Dirty Bunny Ear Guy just wandered in with his hood a bit askew, and I notice he's sporting greasy dreadlocks to compliment all his other trademarks of filth.
He doesn't smell appreciably worse than usual, so there's that...
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Fuss Weighs In
We're off to England at the end of the week to chillax with our pal Creelea and her beau Tony at an ancient country estate. I am mildly concerned with promotional comments urging tenants to beware low door-jambs and ceiling beams due to the diminutive nature of Tudor-era Englishfolk, but whateves- hopefully it won't be raining and I can hang out in the garden.
The Wife put Fuss to the question last night, and this is how it went.
Wife: Do you want to go to England?
Fuss: NO.
Wife: Do you want to visit Creelea?
Fuss: NO.
Wife: *stares for a while*
Fuss: .....Tony? (big smile)
Wife: laughs
He's a funny boy.
The Wife put Fuss to the question last night, and this is how it went.
Wife: Do you want to go to England?
Fuss: NO.
Wife: Do you want to visit Creelea?
Fuss: NO.
Wife: *stares for a while*
Fuss: .....Tony? (big smile)
Wife: laughs
He's a funny boy.
Monday, August 16, 2010
wonders of retail
There are five young ladies browsing stacks, all of whom speak English with a lovely lilting Irish accent and who converse with each other in a bizarre language I don't recognize, although it sounds faintly Eastern Bloc- Hungarian?
At the same time there was a large English family in the art section, and there are few things on earth more adorable than small English children chattering away.
At the same time there was a large English family in the art section, and there are few things on earth more adorable than small English children chattering away.
battle of the bands
Forgiveness Rock Record > The Suburbs.
Folk have been comparing Arcade Fire to the Boss, Bruce Springsteen, which doesn't make sense on a personal level (I like them, I don't like him) but after giving Suburbs a few listens I can see a sort of philosophical resemblance in their shared earnestness and relatively straightforward composition.
Which is slightly disappointing given the grander ambitions that fueled Funeral and which initially drew me to their music.
But with three albums in the books Funeral is clearly the odd man out.
As for Broken Social Scene (who also followed up a transcendent first album with a lackluster second effort), Forgiveness Rock Record is a reiteration of the glory of their first disc rather than an improvement on the flaws of the second.
Suburbs is a fine record with several really excellent songs- Forgiveness is an excellent record with several magical songs.
Folk have been comparing Arcade Fire to the Boss, Bruce Springsteen, which doesn't make sense on a personal level (I like them, I don't like him) but after giving Suburbs a few listens I can see a sort of philosophical resemblance in their shared earnestness and relatively straightforward composition.
Which is slightly disappointing given the grander ambitions that fueled Funeral and which initially drew me to their music.
But with three albums in the books Funeral is clearly the odd man out.
As for Broken Social Scene (who also followed up a transcendent first album with a lackluster second effort), Forgiveness Rock Record is a reiteration of the glory of their first disc rather than an improvement on the flaws of the second.
Suburbs is a fine record with several really excellent songs- Forgiveness is an excellent record with several magical songs.
true customer tales
Little boy a bit older than Fuss, calling things out as dad carries him around the store:
cyclebike!
Errplane!
Boat!
Books fall down!
Ducky!
Sunday, August 15, 2010
this week's cutest thing ever
This morning Fuss hurled his peanut butter toast face-down on the floor.
That wasn't cute.
But he was loving some raisins and kept asking for more.
Each time I proffered another palm-full he would delicately scoop them up, smile at me and say
"Thanks"
in his high, tiny elf voice.
That wasn't cute.
But he was loving some raisins and kept asking for more.
Each time I proffered another palm-full he would delicately scoop them up, smile at me and say
"Thanks"
in his high, tiny elf voice.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Night of the Banshee
So, we've been fairly sanguine about the prospects of the terrible twos/terrific twos/challenging twos, call them what you will. As maniacal as Fuss has been since he entered the world it was hard to credit loose talk of escalation.
Didn't he already pitch himself to the ground howling and bashing his head at the mere utterance of the word 'no'? Wasn't every single action throughout the day already a pitched battle, from the first diaper change of the morning to getting in the bath at night?
Well, then along comes a night like last night, which had me seriously considering the construction of a bed-surrounding BABYCAGE(tm)with some kind of retractable Cone of Silence ala Get Smart.
We seem to get one of these every month or so, here's hoping it wasn't the start of a new trend.
Didn't he already pitch himself to the ground howling and bashing his head at the mere utterance of the word 'no'? Wasn't every single action throughout the day already a pitched battle, from the first diaper change of the morning to getting in the bath at night?
Well, then along comes a night like last night, which had me seriously considering the construction of a bed-surrounding BABYCAGE(tm)with some kind of retractable Cone of Silence ala Get Smart.
We seem to get one of these every month or so, here's hoping it wasn't the start of a new trend.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
in the spirit of positivity
A book the Wife absolutely loved, although the ending wasn't as good as she wanted it to be-
The Northern Clemency by Philip Hensher.
I make a habit of grabbing anything that comes through with one of those 'Shortlisted for the Booker Prize' promo blurbs for her. Mostly it pays off.
The Northern Clemency by Philip Hensher.
I make a habit of grabbing anything that comes through with one of those 'Shortlisted for the Booker Prize' promo blurbs for her. Mostly it pays off.
Oh Julia Roberts...
in honor of the impending opening of the movie adaptation of the bestselling memoir, allow me to reiterate the Wife's one-line review of the half a chapter of the book she managed to ingest before hurling the offending volume bodily across the room:
"They should have called it Shit, Pray, Shit."
"They should have called it Shit, Pray, Shit."
magical thinking
A gal wandered in yesterday collecting signatures for some kind of OMG GOVERNMENT IS EATING MY FORTUNE measure on the local ballot. The details were kind of a blur, something about limiting raising fees to the rate of inflation and requiring a vote for this or that...basically a small scale version of the same kind of BS that's paralyzed the whole state, and to a lesser extent the entire country.
I heard her out then issued my standard response, usually triggered by complaints about metered parking downtown- "a functioning society needs funding- raising taxes is political suicide, so of course they're going to get the money some other way."
She gaped at me long enough to sneak in my KO punch, delivered with a big grin- "What they need to do is repeal prop 13, that's the reason cities have to grub around for funds in the first place."
She backed slowly out of the store, staring at me like I'd turned into Heath Ledger in full Joker regalia.
I heard her out then issued my standard response, usually triggered by complaints about metered parking downtown- "a functioning society needs funding- raising taxes is political suicide, so of course they're going to get the money some other way."
She gaped at me long enough to sneak in my KO punch, delivered with a big grin- "What they need to do is repeal prop 13, that's the reason cities have to grub around for funds in the first place."
She backed slowly out of the store, staring at me like I'd turned into Heath Ledger in full Joker regalia.
new Arcade Fire
Early returns-
Not as transcendent as Funeral, superior to Neon Bible across the board.
It also seems like the kind of album that will grow on me.
Two thumbs up.
Not as transcendent as Funeral, superior to Neon Bible across the board.
It also seems like the kind of album that will grow on me.
Two thumbs up.
Monday, August 9, 2010
social networking
A thought for self-hating fatties on Facebook and other social networking sites-
Instead of contriving some tortured camera angle for your portrait (which does nothing but highlight the fact that you're fat and desperately self conscious about it), just work over a regular pic with Photoshop.
Voila, you're 40lbs lighter and none of your internet friends is any the wiser!
Instead of contriving some tortured camera angle for your portrait (which does nothing but highlight the fact that you're fat and desperately self conscious about it), just work over a regular pic with Photoshop.
Voila, you're 40lbs lighter and none of your internet friends is any the wiser!
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Puke Free by 2011
First night in a while with no vomit fire drills, hoooray!
He chowed down on toast & cantaloupe this morning and my back seized up hefting him into his high chair. Fortunately I'd already made coffee. I put on Kipper then lay down on a purple tennis ball to try and un-knot things. The distraction failed and I was subjected to Enhanced Toddler Interrogation Methods, a tennis ball lodged in my back while Fuss sat on my chest hitting me in the face with his new whirligig.
We're off to England shortly. I'm hoping for a puke-free flight and a minimum of baby jet lag.
Man plans, fate laughs....
He chowed down on toast & cantaloupe this morning and my back seized up hefting him into his high chair. Fortunately I'd already made coffee. I put on Kipper then lay down on a purple tennis ball to try and un-knot things. The distraction failed and I was subjected to Enhanced Toddler Interrogation Methods, a tennis ball lodged in my back while Fuss sat on my chest hitting me in the face with his new whirligig.
We're off to England shortly. I'm hoping for a puke-free flight and a minimum of baby jet lag.
Man plans, fate laughs....
Saturday, August 7, 2010
true customer tales
gal on the street to her friend upon spying our window display:
Sounds like something I'd say at 4am after Fuss puked in my hair.
Heeeey! This is the one we hadn't been to, but we thought we looked!
Sounds like something I'd say at 4am after Fuss puked in my hair.
Monday, August 2, 2010
true customer tales
Gal narrating her experience on a ride at the fair:
It was so scary! I couldn't figure out why nobody was screaming- besides me. But it was because they were used to it, and I was old. I hadn't been on anything like that since the Matterhorn back in '77!
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Rough Night II: Electric Boogaloo
Is there anything in the world more awful than a puking child?
I say no.
It's like when he was tiny and woke up every hour shrieking, only with an added bonus chance for vomit. I hoisted him up at the wrong time during a coughing fit and got hosed down with a corrosive gruel of breast milk and stomach acid studded with chunks of gnawed grape and decomposing quesadilla.
I've made it this far having absorbed nothing worse than a single stream of urine during an early diaper change at the hospital, so I can't complain too loudly about the physical manifestations.
There's a vast library of stock expressions I never had to bust out before the Fuss arrived. For instance, "heart rending".
That's something that happens to you at 3:30am when your little boy is sitting in your lap crying in between spasms of retching and he wails "No, wait! Wait!" as he feels the next wave building.
What can you even do with that?
The Wife receives some immediate relief when he calls out for 'nigh-nights' afterward, and later she'll write a poem.
My options are more prosaic, patting him on the back in the moment and in the morning carrying him around on my hip and making a one-handed breakfast instead of setting him down to grasp at my pajamas and complain while I scramble the eggs & butter the toast. And I can sit on the couch with him and provide an audience for his running commentary on season two of 'Blue Doggo' instead of tending my internet garden.
"OOoooh, wassat?"
"Notebook!"
"Oooh, NOTEBOOK."
It seems a suitably practical, fatherly response, if lacking in immediate surcease of misery.
I say no.
It's like when he was tiny and woke up every hour shrieking, only with an added bonus chance for vomit. I hoisted him up at the wrong time during a coughing fit and got hosed down with a corrosive gruel of breast milk and stomach acid studded with chunks of gnawed grape and decomposing quesadilla.
I've made it this far having absorbed nothing worse than a single stream of urine during an early diaper change at the hospital, so I can't complain too loudly about the physical manifestations.
There's a vast library of stock expressions I never had to bust out before the Fuss arrived. For instance, "heart rending".
That's something that happens to you at 3:30am when your little boy is sitting in your lap crying in between spasms of retching and he wails "No, wait! Wait!" as he feels the next wave building.
What can you even do with that?
The Wife receives some immediate relief when he calls out for 'nigh-nights' afterward, and later she'll write a poem.
My options are more prosaic, patting him on the back in the moment and in the morning carrying him around on my hip and making a one-handed breakfast instead of setting him down to grasp at my pajamas and complain while I scramble the eggs & butter the toast. And I can sit on the couch with him and provide an audience for his running commentary on season two of 'Blue Doggo' instead of tending my internet garden.
"OOoooh, wassat?"
"Notebook!"
"Oooh, NOTEBOOK."
It seems a suitably practical, fatherly response, if lacking in immediate surcease of misery.
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