the edge of the Inner Harbor looking for a pay phone with my head up my ass.
I rang up my sister and explained the situation.
Living in the city, she didn't have a car but her boyfriend did and she'd have him come get me. Once again I decided to split the distance and started to walk towards my sister's place on Calvert Street. But at some point I got disoriented and switched streets. It didn't help that I had only met my sister's boyfriend once and wasn't sure who to look for. Suffice it to say I ended up walking most of the way before I got the smarts to call from a pay phone and give the cross streets on the corner I was at to him.
He was an English teacher and Dead Head and the cool guy whose class everybody probably wanted to take. Intrigued by my adventure, he was eager to hear my tale. He was a Dead Head after all and had traveled all over the country following that band. There was a deli below my sister's place and he bought me a sub and a pitcher of beer. I flipped through the pages of the City Paper while I told him my ordeal and that's when I noticed an ad for the Descendents playing that night at the now legendary punk rock dump the Marble Bar.
"You know what would make this day even crazier?" I said to him.
"If I went to this show."
No doubt he could relate. So he promised me he would drop me off there. My sister was planning on going to Mexico for her law school spring break the next day so she asked I not come home real late. Her boyfriend also volunteered to drive me back home the next day to get to my brother's bachelor party.
So he dropped me off and there I was sitting at a punk club about to watch one of my favorite bands when all of the sudden these skater kids I knew from Salisbury show up. They had driven up from school to see the show and we going to drive back afterwards. People did shit like this for punk rock back then.
When the show was over I asked the skater kids if they could give me ride up the road to my sister's and they said sure but on the way we past Loyola and feeling like I wanted to continue down this Kerouacian road to nowhere that I was on, I had them stop and let me out there. One of my best friends from high school went to Loyola and I knew he'd hook me up with a place to stay so I ran up the hill to campus and made a bee line for his dorm.
But the dorm door wouldn't open.
And the place was like a ghost town.
I asked a security guard what was going on and he said, "spring break."
Fuck me.
At this point, it was too late to call my sister so I did what I had done all day: I walked.
I walked for hours and miles before finding my way to my sister's place. The kicker was that it was just after 4am and she wasn't going to get up until 6am. So I attempted to sleep on a bus stop bench, then made my way into the alley behind her building and propped myself up against the wall. I didn't really sleep much so I decided I'd go back to the bench - at least from there I could see a clock on a building - a clock I would watch until I saw the light come on from my sister's room.
I waited about a half hour before I buzzed her to let me in, then immediately passed out on her couch.
After my mid-morning nap, because that's really what it was, I got my ride home and by night's end was at some house with a bunch of dudes watching blue movies and drinking beer. At some point we made our way into DC to go to a strip bar.
I have no idea how I got back to school.
I think my oldest brother Jimmy gave me a ride back...
Monday, August 18, 2008
Stovepiper
The only time Barbera comes before Bukowski.
It's all this guy's fault.
Beat Poets have set up camp here.
Thanks to Larry Ferling.
Are bloggers the new Beat Poets?
It's all this guy's fault.
Beat Poets have set up camp here.
Thanks to Larry Ferling.
Are bloggers the new Beat Poets?
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Cloris Leachman Just Killed It
I just came home from working a Sunday evening catering shift.
Exhausted from losing my lake virginity the day before, where I drank bastardized versions of Wild Orchids, rode jet skis and made a very feeble attempt to water ski (note to self: close mouth and let go of rope), I soldiered through a shit ass'ed catering shift.
My shift involved setting up for some extreme German baptism party only to have a storm roll in and have to move slash lift eight foot tables (with place settings) from the backyard to their wrap-around porch.
Channel surfing away from the Olympics, I stumbled across the roast of Bob Saget. Saget is most known for his role on the TV show Full House or as the host of America's Funniest Home Videos.
I watched a few mediocre comics roast the man.
Then Cloris Leachman came on.
And killed it.
Killed.
It.
Oh and Don Rickles made an appearance.
Suddenly I remembered a recent late night informercial on Dean Martin's variety show.
I had just labored through trying to finished the Nick Tosches biography on Dino before my recent trip to the Jersey Shore.
I never made it to the finish before it was due at the place where one of my friends works. I didn't want to return it all full of sand and stained with suntan lotion. Plus it's one of those dense as fuck books that would demand more attention that I could possibly give at this juncture in time, so I pledge to myself I would purchase a copy and return to it when I could better digest the Crocetti family lore.
Here's a clip from informercial I recently saw and what I think comedy is all about.
Enjoy.
Exhausted from losing my lake virginity the day before, where I drank bastardized versions of Wild Orchids, rode jet skis and made a very feeble attempt to water ski (note to self: close mouth and let go of rope), I soldiered through a shit ass'ed catering shift.
My shift involved setting up for some extreme German baptism party only to have a storm roll in and have to move slash lift eight foot tables (with place settings) from the backyard to their wrap-around porch.
Channel surfing away from the Olympics, I stumbled across the roast of Bob Saget. Saget is most known for his role on the TV show Full House or as the host of America's Funniest Home Videos.
I watched a few mediocre comics roast the man.
Then Cloris Leachman came on.
And killed it.
Killed.
It.
Oh and Don Rickles made an appearance.
Suddenly I remembered a recent late night informercial on Dean Martin's variety show.
I had just labored through trying to finished the Nick Tosches biography on Dino before my recent trip to the Jersey Shore.
I never made it to the finish before it was due at the place where one of my friends works. I didn't want to return it all full of sand and stained with suntan lotion. Plus it's one of those dense as fuck books that would demand more attention that I could possibly give at this juncture in time, so I pledge to myself I would purchase a copy and return to it when I could better digest the Crocetti family lore.
Here's a clip from informercial I recently saw and what I think comedy is all about.
Enjoy.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Brothers
This is me with my brother Mike.
He's four years older than me but we shared a room growing up so we sometimes act like twins.
Even though he lives in Pennsylvania and I live in North Carolina, we pretty much talk just about every other day.
He's probably one of the funniest guys I know.
I can't recall a family get-together where we weren't cracking each other up for reasons that would seem unexplainable to everyone else in the room. And we usually get the spousal lectures before family visits that include the caveat: "you and your brother better behave yourselves...'
He is a simple guy with simple needs: he gave up wearing underwear years ago when his waistline no longer fit into them and he deducted shortly thereafter that one doesn't really need to use underwear. It was his first philosophical breakthrough regarding consumerism.
He also told me once how he doesn't like that feeling of being wet after he takes a shower and often blow dries himself with a hairdryer.
Back in the day, he was like Richie: he taught me how to sneak out of the house and the proper way to egg cars and was sort of a hoodlum in junior high but by the time he got into high school he was too consumed with sports and girls and didn't have much to do with me.
The whole dynamic really took a turn when he went to college.
That's when suddenly it became my job to go retrieve him when his semesters ended at West Chester. The drive was about three and a half hours from home which made it more encouraging to get there, sleep over, and come home the next day. Picking your older brother up from school was a cool thing so I often enlisted the help of my friends to ride shotgun.
One time it was me and my friend Kevin. We had arrived early and neither my brother nor his roommate Jerry had come home from school yet so a guy who lived below them offer to let us stay with him until my brother came back from his last class. It was everything off-campus housing should be: cassette tapes everywhere, empty beer cans littering the coffee table and the rank smell of pot in the air.
When my brother came home we asked him if he'd buy us some beer. So he went out and got us a six-pack of Genesee Cream Ale. After playing a few rounds of darts with my brother and Jerry, Kevin and I decided we wanted to venture out and see the campus. We walked down the three flights of stairs and made the trek to High Street. It was night time and most of the campus had already started to shut down for break so - dejected - Kevin and I made our way back to my brother's crib. When we reached the third floor and the door of his apartment, the hall light was out which made it pitch black and rendered us blind. We had to feel our way with the key to the doorknob only we had no idea which key it was which made our efforts even more of a challenge.
At some point I guess I was trying to line up a key to the hole with Kevin standing right over my shoulder squinting in the exact same position as me, when we suddenly heard the click and the door opened. But the key was stuck in the handle. I yanked it out and ended up butting my elbow into Kevin's nose which quickly exploded with blood. By the time we got to the top of the steps inside blood was everywhere. When my brother saw Kevin's face he jumped up and hollered, "Jesus Christ what happened?" Much to my dismay, Kevin uttered, "Somebody sucker punched me."
"What!!??" screamed my brother.
"Where? Who? " he said.
Then he turned to his sleeping roommate and said, "Jerry get the fuck up. Someone tagged Greg's friend in the face."
Now Jerry was a Marine who took up boxing and could lick any body's ass in two quick seconds.
"Where is the guy?"
It was then that Kevin realized the seriousness of the situation and 'fessed up that it was a joke and that I had bashed his nose with my elbow.
But it also was one of those defining moments when you realize that despite what differences you might have or the beefs you got into as kids your brother had your back: that he would kick some body's ass for kicking yours without question.
Of course, neither of us have ever had to ante up on that, I mean we're Italian - we are as they say, "lovers not fighters."
So this year I was super excited to be able to vacation with my brother and his family. It had been almost 15 years since my brother and I got to hang out at the shore with one another. So in honor of that, I reprised a look I had 20 years before and went and bleached my hair for the occasion.
This time around, only one person managed to come up with a witty Billy Idol jab...
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Anybody See Any?
My 8-year-old got me up at about 5:45am this morning.
We saw maybe three shooting stars before we decided that it was getting chilly (and my neck was starting to hurt from looking up!).
But there's always tomorrow morning.
Hopefully I'll have the same luck this person had last year:
We saw maybe three shooting stars before we decided that it was getting chilly (and my neck was starting to hurt from looking up!).
But there's always tomorrow morning.
Hopefully I'll have the same luck this person had last year:
Monday, August 11, 2008
Another Puzzler
This one irks me even more than that JC Pennys ad.
Dear Budweiser,
I've never really liked you.
I think your beer sucks.
Mostly because your alcohol is rice-based and rice-based alcohols, like sake almost always leave me with a headache whether I have consumed two or ten drinks.
But now you have gone and sold your soul to Belgian-based InBev yet still claim you are an American lager.
How can that beer?
The people have spoken - you can no longer stake that claim.
In all fairness, brewing beer wasn't an American invention - especially lager so your claims are comical at best.
Now could you please stop with the Great American Lager campaign already?
Really, first it was Ford trucks (with their Mazda engines) and now you Bud are coming at me with this.
I don't really care about the sale or your beer.
Maybe I should be taking this up with the ad agency?
And don't me started on the radio spot about how important the glass is to the Bud experience...
Dear Budweiser,
I've never really liked you.
I think your beer sucks.
Mostly because your alcohol is rice-based and rice-based alcohols, like sake almost always leave me with a headache whether I have consumed two or ten drinks.
But now you have gone and sold your soul to Belgian-based InBev yet still claim you are an American lager.
How can that beer?
The people have spoken - you can no longer stake that claim.
In all fairness, brewing beer wasn't an American invention - especially lager so your claims are comical at best.
Now could you please stop with the Great American Lager campaign already?
Really, first it was Ford trucks (with their Mazda engines) and now you Bud are coming at me with this.
I don't really care about the sale or your beer.
Maybe I should be taking this up with the ad agency?
And don't me started on the radio spot about how important the glass is to the Bud experience...
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Early To Rise?
It's time for meteor showers folks.
So if junior or the little miss are early risers, try bottle feeding outside and looking up.
Or set your alarm clocks.
I've been fascinated by the night sky for as long as I can remember.
Especially moon shadows.
And anything moon related even though some days the moon can make me feel like going bat shit crazy.
One day I will own a really tricked-out telescope.
Hopefully before the aliens abduct me.
So if junior or the little miss are early risers, try bottle feeding outside and looking up.
Or set your alarm clocks.
I've been fascinated by the night sky for as long as I can remember.
Especially moon shadows.
And anything moon related even though some days the moon can make me feel like going bat shit crazy.
One day I will own a really tricked-out telescope.
Hopefully before the aliens abduct me.
Friday, August 08, 2008
Add Delete
Had to tidy up the Blogroll today.
Some bit the dust and others were welcomed to the family.
Some bit the dust and others were welcomed to the family.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Sacrilege or Pure Genius?
Has anyone seen this?
I never thought I'd be the one coming to defend director John Hughes much less some teen flick movie but something about this just rubs me the wrong way.
And I'm not the only one in an uproariously confused state about it.
These people are as curious as me as to what fucking tweener out there will be able associate with "we're different but all in this together" subplot.
My guess is that they are selling kids clothes through the parents because it is mom and dad's credit card that's footing the bill but what teenager wants to by clothes their parents think are hip?
Advertising, you've failed me again.
I'm sure Whit has something to say about it.
Or maybe Chag.
Too bad Rock Star Mommy doesn't still blog.
I know she'd have something to say about this, especially the shitty Simple Minds cover.
I never thought I'd be the one coming to defend director John Hughes much less some teen flick movie but something about this just rubs me the wrong way.
And I'm not the only one in an uproariously confused state about it.
These people are as curious as me as to what fucking tweener out there will be able associate with "we're different but all in this together" subplot.
My guess is that they are selling kids clothes through the parents because it is mom and dad's credit card that's footing the bill but what teenager wants to by clothes their parents think are hip?
Advertising, you've failed me again.
I'm sure Whit has something to say about it.
Or maybe Chag.
Too bad Rock Star Mommy doesn't still blog.
I know she'd have something to say about this, especially the shitty Simple Minds cover.
Not Feeling It
Some days you just feel like throwing in the towel.
Or maybe just throwing sand in the face of that which irks you.
It's been a long summer.
Very long.
And even though I love summer, sometimes it can even give you the blues.
I want the summer to end because I want to put all the voodoo behind me.
Yet when summer ends in just a couple of weeks, it will usher in a new phase in my life: my youngest will start kindergarten and I will begin the inevitable transition back to working full-time.
I want to work and look forward to it.
But when my youngest told me he was going to miss snuggling with me it took all of my strength to keep back the tears.
So here's sand in the face to a shitty summer and a little hardcore ditty to lift the spirits:
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Against My Better Judgement
I let my boys watch a few episodes of Wildboyz.
Mostly as a cure for boredom as it has been nearly one hundred degrees the past few days, that and the boys are still going through a delousing from the whole head lice debacle which pretty much keeps them stuck inside for the better part of the day.
Yesterday we got the thumbs up to go swimming but with the temp so high in recent days, the pool was like bath water.
God knows what kind of communicable diseases you can get from bath water.
So after tiring of video games, on came the Wildboyz.
Then the unthinkable happened.
Today a black mamba woke me up.
Mostly as a cure for boredom as it has been nearly one hundred degrees the past few days, that and the boys are still going through a delousing from the whole head lice debacle which pretty much keeps them stuck inside for the better part of the day.
Yesterday we got the thumbs up to go swimming but with the temp so high in recent days, the pool was like bath water.
God knows what kind of communicable diseases you can get from bath water.
So after tiring of video games, on came the Wildboyz.
Then the unthinkable happened.
Today a black mamba woke me up.
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