An exchange with the boss, making a rare weekend appearance:
"Michelle's out of town, so I'm going to the movies. Am I going to see The King's Speech?"
In unison, "No!"
"Am I going to see Black Swan?"
In unison, "No!"
I interject- "Let me guess.....Battle for Los Angeles?"
Boss, throwing arms high in exultation: "BATTLE FOR LOS ANGELES!"
Knowing him as I do, there wasn't actually much guesswork involved...
Sunday, March 13, 2011
30 Day Song Challenge Day Eleven: A Song From a Band You Hate
What to make of this palimpsest?
What criteria should guide my choice? The quiz author provides no help.
Did they mean "a song you like from a band you hate? Because that would be sort of interesting. But I don't do much hating of bands. I don't listen to stuff I don't like, so there isn't much mulch for hatred to take root and bloom in.
How about a song I love from a band I won't otherwise listen to?
And we'll season it a bit more by making it a band most folks are in love with.
With those parameters, I present How Soon Is Now by the Smiths.
One of the greatest songs of all time from a band I can take or leave.
What criteria should guide my choice? The quiz author provides no help.
Did they mean "a song you like from a band you hate? Because that would be sort of interesting. But I don't do much hating of bands. I don't listen to stuff I don't like, so there isn't much mulch for hatred to take root and bloom in.
How about a song I love from a band I won't otherwise listen to?
And we'll season it a bit more by making it a band most folks are in love with.
With those parameters, I present How Soon Is Now by the Smiths.
One of the greatest songs of all time from a band I can take or leave.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
True Customer Tales: Really Small Book
guy: Do you have a really small book? Like, a reaaaaly...smaaaaal...book? (gestures with hands indicating exactly how small)
Unrelatedly, the iPod is rocking Bon Iver right now and a gal pretty much ran up to the counter to tell me how much she loved that we were playing...John Iver.
Unrelatedly, the iPod is rocking Bon Iver right now and a gal pretty much ran up to the counter to tell me how much she loved that we were playing...John Iver.
true customer tales: When I Retire
student dude at counter to pal:
Such wisdom from one so young.
Alas, by the time he's ready to retire the industry will have been replaced by hackers swapping cracked ebooks on whatever comes after the internet.
I want to have a used book store...but like, when I retire or something. And I wouldn't sell my own books, so I'd have to like, go out and buy books. Or something.
Such wisdom from one so young.
Alas, by the time he's ready to retire the industry will have been replaced by hackers swapping cracked ebooks on whatever comes after the internet.
Hey NPR
Why should I care about you when Glenn Beck defends you more vigorously and effectively than you defend yourself?
I'm absolutely over caring about 'liberal' institutions who's first and only response to any attack from right wing crybabies, however obviously ridiculous and fraudulent, is to surrender and beg for mercy.
I like our local station a lot, but the yayhoos at the national level can suck it.
I'm absolutely over caring about 'liberal' institutions who's first and only response to any attack from right wing crybabies, however obviously ridiculous and fraudulent, is to surrender and beg for mercy.
I like our local station a lot, but the yayhoos at the national level can suck it.
True Customer Tales: Yelling into Cell Phones Edition
lady walking past the door yelling into her cell phone:
guy by sale cart, talking loudly into his cell phone rather than yelling:
I can totally see how that would be TOTALLY AWESOME!
guy by sale cart, talking loudly into his cell phone rather than yelling:
No I'm in a bookstore- I'm talking quiet because it feels like I'm in a library!
30 Day Song Challenge Day Eleven: A Song From Your Favorite Band
I haven't got a favorite band, any more than I have a favorite movie, or book, or whatever. If I think about it in a random moment of my life I can come up with an answer, but pick another random moment and the answer changes. It's too important a position to chisel in stone so I use a chalkboard.
How about I go with my oldest favorite band that's still in heavy rotation, a genetic throwback like the Horseshoe Crab.
How about I go with my oldest favorite band that's still in heavy rotation, a genetic throwback like the Horseshoe Crab.
Friday, March 11, 2011
30 Day Song Challenge Day Ten: A Song That Makes You Fall Asleep
In the olden days I couldn't sleep without something to short circuit the nocturnal tail-chasing of my neurons and I crafted a mix tape specifically for that purpose. The tape is long gone, but here's a representative track. Not your typical lullaby, but it worked for me.
This Morning in the Marsh
Fuss demanded we hit Sweet Springs this morning because he wanted to see if the "ducks were home", as they've been AWOL our last few visits. Happily they were, or a pair anyway. Success!
As we wandered around he came across a forked Eucalyptus branch with two tufts of leaves.
"hey...this one's got ears!" he noted, waving the evidence overhead.
A bit further down the path he found a similar branch, devoid of leaves.
He picked it up and proclaimed "dada, this one's got HORNS!"
He also told me a long story about the stream running under the footbridge, where it was coming from and the obstacles it had to overcome to reach the pond in front of us and eventually the sea.
I wish I had a tape recorder on hand, it was so delightful the words fled my consciousness almost before I heard them.
As we wandered around he came across a forked Eucalyptus branch with two tufts of leaves.
"hey...this one's got ears!" he noted, waving the evidence overhead.
A bit further down the path he found a similar branch, devoid of leaves.
He picked it up and proclaimed "dada, this one's got HORNS!"
He also told me a long story about the stream running under the footbridge, where it was coming from and the obstacles it had to overcome to reach the pond in front of us and eventually the sea.
I wish I had a tape recorder on hand, it was so delightful the words fled my consciousness almost before I heard them.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Scary Guy
Devra updated her art page thing, so interested parties can check out Fuss' old frenemy Scary Guy.
Keep in mind the original is about 4 x 7.
Keep in mind the original is about 4 x 7.
Restaurant Review: Frankie & Lola's
We stopped in for lunch yesterday because our usual go-to destination (Taco Temple) doesn't take cards and we're in the cash flow trough right now.
It's in the spot where Pacific Cafe was in the days of yore, out toward the rock in Morro Bay. The vibe reminds me of Mo's in their old spot, but less cluttered- lots of corrugated steel and heavy wood furniture and a few choice vintage photos on the walls.
The Wife opted for the roasted chicken sandwich- when in doubt, she goes for roasted chicken. I had to get the turkey and stuffing, just cause. We split the sides- I got the cole slaw, she got the fries.
Cutting to the chase, everything was fantastic- super fresh, super flavorful, excellent presentation. Price tag was about what we'd have spent at the Temple, so we're going to have to flip a coin or something to pick a destination next time.
The slaw was the opposite of the usual wet blob of whitish slop- purple cabbage, shaved paper thin, lightly dressed with vinegar (rice?) and spices. Fresh, light, appealing.
The fries were super flavorful, but didn't have a super thick crunchy crust. Given the choice, I'll take the flavor every time.
My sandwich was a delight- the turkey was carved off a breast, moist and firm. The stuffing was compelling, a sagey, crunchy brown layer atop the bird. The foundation was provided by homemade cranberry sauce, delivering a perfect sweet/tart accent. Special mention to the bread- they either make it themselves, or get it right out of the baker's oven.
To top it off, I ordered iced tea that wasn't stewed and bitter, the first time in my life I've had genuinely good iced tea in a restaurant.
Given the quality of the ingredients and the attentive preparation obvious in the lunch service I'm looking forward to checking out their breakfasts and dinners.
Recommended.
/edit
It's really easy to make an acceptable, edible sandwich. Even Subway can do it, if you're careful. But to make an exceptional sandwich is a rare, commendable feat.
It's in the spot where Pacific Cafe was in the days of yore, out toward the rock in Morro Bay. The vibe reminds me of Mo's in their old spot, but less cluttered- lots of corrugated steel and heavy wood furniture and a few choice vintage photos on the walls.
The Wife opted for the roasted chicken sandwich- when in doubt, she goes for roasted chicken. I had to get the turkey and stuffing, just cause. We split the sides- I got the cole slaw, she got the fries.
Cutting to the chase, everything was fantastic- super fresh, super flavorful, excellent presentation. Price tag was about what we'd have spent at the Temple, so we're going to have to flip a coin or something to pick a destination next time.
The slaw was the opposite of the usual wet blob of whitish slop- purple cabbage, shaved paper thin, lightly dressed with vinegar (rice?) and spices. Fresh, light, appealing.
The fries were super flavorful, but didn't have a super thick crunchy crust. Given the choice, I'll take the flavor every time.
My sandwich was a delight- the turkey was carved off a breast, moist and firm. The stuffing was compelling, a sagey, crunchy brown layer atop the bird. The foundation was provided by homemade cranberry sauce, delivering a perfect sweet/tart accent. Special mention to the bread- they either make it themselves, or get it right out of the baker's oven.
To top it off, I ordered iced tea that wasn't stewed and bitter, the first time in my life I've had genuinely good iced tea in a restaurant.
Given the quality of the ingredients and the attentive preparation obvious in the lunch service I'm looking forward to checking out their breakfasts and dinners.
Recommended.
/edit
It's really easy to make an acceptable, edible sandwich. Even Subway can do it, if you're careful. But to make an exceptional sandwich is a rare, commendable feat.
30 Day Song Challenge Day Nine: A Song You Can Dance To
Well, you can dance to just about any song, given proper motivation.
Why not 'a song that makes you want to dance', or 'your favorite song to dance to'?
Anyway.
Bobo unearthed this one from the stacks at BooBoo's on an LP of assorted DC GoGo music (back in the day our record buying rule of thumb was when in doubt, buy an exotic compilation!)
It summarizes the dancing-est era of my life, which also jousts for the title of 'Most Miserable And Dysfunctional'. Although I wouldn't trade it for anything, unlike the competition. It's a reductive alchemy memory performs to forge a Golden Age, burning away all the bad shit, melting the good together to craft a Utopian skyline.
I was living at Little Havana with Bobo and Hudson (before his interest in National Socialism metastasized), crashing on the fold-out couch in the living room lulled to sleep each night by the alternating green and red ceiling glow from the stoplight by the 7-11 at the bottom of the hill. We all had jobs doing hard work in unpleasant conditions, me at a sausage plant working 12-15 hour days in a refrigerated metal box, the boys in the kitchen at Angelo's.
The emotional equilibrium was wildly variable.
One afternoon I came home to Ministry's Stigmata vibrating the pavers in the courtyard while Hudson and a pal beset a plaid couch in the middle of the living room with an axe and a machete, respectively. At the conclusion of the number they hurled the dismembered pieces out a window onto the sidewalk.
We all benefited from structured releases of energy, and regular impromptu dance parties were primary safety valves. Someone would come home in the right frame of mind, hit the strobe light in the corner of the living room and off we'd all go. The strobing was a bug light for locals, who'd drop in for the festivites. One memorable evening we rocked so hard a mircroclimate was created in the living room, condensation from the ceiling raining down on us.
There aren't many other memories I'd trade the spirit of a really good dance party for.
Footnote:
Another contender for defining track
Why not 'a song that makes you want to dance', or 'your favorite song to dance to'?
Anyway.
Bobo unearthed this one from the stacks at BooBoo's on an LP of assorted DC GoGo music (back in the day our record buying rule of thumb was when in doubt, buy an exotic compilation!)
It summarizes the dancing-est era of my life, which also jousts for the title of 'Most Miserable And Dysfunctional'. Although I wouldn't trade it for anything, unlike the competition. It's a reductive alchemy memory performs to forge a Golden Age, burning away all the bad shit, melting the good together to craft a Utopian skyline.
I was living at Little Havana with Bobo and Hudson (before his interest in National Socialism metastasized), crashing on the fold-out couch in the living room lulled to sleep each night by the alternating green and red ceiling glow from the stoplight by the 7-11 at the bottom of the hill. We all had jobs doing hard work in unpleasant conditions, me at a sausage plant working 12-15 hour days in a refrigerated metal box, the boys in the kitchen at Angelo's.
The emotional equilibrium was wildly variable.
One afternoon I came home to Ministry's Stigmata vibrating the pavers in the courtyard while Hudson and a pal beset a plaid couch in the middle of the living room with an axe and a machete, respectively. At the conclusion of the number they hurled the dismembered pieces out a window onto the sidewalk.
We all benefited from structured releases of energy, and regular impromptu dance parties were primary safety valves. Someone would come home in the right frame of mind, hit the strobe light in the corner of the living room and off we'd all go. The strobing was a bug light for locals, who'd drop in for the festivites. One memorable evening we rocked so hard a mircroclimate was created in the living room, condensation from the ceiling raining down on us.
There aren't many other memories I'd trade the spirit of a really good dance party for.
Footnote:
Another contender for defining track
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Great Moments in Netflix AI
Like: Jersey Shore Season 2
I mean, sure, they're both scathing satires on the follies of the haute bourgeoisie...but I look at the Renoir and think hey, where's the bronzer?
I mean, sure, they're both scathing satires on the follies of the haute bourgeoisie...but I look at the Renoir and think hey, where's the bronzer?
more reasons to like KCPR
My fave drive-time show is The Psychedelic Gospel, which consistently delivers the trippy, fuzzed out goods and the DJ of which has an expansive view of what constitutes 'psychedelic', both thematically and chronologically. It's never a less than compelling listen. This is my favorite new band find from the show, doing it live on some foreign teevee show:
And one morning last week, another DJ turned me on to the greatest 80's tune I'd somehow never heard, which is unbelievable. I mean I'm not a huge P-Furs fan or anything, but COME ON NOW, this tune is so epic I can't believe not one of my friends made me listen to it at some point in the last thirty-whatever years.
album version first
then a kickass contemporary live performance
I'm American...ha ha ha!
when I'm dictator that's our new National Anthem.
And one morning last week, another DJ turned me on to the greatest 80's tune I'd somehow never heard, which is unbelievable. I mean I'm not a huge P-Furs fan or anything, but COME ON NOW, this tune is so epic I can't believe not one of my friends made me listen to it at some point in the last thirty-whatever years.
album version first
then a kickass contemporary live performance
I'm American...ha ha ha!
when I'm dictator that's our new National Anthem.
Evening Conversation
the wife: Okay, do you want a bath, or do you want books?
Fuss, taking to his heels and diving into the pantry closet: Ma hide!
the wife (to closed pantry door): So, do you want a bath, or do you want books?
Fuss, voice muffled: Ma hide! Ma hide!
Fuss, taking to his heels and diving into the pantry closet: Ma hide!
the wife (to closed pantry door): So, do you want a bath, or do you want books?
Fuss, voice muffled: Ma hide! Ma hide!
30 Day Song Challenge Day Eight: A Song That You Know All the Words To
I could probably do the the whole album from memory even though it's been decades since I've heard it end to end. That tape lived in my walkman.
Back in the day deciphering Kate's lyrics was a labor of love- no lyric sheets, no internet lookup, just endless repetition and the intensely neurotic focus an alienated teenager could devote to the pursuit of minor revelation.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
True Customer Tales: Randy Redux
He came back for his papers and ended up buying a copy of Totem and Taboo by Freud and an old Guardians of the Galaxy comic.
hey look, here's the comic- thanks, Internet!
I was supposed to only spend my money on groceries, but that went out the door! Happy holidays! At least...at least St Patrick's Day and Easter!
hey look, here's the comic- thanks, Internet!
True Customer Tales: RANDY RETURNS
He's rocking a full, white CRAZY DUDE beard now- I guess it's been a while since his last vist.
Brings a Marilyn Monroe calendar up and begins frenziedly taking notes on a wadded up envelope which he smooths out on the counter.
Now he's gone, leaving behind a small pile of papers covered with illegible scrawl, including the envelope that was supposed to remind him of Marilyn.
Brings a Marilyn Monroe calendar up and begins frenziedly taking notes on a wadded up envelope which he smooths out on the counter.
How...How much are these running? Because I need every red cent for food right now, I gotta SHINGLE my SHANGLE, you know? But I need to remember this one so I can come back and get it.
Now he's gone, leaving behind a small pile of papers covered with illegible scrawl, including the envelope that was supposed to remind him of Marilyn.
True Customer Sightings
A greazy, beardy dude sporting a jaunty leather hat, gray-green with grime, adorned with a shredded, dilapidated peacock feather just bought a couple of dollar books.
It looks like he mugged a wandering minstrel from the Ren Faire for that hat back in about '83 and hasn't taken it off since.
Won't someone think of the children?
It looks like he mugged a wandering minstrel from the Ren Faire for that hat back in about '83 and hasn't taken it off since.
Won't someone think of the children?
30 Day Song Challenge Day Seven: A Song That Reminds You of a Certain Event
Song:
King of the Hill Theme Song
Certain Event:
Every time he hears it, Fuss leaps to his feet and starts doing a crazy punk rock mosh pit pogo-dance around the living room.
King of the Hill Theme Song
Certain Event:
Every time he hears it, Fuss leaps to his feet and starts doing a crazy punk rock mosh pit pogo-dance around the living room.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Life with Fuss
Twenty minutes ago:
NO! No bath, no bath mama! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!
Two minutes ago:
Don't wanna get out mama, DON'T WANNA GET OUT! Don't wanna get out mama! AAAAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAAAA!!!
NO! No bath, no bath mama! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!
Two minutes ago:
Don't wanna get out mama, DON'T WANNA GET OUT! Don't wanna get out mama! AAAAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAAAA!!!
On the Non-Book
Non-Book is a house term we use for a title that looks like you'd want it in the store- usually on an interesting (or at least salable) topic. They're usually larger format books with color illustrations, what are sometimes called 'coffee table books'. And they are almost completely bereft of value. You can flip through one without receiving a single nugget of insight or coming across any meaningful information or striking composition.
Anyone who's sifted through as many thousands upon thousands of books as I have can almost sense a non book, they way you can spot a book club edition by the cheap paper employed for the dust jacket, or the way the spine is just slightly too squared off to be 'real'. They're things that look like good books but aren't....Pod Books, in the vernacular of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Some concrete examples would be the cookbook long on splashy color (stock) photos but extremely short on (generic) recipes, or a craft book with plenty of nifty photos of finished projects that gives short shrift to processes and techniques you'd need to achieve the pictured results.
Basically, a non-book is any book that's trying to 'pass'. It's thrift store couture trying to sneak onto the runway, ground chuck pretending its Kobe beef.
Today, doing a big buy from one of our regular guys who stops by every few months with a big white van full of boxes, we came across the penultimate non-book....more of an anti-book really...Surf Girl Oahu.
Let's go down the checklist-
Surfing: one of the most salable things we see. Normally we buy anything even tangentially related to surfing without looking at it too hard.
Women Surfing: Even more salable than regular surfing. Very few books have been published on the subject so we hardly ever see them.
Hawaii: Very salable area. Again, we'd normally buy anything presentable that came across the counter on Hawaii.
This combination is like atomic catnip to book dealers- you couldn't come up with a more desirable subject for a book if you had a planet-sized AI crunching sales figures from the entire history of bookselling for your perusal.
And yet, who knows why, bookseller's intuition maybe...the boss gave it a quick flip-through.
And his buying rhythm faltered.
He went back through the book more slowly, pausing at various points.
Again, almost page by page.
Bemused, he handed me the book.
"What do you think?"
I repeated his process almost exactly, arriving at the same destination.
"It's....it's a non book," disbelieving. "I got 20 pages before I saw a surfboard, or water. It's like someone's snapshots of their girlfriends hanging out shopping a few blocks from the beach."
The boss nodded.
"Well...now we have to buy it, don't we? We've spent too much time figuring it out, now we have to buy it."
Which made me laugh.
And, proving that when it comes to books online nobody really knows anything, even two guys with a combined 70 years of professional experience who've been selling books online for most of a decade, this veritable archetype of the Non Book that was nearly rejected for being so slight and misleading is going for $40 on Amazon.
Hah!
Anyone who's sifted through as many thousands upon thousands of books as I have can almost sense a non book, they way you can spot a book club edition by the cheap paper employed for the dust jacket, or the way the spine is just slightly too squared off to be 'real'. They're things that look like good books but aren't....Pod Books, in the vernacular of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Some concrete examples would be the cookbook long on splashy color (stock) photos but extremely short on (generic) recipes, or a craft book with plenty of nifty photos of finished projects that gives short shrift to processes and techniques you'd need to achieve the pictured results.
Basically, a non-book is any book that's trying to 'pass'. It's thrift store couture trying to sneak onto the runway, ground chuck pretending its Kobe beef.
Today, doing a big buy from one of our regular guys who stops by every few months with a big white van full of boxes, we came across the penultimate non-book....more of an anti-book really...Surf Girl Oahu.
Let's go down the checklist-
Surfing: one of the most salable things we see. Normally we buy anything even tangentially related to surfing without looking at it too hard.
Women Surfing: Even more salable than regular surfing. Very few books have been published on the subject so we hardly ever see them.
Hawaii: Very salable area. Again, we'd normally buy anything presentable that came across the counter on Hawaii.
This combination is like atomic catnip to book dealers- you couldn't come up with a more desirable subject for a book if you had a planet-sized AI crunching sales figures from the entire history of bookselling for your perusal.
And yet, who knows why, bookseller's intuition maybe...the boss gave it a quick flip-through.
And his buying rhythm faltered.
He went back through the book more slowly, pausing at various points.
Again, almost page by page.
Bemused, he handed me the book.
"What do you think?"
I repeated his process almost exactly, arriving at the same destination.
"It's....it's a non book," disbelieving. "I got 20 pages before I saw a surfboard, or water. It's like someone's snapshots of their girlfriends hanging out shopping a few blocks from the beach."
The boss nodded.
"Well...now we have to buy it, don't we? We've spent too much time figuring it out, now we have to buy it."
Which made me laugh.
And, proving that when it comes to books online nobody really knows anything, even two guys with a combined 70 years of professional experience who've been selling books online for most of a decade, this veritable archetype of the Non Book that was nearly rejected for being so slight and misleading is going for $40 on Amazon.
Hah!
30 Day Song Challenge Day 6: Song That Reminds You of Somewhere
A little tricky, as it has to be a song you still hear every once in a while to trigger a memory. I can think of many, many tunes that conjure very concrete memories of place, but it's stuff I'll never hear again. Pretty much anything by Test Dept. or Einstürzende Neubauten pounds me back onto the wretched sofa in the living room of Bobo & Zim's shared hovel on George Street. One of the neighbors was a fan of hair metal and when he got to sassy with the volume Bobo would retaliate by pointing his speakers out the open windows and spraying the neighborhood with aural napalm.
But it's not exactly the sort of music you chance across in your daily life, so the memories lie dormant.
I'll roll with this one from The Carpenters, who have a much higher cultural Q Factor than those Industrial pioneers.
Childhood visits to mom's parents meant spending plenty of time with grandma.
Grandad was a troubleshooter for an oil company and spent a fair amount of his career living on site at various remote locations. Sometimes I'd tag along to a rig out in the Santa Barbara Channel, or up in the hills between Ventura and Santa Barbara, but mostly he was just gone.
Granny spent tremendous amounts of time doing errands. Seemingly every day we'd head out and make the rounds, and often I'd end up waiting in the car, parked on sprawling acres of asphalt outside the Esplanade, or the Wagon Wheel, or some other department store or shopping center.
The first car I remember her having was a brown Ford Pinto hatchback, the ones that exploded when rear-ended. Entertainment was provided by a huge AM radio with a row of analog buttons for the station presets. It was a glorious day for parking lot idlers when she upgraded to a cream colored Mazda station wagon with a cassette tape deck.
She had three tapes in the glove box.
The Carpenters Greatest Hits, something from Tommy Dorsey (Stardust was 'their song') and some pap from the Perry Como school of crooning that even my child self realized was psychic poison. So I listened the ass out of the other two tapes.
Hearing the Carpenters whips me back directly to the hot, airless center of a blacktop parking lot in Ventura, lying back in a leatherette passenger seat fully reclined, sweating, waiting for Grandma to return from one of her innumerable 'ladies only' activities.
But it's not exactly the sort of music you chance across in your daily life, so the memories lie dormant.
I'll roll with this one from The Carpenters, who have a much higher cultural Q Factor than those Industrial pioneers.
Childhood visits to mom's parents meant spending plenty of time with grandma.
Grandad was a troubleshooter for an oil company and spent a fair amount of his career living on site at various remote locations. Sometimes I'd tag along to a rig out in the Santa Barbara Channel, or up in the hills between Ventura and Santa Barbara, but mostly he was just gone.
Granny spent tremendous amounts of time doing errands. Seemingly every day we'd head out and make the rounds, and often I'd end up waiting in the car, parked on sprawling acres of asphalt outside the Esplanade, or the Wagon Wheel, or some other department store or shopping center.
The first car I remember her having was a brown Ford Pinto hatchback, the ones that exploded when rear-ended. Entertainment was provided by a huge AM radio with a row of analog buttons for the station presets. It was a glorious day for parking lot idlers when she upgraded to a cream colored Mazda station wagon with a cassette tape deck.
She had three tapes in the glove box.
The Carpenters Greatest Hits, something from Tommy Dorsey (Stardust was 'their song') and some pap from the Perry Como school of crooning that even my child self realized was psychic poison. So I listened the ass out of the other two tapes.
Hearing the Carpenters whips me back directly to the hot, airless center of a blacktop parking lot in Ventura, lying back in a leatherette passenger seat fully reclined, sweating, waiting for Grandma to return from one of her innumerable 'ladies only' activities.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
true customer tales: books?
gal approaches counter.
"Where are your books?"
"Excuse me?"
"Books, where are your books?"
"Everywhere? Are you after anything in particular?"
"No....no, just books," turning on her heel and walking out.
"Where are your books?"
"Excuse me?"
"Books, where are your books?"
"Everywhere? Are you after anything in particular?"
"No....no, just books," turning on her heel and walking out.
Viva Burnt Dog radio
I have a bigger post on KCPR and terrestrial radio generally brewing, but I need to post this tidbit before I forget.
KCPR has been my choice during my daily commutes (except for mornings, when they tend to unspool Democracy Now and I tune out...nothing against Amy Goodman, she fights the good fight, but I've been over my limit for political outrage for a few years now), and I'm especially fond of the classical show Spot o' Class. The dichotomy between the traditionally staid presentation of classical music and the happy go lucky college bro-dude voice of the DJ doing the show intro over Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries always cheers me up.
Tonight the Ride came on and the DJ was in fine form with his 'best radio station in the world, and best radio SHOW in the world' patter when he busted this move on me.
"Hey....I probably don't have to tell you guys....but it's SHARK WEEK!"
Out of context, not that amazing...but delivered over Wagner's Ride during the intro to a classical music show...PURE GENIUS.
Here's to you, awesome college radio DJ guy! Tonight you redeemed and justified the existence of your entire industry, and made a tired, sullen bookseller very happy.
KCPR has been my choice during my daily commutes (except for mornings, when they tend to unspool Democracy Now and I tune out...nothing against Amy Goodman, she fights the good fight, but I've been over my limit for political outrage for a few years now), and I'm especially fond of the classical show Spot o' Class. The dichotomy between the traditionally staid presentation of classical music and the happy go lucky college bro-dude voice of the DJ doing the show intro over Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries always cheers me up.
Tonight the Ride came on and the DJ was in fine form with his 'best radio station in the world, and best radio SHOW in the world' patter when he busted this move on me.
"Hey....I probably don't have to tell you guys....but it's SHARK WEEK!"
Out of context, not that amazing...but delivered over Wagner's Ride during the intro to a classical music show...PURE GENIUS.
Here's to you, awesome college radio DJ guy! Tonight you redeemed and justified the existence of your entire industry, and made a tired, sullen bookseller very happy.
30 Day Song Challenge Day Five: A Song That Reminds You of Someone
70's Joni Mitchell reminds me of mom.
Clouds, Ladies of the Canyon, Blue, For the Roses, Court and Spark- if pressed I could draw a passable reproduction of those LP covers and any liner art from memory. After she died I found all those same albums, stored in the same orange crate, among numberless other talismans of my childhood and youth. She wasn't a hoarder exactly, but somehow every memorable object from our life in the other house trailed her to the new place. In much the same way, I discovered while excavating the garage, as every memorable object from my grandmother's and great grandmother's houses trailed her to the new place.
Family historian or family dump, there's not much leeway between them.
I'm sure she identified with the early Joni's freewheeling life and doomed, endless quest for the right guy. But the rootless bohemian gig is easier to pull off when you turn your baby over to the orphanage like Joni. Hitchiking and communes and free love didn't really jibe with parenting a toddler and mom eventually gave it up and crash-landed us at the the Los Osos house my grandfather bought cheap, uninsurable because it had no foundation.
I like to think she always wanted to take care of me, it was just the execution that tripped her up.
Joni eventually found another direction, teaming up with Jaco Pastorius and Charles Mingus in his final days, liberating herself from old expectations and pressures in the freedom of jazz. Hopefully mom did to, at the end.
Clouds, Ladies of the Canyon, Blue, For the Roses, Court and Spark- if pressed I could draw a passable reproduction of those LP covers and any liner art from memory. After she died I found all those same albums, stored in the same orange crate, among numberless other talismans of my childhood and youth. She wasn't a hoarder exactly, but somehow every memorable object from our life in the other house trailed her to the new place. In much the same way, I discovered while excavating the garage, as every memorable object from my grandmother's and great grandmother's houses trailed her to the new place.
Family historian or family dump, there's not much leeway between them.
I'm sure she identified with the early Joni's freewheeling life and doomed, endless quest for the right guy. But the rootless bohemian gig is easier to pull off when you turn your baby over to the orphanage like Joni. Hitchiking and communes and free love didn't really jibe with parenting a toddler and mom eventually gave it up and crash-landed us at the the Los Osos house my grandfather bought cheap, uninsurable because it had no foundation.
I like to think she always wanted to take care of me, it was just the execution that tripped her up.
Joni eventually found another direction, teaming up with Jaco Pastorius and Charles Mingus in his final days, liberating herself from old expectations and pressures in the freedom of jazz. Hopefully mom did to, at the end.
true customer tales: Moar Boo Boos
Older gal wearing a shawl:
"Uh excuse me...uh, where is the Boo Boo's Music Center?"
followed moments later by a different, distraught looking woman bustling up to the counter:
"HEY! Is Boo Boo's open on SUNDAY! The sign says they're open on Sunday! But the DOOR IS LOCKED!"
"I'm not sure what their hours are, sorry."
"BUT I NEED TICKETS!"
*runs out door*
"Uh excuse me...uh, where is the Boo Boo's Music Center?"
followed moments later by a different, distraught looking woman bustling up to the counter:
"HEY! Is Boo Boo's open on SUNDAY! The sign says they're open on Sunday! But the DOOR IS LOCKED!"
"I'm not sure what their hours are, sorry."
"BUT I NEED TICKETS!"
*runs out door*
This Week's Best Keywords
"blind pig finds a nut" in classic literature
and
"obsessed with totoro"
BONUS!
this week's most popular keyword is
congotronic
Which makes sense, because when I went poking around for info on the congotronic sensation it wasn't east to dig up.
and
"obsessed with totoro"
BONUS!
this week's most popular keyword is
congotronic
Which makes sense, because when I went poking around for info on the congotronic sensation it wasn't east to dig up.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
assorted links n' stuff
World's Most Awesome Kids Bedroom.
Although if that were in my house, Fuss would have to fight me for it...
An engaging article on the various reasons writers abandon novels.
I can't imagine it- I'm tortured when I abandon a blog post, and these things generally take all of five minutes to bang out.
An interesting Metal Blog for Inty!
A really cool looking webcomic.
Although 'webcomic' is hardly a sufficient descriptor of the graphic weight on display.
Here are a lot of people reviewing single panels by comic he-man Jack KING Kirby. Fascinating stuff. When I was young, I hated Kirby's art, preferring more 'realistic' guys like Neal Adams. As a grownup, I can see that Kirby is the fountainhead of all that is appealing and worthwhile in comics and that 'realists' like Adams are an evolutionary dead end (although I can still enjoy their work).
Although if that were in my house, Fuss would have to fight me for it...
An engaging article on the various reasons writers abandon novels.
I can't imagine it- I'm tortured when I abandon a blog post, and these things generally take all of five minutes to bang out.
An interesting Metal Blog for Inty!
A really cool looking webcomic.
Although 'webcomic' is hardly a sufficient descriptor of the graphic weight on display.
Here are a lot of people reviewing single panels by comic he-man Jack KING Kirby. Fascinating stuff. When I was young, I hated Kirby's art, preferring more 'realistic' guys like Neal Adams. As a grownup, I can see that Kirby is the fountainhead of all that is appealing and worthwhile in comics and that 'realists' like Adams are an evolutionary dead end (although I can still enjoy their work).
True Customer Tales: Drive By Crazy
wild eyed street dude stops in doorway and drops this gem in a loud monotone:
THIS BOOKSTORE IS NOW UNDER THE MANAGEMENT OF FRED....UH FRED, FRED OWNS A BOOKSTORE IN SANTA BARBARA NOW HE'S RUNNING THIS ONE.....IN JESUS NAME AMEN!
A bemused customer who wandered up in the middle of the display said
"Huh, I think I've just been blessed?"
THIS BOOKSTORE IS NOW UNDER THE MANAGEMENT OF FRED....UH FRED, FRED OWNS A BOOKSTORE IN SANTA BARBARA NOW HE'S RUNNING THIS ONE.....IN JESUS NAME AMEN!
A bemused customer who wandered up in the middle of the display said
"Huh, I think I've just been blessed?"
Days of Malick
Terrence Malick's latest looks incredible. Knowing my recalcitrant habits, I've issued orders that I be escorted to the theater at swordpoint for this one if more subtle persuasions prove futile. However excited I am about a future happening, when the moment arrives I almost invariably try to skip out. The necessity of strongarming myself into actions I know I'll enjoy is wearying.
The New World, his previous film, is an achievement so profound I mostly refuse to discuss it lest someone's stray negative comment tarnish my good opinion of them. I know exactly three people I'm positive would love it as much and in the same was as I do, and I'm married to one of them.
Like the time we wandered through an exhibition of DaVinci's drawings at the Louvre seeing it in the theater was an overwhelming, sublime, essentially indescribable experience. See it yourself is about the only meaningful commentary I can muster, although the reduction in scale from big screen to teevee makes me nervous. I've owned the dvd for years without viewing it, serving a more totemic than practical purpose.
My disinclination to examine the underpinnings of this wonder doesn't prevent others more critically talented from successfully venturing into the mystic.
Particularly,
Considering Malick as a poet seems by far the best approach to his work.
Happily the trailer strongly implies Tree of Life explores this same impressionistic terrain.
The New World, his previous film, is an achievement so profound I mostly refuse to discuss it lest someone's stray negative comment tarnish my good opinion of them. I know exactly three people I'm positive would love it as much and in the same was as I do, and I'm married to one of them.
Like the time we wandered through an exhibition of DaVinci's drawings at the Louvre seeing it in the theater was an overwhelming, sublime, essentially indescribable experience. See it yourself is about the only meaningful commentary I can muster, although the reduction in scale from big screen to teevee makes me nervous. I've owned the dvd for years without viewing it, serving a more totemic than practical purpose.
My disinclination to examine the underpinnings of this wonder doesn't prevent others more critically talented from successfully venturing into the mystic.
Particularly,
At its most avant-garde, it's a work created virtually without scenes, a prolonged montage analogous to the function of poetry, where impressions are generated in a fleeting manner and ultimately add up to something larger than the sum of the parts. Working in this manner allows Malick to whip up unlikely juxtapositions of images that wouldn’t fit into a traditional dramatic structure, the kind of formula Malick could easily embrace with his material but which he decidedly avoids.
Considering Malick as a poet seems by far the best approach to his work.
Happily the trailer strongly implies Tree of Life explores this same impressionistic terrain.
Downtown Merchant Alert!
The old dude with the blue and maroon striped polo shirt and white handlebar moustache that turns nicotine yellow over his liverish lips has, bar none, the WORST HALITOSIS I've ever been exposed to.
Forever more the phrase 'breath of the grave' will summon a vision of that awful mustache and tooth-grinding, nearly visible stench.
I need a shower...
Forever more the phrase 'breath of the grave' will summon a vision of that awful mustache and tooth-grinding, nearly visible stench.
I need a shower...
30 Day Song Challenge Day Four: A Song That Makes You Sad
Of course.
What other question could possibly follow the impenetrable depths exposed by yesterday's philosophical poser, A Song That Makes You Happy?
Again I'll rephrase- how about a song that inspires feelings of melancholy?
And when the subject turns to melancholy, the artist is obvious. The only question is which masterpiece? For me, there's one choice.
If George and Ira Gershwin were reincarnated as a single entity, they'd have been Elliot Smith.
What other question could possibly follow the impenetrable depths exposed by yesterday's philosophical poser, A Song That Makes You Happy?
Again I'll rephrase- how about a song that inspires feelings of melancholy?
And when the subject turns to melancholy, the artist is obvious. The only question is which masterpiece? For me, there's one choice.
If George and Ira Gershwin were reincarnated as a single entity, they'd have been Elliot Smith.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Thus Spake Zarathufuss
on the yellow split pea soup that had simmering in the crock pot all day:
"What's that? Hmm....looks orangey. Think mama will like it. It's real spicy!"
"What's that? Hmm....looks orangey. Think mama will like it. It's real spicy!"
Things You Can Count On
In this crazy, unpredictable, topsy-turvy life rocks guaranteed to withstand the surging tide of chaos and provide steadfast landmarks to navigate by are hard to come by.
One such granite headland (complete with overcharged lighthouse and wall of air-raid sirens) is this:
Any time you accidentally run into your completely deranged bi-polar mother in law out in the world, like when you're returning stuff to the library, you are guaranteed a visit from your decrepit father in law, who stopped bathing sometime last year. He will ring the doorbell during Fuss' nap, then when you don't answer because you peeked out the window and saw his disintegrating, rusted out jalopy idling at the curb, leave a grocery bag full of expired baked goods from the Thursday food bank handouts on your front porch.
I long ago gave up attempting to decipher the anti-logic of their rat's nest cooexistance, but I still wonder at the labyrinth the golden thread of that particular conversation must navigate to reach its inevitable conclusion.
One such granite headland (complete with overcharged lighthouse and wall of air-raid sirens) is this:
Any time you accidentally run into your completely deranged bi-polar mother in law out in the world, like when you're returning stuff to the library, you are guaranteed a visit from your decrepit father in law, who stopped bathing sometime last year. He will ring the doorbell during Fuss' nap, then when you don't answer because you peeked out the window and saw his disintegrating, rusted out jalopy idling at the curb, leave a grocery bag full of expired baked goods from the Thursday food bank handouts on your front porch.
I long ago gave up attempting to decipher the anti-logic of their rat's nest cooexistance, but I still wonder at the labyrinth the golden thread of that particular conversation must navigate to reach its inevitable conclusion.
The Fuss Variations
The Flying Game ('game' is sort of an arbitrary designation, it's just me zooming Fuss around the house making whooshing sounds) has been evolving lately.
First he wanted to flap his arms and fly like a bird, which necessitated switching up my grip so his arms were loose.
This morning Green Buenie got hung up on one of his feet during takeoff, so now "a-hold it with my peets!" is an integral part of the pre-flight checklist.
The games get more baroque over time until he loses interest.
Perhaps the sheer weight of ornament finally collapses his enthusiasm?
First he wanted to flap his arms and fly like a bird, which necessitated switching up my grip so his arms were loose.
This morning Green Buenie got hung up on one of his feet during takeoff, so now "a-hold it with my peets!" is an integral part of the pre-flight checklist.
The games get more baroque over time until he loses interest.
Perhaps the sheer weight of ornament finally collapses his enthusiasm?
30 Day Song Challenge Day Three: A Song That Makes You Happy
'A song that makes you happy'? Why would I listen to a song that didn't, on some level, make me happy? These aren't very interesting questions.
A better, more specific and much easier to answer question would be name a song that fills you with joy.
The official video is an insulting travesty- I like this high school art project version much better.
A better, more specific and much easier to answer question would be name a song that fills you with joy.
The official video is an insulting travesty- I like this high school art project version much better.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
true customer tales: fiction or nonfiction edition
gal: Can you help me find this book I'm looking for?
me: Sure, what are you after?
gal: It's called 'Columbine' by Dave...Dave, somebody?
me, checking internet for author: is that fiction or nonfiction?
gal: well it's fiction, but it's more nonfiction?
me: .....
me: Sure, what are you after?
gal: It's called 'Columbine' by Dave...Dave, somebody?
me, checking internet for author: is that fiction or nonfiction?
gal: well it's fiction, but it's more nonfiction?
me: .....
Some Music I Like Lately
I needed a palate cleanser after that last post.
Yuck: The Wall
stripped down lo-fi goodness.
Here We Go Magic: Collector
and here's their whole KCRW set
Bill Frisell: Keep Your Eyes Open
Brad Sucks: Making Me Nervous
Yeah Yeah Yeahs: Zero
late to the party here, but oh well- thanks Pandora!
Sleigh Bells: Rill Rill
Hey neat, they made a video for this one.
Yuck: The Wall
stripped down lo-fi goodness.
Here We Go Magic: Collector
and here's their whole KCRW set
Bill Frisell: Keep Your Eyes Open
Brad Sucks: Making Me Nervous
Yeah Yeah Yeahs: Zero
late to the party here, but oh well- thanks Pandora!
Sleigh Bells: Rill Rill
Hey neat, they made a video for this one.
30 Day Song Challenge Day Two: Least Favorite Song
The sort of vapid question that plague these lists.
I mean, unless you had some kind of Batman-esque formative experience and thugs gunned down your parents while Welcome to the Jungle poured from the rolled down windows of a nearby Pontiac GTO, how much can you really dislike an individual song? You listen to 30 seconds of a song, think "huh, this sucks" and never hear it again, unless it's playing in the grocery store or something.
So I'll present a group award here for my least favorite genre of music, soulless money-grubbing pop. Music that exists only because the performer wanted to be wealthy and famous, cynically guided to completion with Mass Market Acceptance as its north star.
Rather than provide a link, I'll just recommend throwing a dart at any Top 40 Singles list from the late 70's to early 90's. Chances are you'll land on a fine example of the genre.
Okay okay, that's cheating- how about I'll pick a year (say, 1985) and I'll link...hmm, how about Billboard's #10 single of the year.
Voila! My official Least Favorite Song!
*headbang*
I mean, unless you had some kind of Batman-esque formative experience and thugs gunned down your parents while Welcome to the Jungle poured from the rolled down windows of a nearby Pontiac GTO, how much can you really dislike an individual song? You listen to 30 seconds of a song, think "huh, this sucks" and never hear it again, unless it's playing in the grocery store or something.
So I'll present a group award here for my least favorite genre of music, soulless money-grubbing pop. Music that exists only because the performer wanted to be wealthy and famous, cynically guided to completion with Mass Market Acceptance as its north star.
Rather than provide a link, I'll just recommend throwing a dart at any Top 40 Singles list from the late 70's to early 90's. Chances are you'll land on a fine example of the genre.
Okay okay, that's cheating- how about I'll pick a year (say, 1985) and I'll link...hmm, how about Billboard's #10 single of the year.
Voila! My official Least Favorite Song!
*headbang*
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Restaurant review: Thai-riffic
The Central Coast's OG Thai option.
At some point Thai became the new Mexican and you couldn't swing a dead cat without upending a hot pot of Tom Kha Kai, but Thai-Riffic was the first (and for many years the sole) local option.
The wife got a wild hair for Thai on a recent Fuss free night out and neither of us felt like navigating the downtown 'scene' to hit our usual haunt, Thai Palace. Thai-Riffic was one of mom's favorites back in the day, but it'd been at least 20 years since my last visit. I should've been more appreciative of her efforts to expand my youthful culinary horizons, one of her few constructive impulses, but my interest in anything more challenging than pizza or burgers bloomed late.
I was immediately alienated by the startlingly bright lighting.
There were fixtures, but these did nothing to cut the glare from the array of clear incandescent bulbs. The resulting ambiance was redolent of Police Interrogation Room with an undercurrent of Hospital Operating Theater. The pleasantly throwback wood paneling fought valiantly but succumbed to the overwhelming wattage, as witness this diner photo from their Yelp page:
It's worse than it looks, all those little bulbs over the table are clear portals focusing the aggression of white hot filaments on innocent diners.
Not the vibe you'd expect any competent restaurantuer to embrace, and one easily corrected by installing a dimmer switch and investing in some frosted glass bulbs. Cutting the light pollution in half would make the dining room a thousand times more inviting.
I'll admit being more sensitive about this stuff than most, but there's really no excuse for a sit down restaurant to have worse lighting than your typical Carl's Jr. Hunger alone prevented me from recoiling back out into the the cool, dark evening.
Settling into our booth we ordered a hot pot of soup (the lemongrass/coconut milk/mushroom one, I never remember the name), fried rice with tofu, ginger beef ribs and Thai iced tea.
The soup and fried rice triggered another of my pet dining peeves, featuring GIANT CHUNKS of vegetables. The slabs of mushroom in the soup were too big for the spoons and the fried rice was more like sauteed vegetables with some rice added for bulk. Both tasted fine, and happily everything was cooked through (too often large chunks = underdone), but it's still lazy prepping and poor presentation.
The evening was very nearly redeemed by the spectacular ginger beef ribs. They had bone deep smoky flavor, chewy and totally satisfying. Devra was very lucky one survived to ride home with her leftovers.
Overall, not a success. The soup and rice were good, the ribs were excellent, but the prison yard lighting was inexcusable. Thai Palace retains its crown as 'our place' for Thai.
Although I'll definitely be back for those ribs, and it won't be another 20 years.
Take out, of course.
At some point Thai became the new Mexican and you couldn't swing a dead cat without upending a hot pot of Tom Kha Kai, but Thai-Riffic was the first (and for many years the sole) local option.
The wife got a wild hair for Thai on a recent Fuss free night out and neither of us felt like navigating the downtown 'scene' to hit our usual haunt, Thai Palace. Thai-Riffic was one of mom's favorites back in the day, but it'd been at least 20 years since my last visit. I should've been more appreciative of her efforts to expand my youthful culinary horizons, one of her few constructive impulses, but my interest in anything more challenging than pizza or burgers bloomed late.
I was immediately alienated by the startlingly bright lighting.
There were fixtures, but these did nothing to cut the glare from the array of clear incandescent bulbs. The resulting ambiance was redolent of Police Interrogation Room with an undercurrent of Hospital Operating Theater. The pleasantly throwback wood paneling fought valiantly but succumbed to the overwhelming wattage, as witness this diner photo from their Yelp page:
Not the vibe you'd expect any competent restaurantuer to embrace, and one easily corrected by installing a dimmer switch and investing in some frosted glass bulbs. Cutting the light pollution in half would make the dining room a thousand times more inviting.
I'll admit being more sensitive about this stuff than most, but there's really no excuse for a sit down restaurant to have worse lighting than your typical Carl's Jr. Hunger alone prevented me from recoiling back out into the the cool, dark evening.
Settling into our booth we ordered a hot pot of soup (the lemongrass/coconut milk/mushroom one, I never remember the name), fried rice with tofu, ginger beef ribs and Thai iced tea.
The soup and fried rice triggered another of my pet dining peeves, featuring GIANT CHUNKS of vegetables. The slabs of mushroom in the soup were too big for the spoons and the fried rice was more like sauteed vegetables with some rice added for bulk. Both tasted fine, and happily everything was cooked through (too often large chunks = underdone), but it's still lazy prepping and poor presentation.
The evening was very nearly redeemed by the spectacular ginger beef ribs. They had bone deep smoky flavor, chewy and totally satisfying. Devra was very lucky one survived to ride home with her leftovers.
Overall, not a success. The soup and rice were good, the ribs were excellent, but the prison yard lighting was inexcusable. Thai Palace retains its crown as 'our place' for Thai.
Although I'll definitely be back for those ribs, and it won't be another 20 years.
Take out, of course.
Thirty Day Song Challenge 1: Favorite Song
An arbitrary classification- ask me again in a few hours and it'll have changed.
I'll steal a phrase from Gawker and call this Best Song Ever Of Today:
Nobody beats the Gershwins, nobody beats Ella. Together they are an unstoppable Voltron of melody.
This is supposed to be a Facebook meme, but Mark Z can bite me.
I'll steal a phrase from Gawker and call this Best Song Ever Of Today:
Nobody beats the Gershwins, nobody beats Ella. Together they are an unstoppable Voltron of melody.
This is supposed to be a Facebook meme, but Mark Z can bite me.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Fuss Deficit
So between Devra babysitting last night and Fuss sleeping in shockingly late this morning (until eight AM) I'm left without a funny/heartwarming/satirical/inspirational anecdote to share.
I read him some books before bed, then skipped out to hook up the replacement Roku box before passing out. I spent my bonus morning making coffee neatly and efficiently minus Fuss' traditional contributions, likewise with the toast, then settling in at the computer for a few minutes of blissfully uninterrupted browsing.
Eventually he came thumping down the hall, bursting into the living room cheeks flushed and hair tousled.
He was (predictably) upset that I'd made coffee without him and I had to stage a reenactment, perfect in every detail save the alchemy of boiling water. After breakfast (a few bites of toast, a dab of cottage cheese, an apple he abandoned after peeling off the 'organic produce' sticker all by himself) he sat on my lap on the couch, narrating an episode of Wonder Pets.
Then it was time to send him charging down the hall to wake up mama and for me to go to work.
I read him some books before bed, then skipped out to hook up the replacement Roku box before passing out. I spent my bonus morning making coffee neatly and efficiently minus Fuss' traditional contributions, likewise with the toast, then settling in at the computer for a few minutes of blissfully uninterrupted browsing.
Eventually he came thumping down the hall, bursting into the living room cheeks flushed and hair tousled.
He was (predictably) upset that I'd made coffee without him and I had to stage a reenactment, perfect in every detail save the alchemy of boiling water. After breakfast (a few bites of toast, a dab of cottage cheese, an apple he abandoned after peeling off the 'organic produce' sticker all by himself) he sat on my lap on the couch, narrating an episode of Wonder Pets.
Then it was time to send him charging down the hall to wake up mama and for me to go to work.
true customer tales: Boo Boo Edition
guy: Uh hey, did Brian come in here?
me: If he did he didn't check in with me.
guy: His name's Brian? He's in a wheelchair?
me: Haven't seen a wheelchair, haven't seen a Brian, sorry.
guy, staring at me: That's funny, he said he was coming here.
me: Well if he did I haven't seen him.
guy, agitated: He said he was going to Boo Boo Records!
me: This isn't Boo Boo Records, maybe that's your problem- they're one door down.
guy: oh.
me: If he did he didn't check in with me.
guy: His name's Brian? He's in a wheelchair?
me: Haven't seen a wheelchair, haven't seen a Brian, sorry.
guy, staring at me: That's funny, he said he was coming here.
me: Well if he did I haven't seen him.
guy, agitated: He said he was going to Boo Boo Records!
me: This isn't Boo Boo Records, maybe that's your problem- they're one door down.
guy: oh.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Restaurant Review: Wild Donkey Cafe
Thanks to Devra taking the Fuss reigns for the evening we were able to toddle over to the Wild Donkey Cafe after work, a new Mexican/Greek place a few doors down from Big Sky in the old TA's spot.
Before they opened I was inordinately excited by the prospect, caught up imagining what cryptic shape a hybrid Mexican/Greek cuisine would present the adventurous diner. I was mildly disappointed to hear the two would be cohabiting on the same menu sans crossbreeding in a sort of Two's Company arrangement. Even so, the Greek component was something new in town so I put it on my list.
The physical transformation of the space is pleasantly astonishing.
TA's was one of the grimiest, most wretched eating establishments on the Central Coast, an ongoing health code violation in want of a timely inspection. In contrast, the Donkeys visage is warm, appealing and open. Sandblasted brick walls, exposed beam ceiling, an attractive buffed concrete floor bisected with planks of pale wood. The whole front of the place is wood and glass French doors, waiting for more clement weather to throw open inviting arms to passers by. Four stars for presentation.
We ordered Greek, moussaka for the Wife and a Gyro with their Peasant Potatoes for yours truly with a side of flatbread for the table. Both were delicious, fresh and appealing. The bread was nicely seasoned and grilled and did yeoman work helping us stem the tide of moussaka. My gyro was a delight, and the yogurt sauce was perfectly seasoned. I'm generally skeptical of anything featuring dill, but here it was a fine accent without overpowering all other elements.
The potatoes were well seasoned and flavorful, although somewhat inconsistent in their crust- one was flat out burnt, while several others were a bit pale. The looked a bit like I'd made them myself, which is a problem when you're serving them to paying customers.
They've overreached a bit on seating- they don't have a lot of square footage to work with and have about three too many tables deployed. Navigating the floor is a challenge, even when it's only half full. They also need some sort of host station by the door to make a transition- coming in off the street you're basically walking into the back of a dining room, and a server has to navigate from the bar across the cluttered dining room to seat you.
The service was friendly and willing if a bit inexperienced- our ten dollars in change came back as two fives, which would have knocked a buck off her tip if we hadn't had some loose bills.
All in all a fine meal, I say check it out if you're in the mood for Greek.
Before they opened I was inordinately excited by the prospect, caught up imagining what cryptic shape a hybrid Mexican/Greek cuisine would present the adventurous diner. I was mildly disappointed to hear the two would be cohabiting on the same menu sans crossbreeding in a sort of Two's Company arrangement. Even so, the Greek component was something new in town so I put it on my list.
The physical transformation of the space is pleasantly astonishing.
TA's was one of the grimiest, most wretched eating establishments on the Central Coast, an ongoing health code violation in want of a timely inspection. In contrast, the Donkeys visage is warm, appealing and open. Sandblasted brick walls, exposed beam ceiling, an attractive buffed concrete floor bisected with planks of pale wood. The whole front of the place is wood and glass French doors, waiting for more clement weather to throw open inviting arms to passers by. Four stars for presentation.
We ordered Greek, moussaka for the Wife and a Gyro with their Peasant Potatoes for yours truly with a side of flatbread for the table. Both were delicious, fresh and appealing. The bread was nicely seasoned and grilled and did yeoman work helping us stem the tide of moussaka. My gyro was a delight, and the yogurt sauce was perfectly seasoned. I'm generally skeptical of anything featuring dill, but here it was a fine accent without overpowering all other elements.
The potatoes were well seasoned and flavorful, although somewhat inconsistent in their crust- one was flat out burnt, while several others were a bit pale. The looked a bit like I'd made them myself, which is a problem when you're serving them to paying customers.
They've overreached a bit on seating- they don't have a lot of square footage to work with and have about three too many tables deployed. Navigating the floor is a challenge, even when it's only half full. They also need some sort of host station by the door to make a transition- coming in off the street you're basically walking into the back of a dining room, and a server has to navigate from the bar across the cluttered dining room to seat you.
The service was friendly and willing if a bit inexperienced- our ten dollars in change came back as two fives, which would have knocked a buck off her tip if we hadn't had some loose bills.
All in all a fine meal, I say check it out if you're in the mood for Greek.
Does playing gimp guarantee you an Oscar?
I missed the show this year, but I hear Colin Firth won for playing a guy with a speech impediment. Which got me thinking about the conventional wisdom that Oscar loves gimps. It scans as true, conjuring an Edward Hopper mashup of Rain Man & Forrest Gump hanging at the diner, but I've never paid it much attention.
UNTIL NOW.
Let's run it back to the 80's, roughly charting the era of corporate dominance in Hollywood.
And stick to Best Actor winners, since I'm lazy.
I'll just list the gimps to save screen acreage:
80's
Henry Fonda, old guy with Parkinsons.
Dustin Hoffman, the archetypal Rain Main.
Daniel Day Lewis, guy with cerebral palsy.
90's
Al Pacino, blind scenery-chewing guy.
Tom Hanks, guy with AIDS.
Tom Hanks, the archetypal Forrest Gump. Didn't realize those were back to back- yikes!
Geoffrey Rush, mentally ill pianist.
00's
Jamie Foxx, blind pianist
(and my God, what did Russell Crow get an Oscar for in Gladiator, looking stoic and manly?)
10's
Colin Firth, stuttering king
The Roaring 90's seem to have embarrassed Academy voters into self restraint, but King George has the 10's off to a blistering start.
We'll find out if Colin is a harbinger or an outlier of the new decade soon enough.
UNTIL NOW.
Let's run it back to the 80's, roughly charting the era of corporate dominance in Hollywood.
And stick to Best Actor winners, since I'm lazy.
I'll just list the gimps to save screen acreage:
80's
Henry Fonda, old guy with Parkinsons.
Dustin Hoffman, the archetypal Rain Main.
Daniel Day Lewis, guy with cerebral palsy.
90's
Al Pacino, blind scenery-chewing guy.
Tom Hanks, guy with AIDS.
Tom Hanks, the archetypal Forrest Gump. Didn't realize those were back to back- yikes!
Geoffrey Rush, mentally ill pianist.
00's
Jamie Foxx, blind pianist
(and my God, what did Russell Crow get an Oscar for in Gladiator, looking stoic and manly?)
10's
Colin Firth, stuttering king
The Roaring 90's seem to have embarrassed Academy voters into self restraint, but King George has the 10's off to a blistering start.
We'll find out if Colin is a harbinger or an outlier of the new decade soon enough.
true customer tales
So, as I'm handing a phonebook to the mumbling ex-con below, another specimen presented himself at the counter. A balding stork-ish fellow carrying two boxes that have clearly been regurgitated back through the postal system.
And this whole time the ex con has been hunched over the open phone book muttering emphatically but inaudibly.
If I don't update tomorrow, someone call the cops...
Hey, I've got a story for you! My attorney went to jail in Colorado, he's JEWISH, and he asked me to get him some books on it so he could talk to the other inmates, you know? So I bought these books here the other day, not from you, but another guy, and I sent them to the prison. But they said nobody can send them books except Amazon.com, nobody else, I guess they have problems with people cutting out the pages and sticking things in there or something! So they sent them back, and I'm wondering if I can get a credit for them or something?I dug through the boxes and only about half the books actually came from the store. I filled out a credit slip and handed it to him.
Hey, do you have any Anne Rice books? I'm reading JODI PICOULT and I can't stop reading! I can't stop! But do you have any Anne Rice books?
And this whole time the ex con has been hunched over the open phone book muttering emphatically but inaudibly.
If I don't update tomorrow, someone call the cops...
True Customer Tales
A sketchy pale dude with an ex-con vibe sidles up to the counter and starts a mumbling, almost uninteligible auctioneer's monologue, impervious to my attempts to interject replies.
It went something like this.
"Sure." I replied, excited to finally get a word in.
It went something like this.
Ummmmm do you have street maps I need a street map it's okay I got one in the car I told that bitch to shut up I didn't like her drinking in my car no it's okay man that didn't really happen it's just a story but I'm a misogynist anway I guess I should just find a service station.Long pause.
hey have you got a phone book i could look at.
"Sure." I replied, excited to finally get a word in.
Fuss takes Charge
So last night I'm in the living room trying to read and Fuss gets antsy and wants me to do something. His desires are often couched in mystery- he likes to see how far he can get with nothing but a sly look and endless repetition. "Dada? Dada? Dada?" and "Mama? Mama? Mama?" are his favorites.
He stood in the hallway, sort of leaning toward the bedroom and doing his chant until I had to acknowledge him.
"What! What do you want?"
"Dada...come-a the bedroom?" Big smile.
"For what?"
"Bed?"
"What about the bed?"
"Make-a the bed?"
The light bulb over my head flickers on.
"Oh.....you want to make a pile?"
"MAKE-A THE PILE!" he shouted, and tore off down the hall.
So that's what we did.
He stood in the hallway, sort of leaning toward the bedroom and doing his chant until I had to acknowledge him.
"What! What do you want?"
"Dada...come-a the bedroom?" Big smile.
"For what?"
"Bed?"
"What about the bed?"
"Make-a the bed?"
The light bulb over my head flickers on.
"Oh.....you want to make a pile?"
"MAKE-A THE PILE!" he shouted, and tore off down the hall.
So that's what we did.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Keywords of the Week
closeout bale diapers warehouse direct
and
diane arbus mexican
Thank you, Internet!
and
diane arbus mexican
Thank you, Internet!
Tattoo of the Week
Dude buying a stack of manga with foot-long Final Fantasy logo on his forearm.
That's totally going to get him laid in the rest home.
That's totally going to get him laid in the rest home.
Questionable
I know it didn't snow yesterday like they all said and it's not technically freezing or anything, but I feel like having a word with the parents of the two kids who're shivering like Chihuahuas by the new arrivals table in their matching Justin Bieber tee shirts, satin shorts and BeDazzled flip-flops.
Make A Pile
We changed the bedding last night, which seems to be a new ritual. I mentioned it to Fuss while he was watching a show and he lept up and raced to the bedroom. By the time I caught up he was pitching things onto the floor, chanting "Make a Pile!" after every throw.
Having heaved every blanket and pillow overboard, he launched himself onto the mound, rolling around laughing. The sparks of delight that shower off his contact with the world often threaten to catch my hair on fire.
He lay on the mound guiding his purple car around the tangled silk borders of his many blankies for several minutes while I sat on the bed forgetting about pulling on the fitted sheet while he was distracted.
"They're driving home, dada," he said, finally.
Having heaved every blanket and pillow overboard, he launched himself onto the mound, rolling around laughing. The sparks of delight that shower off his contact with the world often threaten to catch my hair on fire.
He lay on the mound guiding his purple car around the tangled silk borders of his many blankies for several minutes while I sat on the bed forgetting about pulling on the fitted sheet while he was distracted.
"They're driving home, dada," he said, finally.
links n stuff
An interview with Alex Cox, 80's cult director, on the realities of modern filmmaking.
The 50 Greatest Opening Title Sequences of All Time, according to IFC.
Interesting list, it's less prone to the Everything Released in the Last 10 Years Is Better Than Anything Else In History syndrome that seems to infect these kinds of things. Plus it got #1 right.
I have no dog in the Oscar fight this year but these guys have links to PDFs of some nominated screenplays, which is cool.
Nerdvana! A substantial interview with Gerhard, the cat who did all the backgrounds for Cerebus. The parts before Dave Sim wigged out and let his soapboxing take over the story are some of the best comics ever.
And a fab tribute to Stanley Kubrick
The 50 Greatest Opening Title Sequences of All Time, according to IFC.
Interesting list, it's less prone to the Everything Released in the Last 10 Years Is Better Than Anything Else In History syndrome that seems to infect these kinds of things. Plus it got #1 right.
I have no dog in the Oscar fight this year but these guys have links to PDFs of some nominated screenplays, which is cool.
Nerdvana! A substantial interview with Gerhard, the cat who did all the backgrounds for Cerebus. The parts before Dave Sim wigged out and let his soapboxing take over the story are some of the best comics ever.
And a fab tribute to Stanley Kubrick
Saturday, February 26, 2011
ebook news
library loan caps on ebooks.
As ereaders and tablets proliferate, publishers will be confronting some of the same challenges the music industry faced following the explosion of mp3 filesharing.
It ain't gonna be pretty.
/edit
specifically, limiting legitimate access will increase use of other markets.
I'm reminded of JK Rowlings refusal to issue one of the Potters in digital form. Some fan community marshaled their resources, OCR'ed the entire book and had it online the day it was released.
As ereaders and tablets proliferate, publishers will be confronting some of the same challenges the music industry faced following the explosion of mp3 filesharing.
It ain't gonna be pretty.
/edit
specifically, limiting legitimate access will increase use of other markets.
I'm reminded of JK Rowlings refusal to issue one of the Potters in digital form. Some fan community marshaled their resources, OCR'ed the entire book and had it online the day it was released.
Oh, Catholicism
Pope Ratzi wants to protect women from abortion.
Maybe first he should work on protecting little kids and nuns from criminal priests and the church hierarchy that enables and runs cover for them?
Or is that just crazy talk.
/edit
fixed wrong link
Maybe first he should work on protecting little kids and nuns from criminal priests and the church hierarchy that enables and runs cover for them?
Or is that just crazy talk.
/edit
fixed wrong link
Accidents
While engaging in our coffee rituals yesterday there was a mishap.
I had my back turned and missed it, but the end credits rolled over Fuss staring up at me in trepidation from the center of a spreading mandala of coffee beans.
There are innumerable small moments like this in parenting, surprises that trigger instinctive responses.
I'm happy to report that a decade of therapy and several years of traversing the ever-evolving Fussoverse resulted in a totally satisfying reaction to this particular ambuscade.
"Oh, did you have an accident? That's okay, lets clean it up."
"Is okay, dada, we clean it up!"
We sat on the floor together picking up beans for a while, then retrieved his Little Broom from the pantry so he could sweep the rest into the dustpan.
Plenty of things with kids can go a lot of different ways. I like to think if enough little ones go in a good direction they gather up and accumulate momentum, hopefully enough to carry everyone over the inevitable ruts and boulders down the road.
I had my back turned and missed it, but the end credits rolled over Fuss staring up at me in trepidation from the center of a spreading mandala of coffee beans.
There are innumerable small moments like this in parenting, surprises that trigger instinctive responses.
I'm happy to report that a decade of therapy and several years of traversing the ever-evolving Fussoverse resulted in a totally satisfying reaction to this particular ambuscade.
"Oh, did you have an accident? That's okay, lets clean it up."
"Is okay, dada, we clean it up!"
We sat on the floor together picking up beans for a while, then retrieved his Little Broom from the pantry so he could sweep the rest into the dustpan.
Plenty of things with kids can go a lot of different ways. I like to think if enough little ones go in a good direction they gather up and accumulate momentum, hopefully enough to carry everyone over the inevitable ruts and boulders down the road.
discontents of the modern age
tracking numbers.
I get the utility, but it's aggravating knowing the replacement Roku box is in Oakland as I type this but won't get here until next week.
I feel it's subtly mocking me.
On the plus side, this morning I picked up a copy of ATTACK! at the library sale to help fill the Roku content gap.
For me, the great discontent of the Roku outage has been telling Fuss he can't watch this or that episode of different shows.
Dada, watch Ghostie Talking Hamster? (the Wonder Pets Halloween special)
Dada, watch Robot Spaceship? (Futurama)
He has a whole parallel language devoted to this kind of thing.
For her part, the Wife has been driven half mad by the enforced separation from Dog.
Cold turkey ain't no joke, people.
I get the utility, but it's aggravating knowing the replacement Roku box is in Oakland as I type this but won't get here until next week.
I feel it's subtly mocking me.
On the plus side, this morning I picked up a copy of ATTACK! at the library sale to help fill the Roku content gap.
For me, the great discontent of the Roku outage has been telling Fuss he can't watch this or that episode of different shows.
Dada, watch Ghostie Talking Hamster? (the Wonder Pets Halloween special)
Dada, watch Robot Spaceship? (Futurama)
He has a whole parallel language devoted to this kind of thing.
For her part, the Wife has been driven half mad by the enforced separation from Dog.
Cold turkey ain't no joke, people.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Then you'll be with Totoro, Totoro...
Fuss has been obsessed with Totoro this week, an interest I support. The better examples of anime are, to cop a Shakespeare quote that came my way via Laurie Anderson, "rich and strange".
The high point, for some reason, is the closing credits, featuring a tune using what seem to be clumsy near-literal translations of the original Japanese lyrics (suddenly a furry wet giant is by your side! is one notable line)*. He leaps to his feet and dances around like a dervish while we clap and chant along.
Tonight he got into a spinning mode, where he'd spin and spin until he fell over, then get up and repeat the process. Near the end he was whirling around, and every time he caught a glimpse of me he'd say HI, DADA!
It went something like
spin
HI DADA!
spin
HI DADA!
spin
HI DADA!
And as is his wont he threw a kicker in at the end, right before he lost his equilibrium and wiped out for the final time:
spin
HOW YOU DOING, DADA!
*crash*
*I've got the old pre-Disney edition, I'm sure they 'improved' it for the big double disc re-release.
The high point, for some reason, is the closing credits, featuring a tune using what seem to be clumsy near-literal translations of the original Japanese lyrics (suddenly a furry wet giant is by your side! is one notable line)*. He leaps to his feet and dances around like a dervish while we clap and chant along.
Tonight he got into a spinning mode, where he'd spin and spin until he fell over, then get up and repeat the process. Near the end he was whirling around, and every time he caught a glimpse of me he'd say HI, DADA!
It went something like
spin
HI DADA!
spin
HI DADA!
spin
HI DADA!
And as is his wont he threw a kicker in at the end, right before he lost his equilibrium and wiped out for the final time:
spin
HOW YOU DOING, DADA!
*crash*
*I've got the old pre-Disney edition, I'm sure they 'improved' it for the big double disc re-release.
Update for the sake of Updating
or, Keeping Up the Momentum.
Yesterday we watched a white egret eat fish in the sun dappled shallows of Sweet Springs (which, when I was a kid, was known as 'Dead Man's Swamp'...that's gentrification for you). Rarely have I so regretted the lack of a camera. Although the hazy perception of memory may serve the subject better than a grainy cell phone snapshot.
There's a longer update to be gleaned from that outing, but I'm not sure I'll be able to do it justice before the timer expires on little alarm in my head that inspires me to write about this stuff.
For breakfast I made pancakes and we topped them with crazy artisinal Vermont Maple Syrup courtesy of Bobo's xmas present, and Lingonberry jam with Swedish flags on the label courtesy of Meek's deranged wannabe sea captain grandpa. Fuss liked it well enough.
It's nicely stormy today, so we're off to the library as a family. Later we may go yarn shopping- the pile of blankets and socks surrounding the couch ain't gonna knight and/or crochet itself, ya know!
Tonight, leek, potato & garlic soup.
Yesterday we watched a white egret eat fish in the sun dappled shallows of Sweet Springs (which, when I was a kid, was known as 'Dead Man's Swamp'...that's gentrification for you). Rarely have I so regretted the lack of a camera. Although the hazy perception of memory may serve the subject better than a grainy cell phone snapshot.
There's a longer update to be gleaned from that outing, but I'm not sure I'll be able to do it justice before the timer expires on little alarm in my head that inspires me to write about this stuff.
For breakfast I made pancakes and we topped them with crazy artisinal Vermont Maple Syrup courtesy of Bobo's xmas present, and Lingonberry jam with Swedish flags on the label courtesy of Meek's deranged wannabe sea captain grandpa. Fuss liked it well enough.
It's nicely stormy today, so we're off to the library as a family. Later we may go yarn shopping- the pile of blankets and socks surrounding the couch ain't gonna knight and/or crochet itself, ya know!
Tonight, leek, potato & garlic soup.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
True Customer Tales
A little girl and her mom stroll in and start browsing the display rack.
mom, handing book to girl: oh this one looks interesting!
girl, leafing through: No mama, it's just words!
mom, handing book to girl: oh this one looks interesting!
girl, leafing through: No mama, it's just words!
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Tonight's game
This evening's iteration of 'monsters in the dark' consisted of Fuss pointing his flashlight at the ceiling so we could take turns making "wormy fingers" by wriggling our digits in the light.
And the answering machine, which is usually 'red cyclops' becomes Monster Rabbit when the phone's in the cradle generating another red light.
Right now he's in his Buenie Cave with his flashlight while the Wife lays siege with his Mr. Foxie puppet.
And the answering machine, which is usually 'red cyclops' becomes Monster Rabbit when the phone's in the cradle generating another red light.
Right now he's in his Buenie Cave with his flashlight while the Wife lays siege with his Mr. Foxie puppet.
As if on cue
This morning's coffee making adventure featured a few new wrinkles.
Fuss wanted to scoop the ground coffee into the filter and stir it, and then wanted to sit on the floor with the hopper and scoop that coffee after he played with the whole beans for a while.
"Dada, scoop the black coffee!" was how he phrased it.
This wasn't to his liking, as ground coffee is messier than whole.
"Dada, hands are all dirty!"
"Well, brush them off."
He rubbed them together for a while, then complained
"It's not working, dada, it's not working!"
I rode to the rescue with a dish towel.
Fuss wanted to scoop the ground coffee into the filter and stir it, and then wanted to sit on the floor with the hopper and scoop that coffee after he played with the whole beans for a while.
"Dada, scoop the black coffee!" was how he phrased it.
This wasn't to his liking, as ground coffee is messier than whole.
"Dada, hands are all dirty!"
"Well, brush them off."
He rubbed them together for a while, then complained
"It's not working, dada, it's not working!"
I rode to the rescue with a dish towel.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Play in the Dark
Fuss demands my presence in the bedroom to 'look at the dark' with his flashlight.
He's flashing it around showing me various things ("Look dada, Hat Monster! It's a pretty one!"), and eventually he alights on a mummy.
I don't see it, but he assures me it's there.
"Look dada, a MUMMY!"
"Where? Is it hiding?
"Dada, it's imagination!"
"OH, right!"
"Dada...mummy's ancient!"
?!?!?
Where the hell did that come from.
He's flashing it around showing me various things ("Look dada, Hat Monster! It's a pretty one!"), and eventually he alights on a mummy.
I don't see it, but he assures me it's there.
"Look dada, a MUMMY!"
"Where? Is it hiding?
"Dada, it's imagination!"
"OH, right!"
"Dada...mummy's ancient!"
?!?!?
Where the hell did that come from.
A Machine for Consuming Novelty
Thinking about my coffee post, it's a fair roadmap of Fuss' approach to most things.
Obsession, repetition, abandonment.
Wrangling a toddler is an endless quest for new stuff to do. Every repeated activity is one step closer to obsolescence, and you have to be constantly vigilant for the Next New Thing.
The fountains at the nursery are a prime example.
There was a time when we had to literally drive around it because if Fuss caught sight he'd start freaking out and demanding we go see "the wah-wah".
About the time he figured out how to pronounce 'fountain' he stopped being so desperately interested in them.
We still stop in every week or so, but it's more of a package deal, bundled up with a visit to the coffee shop for 'treats' and a swing by the Mexican Market to ogle the piñatas hanging from the ceiling, play with scoops in the bulk beans and dried corn and to visit the scarecrow by the cash wrap.
I have a much better grasp on the appeal of manufactured attractions like Legoland and Chuck E. Cheese now- baby birds in the nest have noting on children clamoring for fresh diversion.
Obsession, repetition, abandonment.
Wrangling a toddler is an endless quest for new stuff to do. Every repeated activity is one step closer to obsolescence, and you have to be constantly vigilant for the Next New Thing.
The fountains at the nursery are a prime example.
There was a time when we had to literally drive around it because if Fuss caught sight he'd start freaking out and demanding we go see "the wah-wah".
About the time he figured out how to pronounce 'fountain' he stopped being so desperately interested in them.
We still stop in every week or so, but it's more of a package deal, bundled up with a visit to the coffee shop for 'treats' and a swing by the Mexican Market to ogle the piñatas hanging from the ceiling, play with scoops in the bulk beans and dried corn and to visit the scarecrow by the cash wrap.
I have a much better grasp on the appeal of manufactured attractions like Legoland and Chuck E. Cheese now- baby birds in the nest have noting on children clamoring for fresh diversion.
assorted links n' stuff
most awesomest treehouse ever.
Amazon gets with the future, takes on Netflix Streaming.
Their selection isn't enough to make it worthwhile yet, but I'll keep an eye on it.
City of light, city of magic...
HA ha.
My favorite bit on the Wisconsin deal so far.
and some Nina Simone to cleanse the palate.
Amazon gets with the future, takes on Netflix Streaming.
Their selection isn't enough to make it worthwhile yet, but I'll keep an eye on it.
City of light, city of magic...
HA ha.
My favorite bit on the Wisconsin deal so far.
As long as the electorate is composed substantially of people who won't understand that the glowing stove is hot until they put their hand on it, we will continue to suffer Scott Walkers at unpleasantly regular intervals.It's funny because etc etc.
and some Nina Simone to cleanse the palate.
True Customer Tales
A genuinely baffling interaction.
Family of three at the counter with a couple of books. The discussion goes something like this.
gal, proferring Thai cookbook: How much is this?
me, noting big orange price sticker on front: $14.95.
gal, handing book to guy: Oh, oh, that's too much. I don't need that.
kid to gal: Which Simpsons book should I get?
gal: I...I...I don't like that style of humor, it's pointless to ask me. I can't say. Simpsons humor.
guy to kid: Did you want this book?
kid: no, I already read it. I have a copy.
guy: then why did you bring it up here?
kid, waving Simpsons book: I want this one.
guy: I'm not...I'm not just buying you some junk like that!
I figured they weren't going to buy anything and tuned out while they continued bickering. After a bit gal and kid wander out the door, and guy pushes all three contended books across the counter at me.
"I'll take these."
It is a mark of my retail professionalism that I didn't exclaim "Uh...WHAAAAAAAAAAAA?" while doing a slack-jawed double take.
Family of three at the counter with a couple of books. The discussion goes something like this.
gal, proferring Thai cookbook: How much is this?
me, noting big orange price sticker on front: $14.95.
gal, handing book to guy: Oh, oh, that's too much. I don't need that.
kid to gal: Which Simpsons book should I get?
gal: I...I...I don't like that style of humor, it's pointless to ask me. I can't say. Simpsons humor.
guy to kid: Did you want this book?
kid: no, I already read it. I have a copy.
guy: then why did you bring it up here?
kid, waving Simpsons book: I want this one.
guy: I'm not...I'm not just buying you some junk like that!
I figured they weren't going to buy anything and tuned out while they continued bickering. After a bit gal and kid wander out the door, and guy pushes all three contended books across the counter at me.
"I'll take these."
It is a mark of my retail professionalism that I didn't exclaim "Uh...WHAAAAAAAAAAAA?" while doing a slack-jawed double take.
The Evolution of Caffine
Fuss has always liked the morning ritual of coffee making.
When he was tiny I had to hold him so he could watch the process of scooping the beans into the grinder and turning them into dust. At some point (my grasp on the timeline of his 5-6am Wakeup Era is understandably tenuous) he started wanting to push the button. He'd push it a few times, then settle into the crook of my arm while I finished the job.
Before long he was able to reach the counter with the help of a grubby white collapsible plastic stepstool mom stored under the sink. I had visions of a cool handmade wooden number like the one his cousin Fiend used around the same time, with her name carved into the top and painted bright hues. But Fuss adopted the homely plastic one, which he affectionately refers to as "my Little Stool!" and happily totes around the house for any activity requiring a little height.
With the help of his Little Stool he'd grind and grind and grind until he got tired of it, usually about halfway through. I'd take over and he'd watch on his tiptoes, gripping the edge of the counter with his pudgy mitts.
This status quo held until fairly recently, when he began taking an interest in the transfer of coffee beans from ceramic storage cannister to the hopper of the coffee grinder. Initially he'd just swirl the metal scoop around in the beans a few times, then settle back and let me carry on as before, but inevitably he started demanding to effect the transfer himself.
The process was not without hiccups (if I'm ever truly desperate for coffee I can scare up a quick 1/4lb by pulling out the stove and filling a dustpan), but as with everything else he eventually mastered it.
Now we're at the next phase, where scooping coffee into the grinder is mere prelude to the glorious opera of sitting on the kitchen floor with the scoop and the coffee beans, stirring and sifting them while periodically shouting "STOP, TOO LOUD! TOO LOUD!" at dada while he tries to complete the morning grind.
I pretend I don't hear him, then we laugh about it.
When he was tiny I had to hold him so he could watch the process of scooping the beans into the grinder and turning them into dust. At some point (my grasp on the timeline of his 5-6am Wakeup Era is understandably tenuous) he started wanting to push the button. He'd push it a few times, then settle into the crook of my arm while I finished the job.
Before long he was able to reach the counter with the help of a grubby white collapsible plastic stepstool mom stored under the sink. I had visions of a cool handmade wooden number like the one his cousin Fiend used around the same time, with her name carved into the top and painted bright hues. But Fuss adopted the homely plastic one, which he affectionately refers to as "my Little Stool!" and happily totes around the house for any activity requiring a little height.
With the help of his Little Stool he'd grind and grind and grind until he got tired of it, usually about halfway through. I'd take over and he'd watch on his tiptoes, gripping the edge of the counter with his pudgy mitts.
This status quo held until fairly recently, when he began taking an interest in the transfer of coffee beans from ceramic storage cannister to the hopper of the coffee grinder. Initially he'd just swirl the metal scoop around in the beans a few times, then settle back and let me carry on as before, but inevitably he started demanding to effect the transfer himself.
The process was not without hiccups (if I'm ever truly desperate for coffee I can scare up a quick 1/4lb by pulling out the stove and filling a dustpan), but as with everything else he eventually mastered it.
Now we're at the next phase, where scooping coffee into the grinder is mere prelude to the glorious opera of sitting on the kitchen floor with the scoop and the coffee beans, stirring and sifting them while periodically shouting "STOP, TOO LOUD! TOO LOUD!" at dada while he tries to complete the morning grind.
I pretend I don't hear him, then we laugh about it.
Monday, February 21, 2011
this week's best keyword refferals
Wendy O Williams Tits
and
Electric Tape Nipple Covers
Oh, the raunchy past of this now family oriented blog!
and
Electric Tape Nipple Covers
Oh, the raunchy past of this now family oriented blog!
Monster Game III: The Reckoning
Another variation on the basic concept; turn off the lights, get in the bed, spot the monsters...only this time with a flashlight.
I should put Fuss to work as a script doctor for Hollywood sequels.
So we're sitting there and he's sweeping his flashlight beam around the room, Monsterfying this and that. I'll omit my appropriately terrified responses- you should have the idea by now.
"Dresser monster! Wardrobe monster! Lamp monster! Pants monster!"
A pause on the trash can next to the changing table.
"Ooooh...that monster's full of DIAPIES!"
He continues, tracking onto the endtable full of books.
"Hey, a Harry the Dirty Dog monster!"
And we crack up.
I should put Fuss to work as a script doctor for Hollywood sequels.
So we're sitting there and he's sweeping his flashlight beam around the room, Monsterfying this and that. I'll omit my appropriately terrified responses- you should have the idea by now.
"Dresser monster! Wardrobe monster! Lamp monster! Pants monster!"
A pause on the trash can next to the changing table.
"Ooooh...that monster's full of DIAPIES!"
He continues, tracking onto the endtable full of books.
"Hey, a Harry the Dirty Dog monster!"
And we crack up.
Sounding Reveille
So this morning we're stealing a few minutes of lounging in bed while Fuss cavorts about in his clean new diaper, chirping and chattering to himself. He wanders off into the living room then announces his return thusly:
"GUYS, WAKE UP! I GOT MY DRAGON BOOTS ON!"
And indeed, there he was standing proud in his diaper and dragon rain boots.
"GUYS, WAKE UP! I GOT MY DRAGON BOOTS ON!"
And indeed, there he was standing proud in his diaper and dragon rain boots.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Restaurant review: Luna Red
Thanks to the heroic Auntie Burl and the adorable Cousin Fiend taking Fuss off our hands we were able to have a grownup dinner out the other night.
We opted for Luna Red- the notion of 'global tapas' was appealing, and also Malik told me to check it out a while back.
It's in the dead zone next to the Fremont Theater, where businesses go to die. Maybe the demise of the Coffee Merchant all those years ago haunts to to this day because nothing ever survives there.
Vestiges of the last contender, Chow, remain in the form of some chairs and a bit of decor, but the vibe is completely different- dark and cozy rather than open and breezy. I dug the ambiance of Chow but their fiddly Asian fusion that sounded better than it tasted didn't inspire me. I love the ambiance of Luna, it captures some of the spirit of the kind of dark, smoky joints my grandad took me to when I was little. It's mostly extinct in the modern age of BRIGHT LIGHTS, LOUD SETTING determined to keep diners uncomfortable and turnover high. This was the opposite, which I deeply appreciate. But it's dark in a modern way, all paint and lighting- the furnishings were all fresh and contemporary without clashing with the mood, a neat trick.
Happily, the food measured up to the ambiance. We opted for the Wine Country Picnic sampler of cheese and salumi and it was spectacular, with several offerings from Baxblog favorite Cowgirl Creamery. The only gripe was not enough bread to slather the bounty of delights on. We bit on the wine special suggested by our personable server (he worked at Tsurugi a few years back so I figured we could trust him) and both glasses were excellent. We split a pair of tapas plates for our main course, the standout being the fingerling potatoes with sriracha dipping sauce- spectacular!
So, delightful food, superb ambiance, personable service. It's the sort of place that makes me want to earn more lucre so we can eat there whenever we like.
A clean sweep.
Here's hoping it survives the curse of its fated location long enough to host our next no expense spared celebration!
We opted for Luna Red- the notion of 'global tapas' was appealing, and also Malik told me to check it out a while back.
It's in the dead zone next to the Fremont Theater, where businesses go to die. Maybe the demise of the Coffee Merchant all those years ago haunts to to this day because nothing ever survives there.
Vestiges of the last contender, Chow, remain in the form of some chairs and a bit of decor, but the vibe is completely different- dark and cozy rather than open and breezy. I dug the ambiance of Chow but their fiddly Asian fusion that sounded better than it tasted didn't inspire me. I love the ambiance of Luna, it captures some of the spirit of the kind of dark, smoky joints my grandad took me to when I was little. It's mostly extinct in the modern age of BRIGHT LIGHTS, LOUD SETTING determined to keep diners uncomfortable and turnover high. This was the opposite, which I deeply appreciate. But it's dark in a modern way, all paint and lighting- the furnishings were all fresh and contemporary without clashing with the mood, a neat trick.
Happily, the food measured up to the ambiance. We opted for the Wine Country Picnic sampler of cheese and salumi and it was spectacular, with several offerings from Baxblog favorite Cowgirl Creamery. The only gripe was not enough bread to slather the bounty of delights on. We bit on the wine special suggested by our personable server (he worked at Tsurugi a few years back so I figured we could trust him) and both glasses were excellent. We split a pair of tapas plates for our main course, the standout being the fingerling potatoes with sriracha dipping sauce- spectacular!
So, delightful food, superb ambiance, personable service. It's the sort of place that makes me want to earn more lucre so we can eat there whenever we like.
A clean sweep.
Here's hoping it survives the curse of its fated location long enough to host our next no expense spared celebration!
some links and stuff
One for Sally:
A David Foster Wallace documentary.
One for me:
I can't believe I've never heard of this one, a Les Blank short on Lightnin' Hopkins. Les was the cat behind Burden of Dreams, one of the great movie docs of all time.
Another note to self, Locus magazine's 'best of 2010' list. Back in the day I read so much SF/Fantasy that I could find the good stuff myself. Fuss doesn't leave enough time lying around to invest profligately in a maybe good, maybe not book, so I have to out-source.
This is the kind of stuff I'd usually post on Facebook, but I'm transitioning away from Zuckerberg's fiefdom back to the Google farm. They're both awful, but Google at least has the common goddamn courtesy to give you a reach-around.
A David Foster Wallace documentary.
One for me:
I can't believe I've never heard of this one, a Les Blank short on Lightnin' Hopkins. Les was the cat behind Burden of Dreams, one of the great movie docs of all time.
Another note to self, Locus magazine's 'best of 2010' list. Back in the day I read so much SF/Fantasy that I could find the good stuff myself. Fuss doesn't leave enough time lying around to invest profligately in a maybe good, maybe not book, so I have to out-source.
This is the kind of stuff I'd usually post on Facebook, but I'm transitioning away from Zuckerberg's fiefdom back to the Google farm. They're both awful, but Google at least has the common goddamn courtesy to give you a reach-around.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Fuss Stories
Just got back from the store and Fuss looked up at the fat white moon.
"Look Dada, the moon followed us home! It didn't like the store, it wanted to come home and see mama!"
In the kitchen putting stuff away he spotted one of his (many) flashlights on the counter and insisted on shining it in my face.
"No, dada- take-a off your glasses."
I did, then feigned blindness when he shone the light in my eyes.
"Hope it didn't scare you!" he said.
He repeated the procedure with the Wife, then me again, then the wife, then loosed this couplet.
"Hope I didn't scare you mama! Hope I didn't scare you...little mama! Hope I didn't scare you...big dada!"
Pause.
"Hope I didn't scare you guys!"
And cracked us up.
"Look Dada, the moon followed us home! It didn't like the store, it wanted to come home and see mama!"
In the kitchen putting stuff away he spotted one of his (many) flashlights on the counter and insisted on shining it in my face.
"No, dada- take-a off your glasses."
I did, then feigned blindness when he shone the light in my eyes.
"Hope it didn't scare you!" he said.
He repeated the procedure with the Wife, then me again, then the wife, then loosed this couplet.
"Hope I didn't scare you mama! Hope I didn't scare you...little mama! Hope I didn't scare you...big dada!"
Pause.
"Hope I didn't scare you guys!"
And cracked us up.
true customer tales
gal, idlly handing a paperback copy of HG Wells' War of the Worlds: Huh...why does this sound familiar?
guy: uh...they made a movie out of it. With, like, Tom Cruise?
gal: oh, that's probably it.
guy: the movie wasn't very good.
later, while checking out the gal asked me "do you have a section that's like, just the classics?"
guy: uh...they made a movie out of it. With, like, Tom Cruise?
gal: oh, that's probably it.
guy: the movie wasn't very good.
later, while checking out the gal asked me "do you have a section that's like, just the classics?"
Priorities
Just remembered this one. It seems like it happened a long time ago, so it was probably last week.
We're having books before bed. The details are hazy, but there was a character handing something out, I think ice cream. We started asking Fuss who got ice cream , The Wife and I alternating questions, and it went something like this. The further down the line we got, the more extravagantly emphatic Fuss' delivery became, gesticulating wildly and throwing blankets around, until the penultimate question.
does Dada get ice cream?
NO! Dada doesn't get ice cream!
does Mama get ice cream?
NO! Mama doesn't get ice cream!
does Devra get ice cream?
NO! Devra doesn't get ice cream!
what about Meek, does Meek get ice cream?
NO! Meek doesn't get the ice cream!
does Auntie Burl get ice cream?
NO! Auntie Burl doesn't get ice cream!!
does Uncle Timmy get ice cream?
NO! No ice cream for Uncle Timmy!!!
Does Daphne get ice cream?
Silence, then in a small voice
Yes....Daphne gets a ice cream.
Followed by a nod of the head.
We're having books before bed. The details are hazy, but there was a character handing something out, I think ice cream. We started asking Fuss who got ice cream , The Wife and I alternating questions, and it went something like this. The further down the line we got, the more extravagantly emphatic Fuss' delivery became, gesticulating wildly and throwing blankets around, until the penultimate question.
does Dada get ice cream?
NO! Dada doesn't get ice cream!
does Mama get ice cream?
NO! Mama doesn't get ice cream!
does Devra get ice cream?
NO! Devra doesn't get ice cream!
what about Meek, does Meek get ice cream?
NO! Meek doesn't get the ice cream!
does Auntie Burl get ice cream?
NO! Auntie Burl doesn't get ice cream!!
does Uncle Timmy get ice cream?
NO! No ice cream for Uncle Timmy!!!
Does Daphne get ice cream?
Silence, then in a small voice
Yes....Daphne gets a ice cream.
Followed by a nod of the head.
true customer tales
young guy wandering around aimlessly, to his ladyfriend:
I'm lost in the labyrinth of knowledge!
careful
Fuss was 'washing the dishes' this morning while I made breakfast.
Playing with the measuring spoons he was sending jets of water around the sink.
"Careful, keep the water in the sink please" I said.
"I don't like careful!" he replied.
Playing with the measuring spoons he was sending jets of water around the sink.
"Careful, keep the water in the sink please" I said.
"I don't like careful!" he replied.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Rain Song
The Fuss, being particularly susceptible to cabin fever, requires outings rain or shine. While he doesn't seem to particularly mind the transformation into mini-Godzilla, and positively basks in the trail of destruction that follows, maintenance of the standing army needed to defend civilization from the onslaught falls to the adults. So I do what I can to subvert the process.
He likes to 'drive the car' before we go anywhere- when scheduling allows I indulge him. Loading up is much more pleasant when he climbs into his chair and helps me work the belts than when I have to pin him down like a four-limbed Anaconda. He plays with dials, fiddles with vents and usually messes around with the sun/moon roof, which was waylaid by the rain.
I did roll back the lining so he could see the rain hitting the glass. He watched mesmerized for several minutes, then said
"Dada, the water looks like pointy fishies coming down off the house."
Satisfied, he climbed into his seat and by the time I'd gone around the outside to help him had buckled the chest strap by himself for the first time.
We did an abbreviated version of our usual Costco run. He usually demand a full sweep of the shopping center- Costco hot dog, a swing through the pet superstore to see the fishies, birdies, kitties, doggies and assorted rodents, a trip to the fountain with the lion heads and lastly a quick dip into Old Navy to visit the dog mannequin.
Today he seemed mildly chastened by the weather and was satisfied with making the animal rounds then bee-lining it for the hot dog.
On the way home I mixed it up and took Turri Road because it was raining and picturesque.
Fuss noted "Oh, this is a strange road. I like it!"
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Game Time
Playing a game with Fuss where we pile blocks into his little wooden delivery truck and then dump them out. It's got variously shaped holes in the roof, so after a while I drop a block through the square shaped one. Fuss grabs a block and tries to stuff it through the crescent shape.
"It's not working, the moon."
"Nope...how about the square? Do you think it'd go through the square?"
He fixed me with a distainful eye.
"Of course it works! It's only a toy!"
"It's not working, the moon."
"Nope...how about the square? Do you think it'd go through the square?"
He fixed me with a distainful eye.
"Of course it works! It's only a toy!"
Migrations
Over time, all of the ceramic mugs in the house end up in our cabinets and all of the wine glasses end up downstairs in Meek's kitchen.
This seems fraught with significance.
Fuss is still under the weather and my morning was spent talking him down from the ledge of hysterics while making breakfast and then trying to get him to eat something, because part of the reason he was freaking out was that he hadn't eaten, but he was freaking out to hard to eat, but he was freaking out because he hadn't eaten. Many things about childrearing call to mind the Möbius strip.
I eventually got him calmed down enough to sit on my lap while I hand-fed him toast and eggs.
Then he demanded Simpsons Halloween. I might just pick up that compilation so I don't have to keep digging through the season box sets...
This seems fraught with significance.
Fuss is still under the weather and my morning was spent talking him down from the ledge of hysterics while making breakfast and then trying to get him to eat something, because part of the reason he was freaking out was that he hadn't eaten, but he was freaking out to hard to eat, but he was freaking out because he hadn't eaten. Many things about childrearing call to mind the Möbius strip.
I eventually got him calmed down enough to sit on my lap while I hand-fed him toast and eggs.
Then he demanded Simpsons Halloween. I might just pick up that compilation so I don't have to keep digging through the season box sets...
Retro video: Leave Them All Behind
In honor of the 20th anniversary deluxe re-release of Ride's finest album, here are a couple of versions of their greatest tune- which isn't on Nowhere, but whatever.
I used to do this thing where a few times a year I'd put on my headphones late at night and crank the shit out of a small, exactingly select rotation of tunes- this was one of them. I hardly ever get the urge now- therapy must have untangled whatever psychic knot it hailed from. But it's still an epic tune and one of the crown jewels of Shoegaze, which, if pressed while thrashing in an opium induced fever dream, I'd admit was the music of my soul.
Here's a live version. I've got some issues with the mix, but all is redeemed by the apocalyptic squall of the grand finale.
Here's the album version, although you should do yourself a favor and just pick up a copy for maximum impact (and Devra, don't even bother listening to this through your crappy laptop speakers, I'll play it for you sometime):
and here's the official video, which I'd never actually seen before running across it on Youtube. I kinda like the harsh, flat mix, the lame fade-out right when things go bugfuck...not so much.
Shoegaze is my catnip because while I love chaos and distortion I'm bourgeois enough to need it attached to a familiar structure. The same reason my favorite David Lynch products are the ones that hang from a recognizable pop cultural framework- Twin Peaks & Blue Velvet. Shoegaze is noise you can dance to....perfect.
I used to do this thing where a few times a year I'd put on my headphones late at night and crank the shit out of a small, exactingly select rotation of tunes- this was one of them. I hardly ever get the urge now- therapy must have untangled whatever psychic knot it hailed from. But it's still an epic tune and one of the crown jewels of Shoegaze, which, if pressed while thrashing in an opium induced fever dream, I'd admit was the music of my soul.
Here's a live version. I've got some issues with the mix, but all is redeemed by the apocalyptic squall of the grand finale.
Here's the album version, although you should do yourself a favor and just pick up a copy for maximum impact (and Devra, don't even bother listening to this through your crappy laptop speakers, I'll play it for you sometime):
and here's the official video, which I'd never actually seen before running across it on Youtube. I kinda like the harsh, flat mix, the lame fade-out right when things go bugfuck...not so much.
Shoegaze is my catnip because while I love chaos and distortion I'm bourgeois enough to need it attached to a familiar structure. The same reason my favorite David Lynch products are the ones that hang from a recognizable pop cultural framework- Twin Peaks & Blue Velvet. Shoegaze is noise you can dance to....perfect.
Geek Test
Easy one: if this story makes you laugh, you're a geek.
So Meek is administering a questionnaire to the gals for some class she's taking.
The Colin Firth Pride & Prejudice is playing in the background and random discussions are breaking out between answers. I'm a little delirious because the Fuss didn't go to sleep until 11pm.
To sort of gross out Meek I say "Hey, guess what we did today? Me and Bobo and Devra and her boyfriend ran some dungeons in World of Warcraft!"
Mission accomplished! I get the sour face and a snide congratulation.
She returns to quizzing the wife.
"Have you ever witnessed an instance of gender role double standards?"
And I interject
"I witnessed one today in the Scarlet Monastery!"
Devra fell off the couch laughing while Meek and the Wife sat stony faced.
So Meek is administering a questionnaire to the gals for some class she's taking.
The Colin Firth Pride & Prejudice is playing in the background and random discussions are breaking out between answers. I'm a little delirious because the Fuss didn't go to sleep until 11pm.
To sort of gross out Meek I say "Hey, guess what we did today? Me and Bobo and Devra and her boyfriend ran some dungeons in World of Warcraft!"
Mission accomplished! I get the sour face and a snide congratulation.
She returns to quizzing the wife.
"Have you ever witnessed an instance of gender role double standards?"
And I interject
"I witnessed one today in the Scarlet Monastery!"
Devra fell off the couch laughing while Meek and the Wife sat stony faced.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
fuss speak
Headed to Morro Bay for an outing today, hit Coalesce and Sunshine Health Foods.
Approaching Coalesce, Fuss declared "Look Dada, the bookstore's OPEN! It's OPEN!"
After I headed for the upper classes park out across from Taco Temple.
Fuss caught the drift and we had this exchange.
"Dada, go to park?"
"Yeah, Fuss, we're going to the park."
"Oh that's nice! That's NICE!"
As we pulled into the lot he exclaimed
"Gonna be FUN dada! Gonna be fun!"
Prescient lad.
Approaching Coalesce, Fuss declared "Look Dada, the bookstore's OPEN! It's OPEN!"
After I headed for the upper classes park out across from Taco Temple.
Fuss caught the drift and we had this exchange.
"Dada, go to park?"
"Yeah, Fuss, we're going to the park."
"Oh that's nice! That's NICE!"
As we pulled into the lot he exclaimed
"Gonna be FUN dada! Gonna be fun!"
Prescient lad.
Things that make you go Hmmmmm
So this morning went smoother.
I was lulled awake by the dulcet tones of collapsing block towers crashing to the Masonite surface of the play table and the Fuss' new morning serenade, Dada, come play with me!
After a stint of railroad construction and tower building he helped me make coffee, we had breakfast and then he dropped this gem.
"Dada, watch a show? Watch Simpsons Halloween? With the vampire!"
Um, what exactly has been going on around here while I'm at work?
I was lulled awake by the dulcet tones of collapsing block towers crashing to the Masonite surface of the play table and the Fuss' new morning serenade, Dada, come play with me!
After a stint of railroad construction and tower building he helped me make coffee, we had breakfast and then he dropped this gem.
"Dada, watch a show? Watch Simpsons Halloween? With the vampire!"
Um, what exactly has been going on around here while I'm at work?
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
doing the good work
Got a hit from Manchester England the other day, a google search for "is geographic tongue dangerous". I'm not sure how my humble post clawed its way over all the genuine medical resources vying for my anonymous searcher's attentions, but happily they got a concrete, useful answer to their question.
ill and contrary
Being sick makes Fuss ornrier than usual- you may question the reality of this statement, dear reader, but it is tragically factual.
I'm sitting on the edge of the bed gathering the diffuse strands of consciousness when he toddles up cradling a bunch of bananas, dumping them unceremoniously in my lap with an expectant smile. So I peel the mostly likely looking and hand it to him. He toddles off happily.
Moments later he's back, mouth open and brow furrowed, displaying a mouthful of white paste and groaning
AAAAH AAAAH AAAAAH!
while waving the non-masticated segment of banana overhead.
"Well, spit it out!" I advise, holding out one open palm while rubbing my eyes with the other and poking around for my slippers. Not as helpful as I could be, but the first light of dawn rarely essays a flattering portrayal.
He stared at me and shook his head, mouth still open, now apparently in shock at my bizarre suggestion.
"If you don't like it throw it away," I advise.
"No, no!" he gurgles around the mouthful. "Dada, I'm HUNGRY!"
"Okay, we'll make something then, c'mon" I reply, seizing the unloved banana.
Wrong move!
He falls to the floor, caterwauling like a gut-shot boar and expelling the blob of masticated banana onto the carpet. I swiftly reverse course, proferring the banana. He howls, shoving it away.
"No, NO dada, too weird, it's too weird!"
"Alright, alright! I'll throw it away!" pulling back the banana and rising from the bed, exasperation creeping in around the edges.
Renewed shrieks, rising to a new piercing crescendo of misery.
"NO DADA, NO!"
"WHAT! WHAT IS IT! WHAT DO YOU WANT!" I exclaim.
"Wanna throw it away, wanna throw it away!"
"Okay, here! Here! You throw it away!"
This time he took the extended banana and ran down the hall toward the kitchen.
So, there's the first five minutes of my day.
I'm sitting on the edge of the bed gathering the diffuse strands of consciousness when he toddles up cradling a bunch of bananas, dumping them unceremoniously in my lap with an expectant smile. So I peel the mostly likely looking and hand it to him. He toddles off happily.
Moments later he's back, mouth open and brow furrowed, displaying a mouthful of white paste and groaning
AAAAH AAAAH AAAAAH!
while waving the non-masticated segment of banana overhead.
"Well, spit it out!" I advise, holding out one open palm while rubbing my eyes with the other and poking around for my slippers. Not as helpful as I could be, but the first light of dawn rarely essays a flattering portrayal.
He stared at me and shook his head, mouth still open, now apparently in shock at my bizarre suggestion.
"If you don't like it throw it away," I advise.
"No, no!" he gurgles around the mouthful. "Dada, I'm HUNGRY!"
"Okay, we'll make something then, c'mon" I reply, seizing the unloved banana.
Wrong move!
He falls to the floor, caterwauling like a gut-shot boar and expelling the blob of masticated banana onto the carpet. I swiftly reverse course, proferring the banana. He howls, shoving it away.
"No, NO dada, too weird, it's too weird!"
"Alright, alright! I'll throw it away!" pulling back the banana and rising from the bed, exasperation creeping in around the edges.
Renewed shrieks, rising to a new piercing crescendo of misery.
"NO DADA, NO!"
"WHAT! WHAT IS IT! WHAT DO YOU WANT!" I exclaim.
"Wanna throw it away, wanna throw it away!"
"Okay, here! Here! You throw it away!"
This time he took the extended banana and ran down the hall toward the kitchen.
So, there's the first five minutes of my day.
True Customer Tales
Sullen urban camper looking gal with a dog on a leash, interrupting me ringing up a sale:
Sullen gal, pawing at the cup of ballpoints next to the till: Hey can I have one of these pens?
me: excuse me?
sullen gal: Uh...can I have one of these pens?
me: you can use one of those pens, you can't have it.
sullen gal, drifting toward door: Uh...okay, whatever, yeah.....bye.
Sullen gal, pawing at the cup of ballpoints next to the till: Hey can I have one of these pens?
me: excuse me?
sullen gal: Uh...can I have one of these pens?
me: you can use one of those pens, you can't have it.
sullen gal, drifting toward door: Uh...okay, whatever, yeah.....bye.
True Customer Tales
bearded kook to pedestrian outside, gesturing at his Mad Max-esque bicycle:
The pedestrian was less than enthusiastic about a test drive.
I built it! I designed and built it, as a marketing strategy for my music! Can you believe it?
It's just like walking! It's EASIER than walking...here, try it! Try it!
The pedestrian was less than enthusiastic about a test drive.
True Customer Tales
Gal comes in asking for a book.
Uh, okay.
They didn't have it at the bookstore, so I thought I'd try here!
Uh, okay.
Monday, February 14, 2011
evening conversation
After finding the Wife's inhaler we have a stare down over the couch, culminating in this exchange:
Wife: you look like the baby sometimes.
me: I'm older, so he looks like me!
Wife: Okay. But sometimes you look like him.
Wife: you look like the baby sometimes.
me: I'm older, so he looks like me!
Wife: Okay. But sometimes you look like him.
The Modern World
This really is contemporary society in a nutshell.
The delusion that we can cut everyone's taxes forever (especially the wealthy and corporations!) and still afford a functioning society should get its own code in the DSM-IV.
The delusion that we can cut everyone's taxes forever (especially the wealthy and corporations!) and still afford a functioning society should get its own code in the DSM-IV.
V Day
Here are Valentines we made for Fuss' Parent Participation class- he contributed the squiggles.
Hope everyone has a good time!
(click pic to enlargify)
Sunday, February 13, 2011
History Lesson
Poking around my own blog I chanced across this post detailing 'the good old days'.
Shudder.
I dimly remember one night being the nadir of sleep tending- I had started passing out in the chair at some point just before dawn, so I laid down on the floor next to his buzzy chair and fell asleep. When he would wake up and start to fuss, I'd wake up enough to reach over and bounce his chair until he settled back down, then pass out again.
This worked for a few iterations until, like an alarm clock when you hit 'snooze' too often, my brain found some way to tune him out. The wife found Fuss wailing in his seat while I snored, curled around his chair like a dragon, drooling into the carpet.
I do try to keep relativity in mind when engaging whatever Fuss' latest outrage is, with varying success. Periodic trips down memory lane, like this one, help keep things in perspective.
/edit
Here's another classic from the archives.
How did we do it?
Shudder.
I dimly remember one night being the nadir of sleep tending- I had started passing out in the chair at some point just before dawn, so I laid down on the floor next to his buzzy chair and fell asleep. When he would wake up and start to fuss, I'd wake up enough to reach over and bounce his chair until he settled back down, then pass out again.
This worked for a few iterations until, like an alarm clock when you hit 'snooze' too often, my brain found some way to tune him out. The wife found Fuss wailing in his seat while I snored, curled around his chair like a dragon, drooling into the carpet.
I do try to keep relativity in mind when engaging whatever Fuss' latest outrage is, with varying success. Periodic trips down memory lane, like this one, help keep things in perspective.
/edit
Here's another classic from the archives.
How did we do it?
Monster Game Redux
The Way of the Fuss is repetition.
Last night found us once again 'making' the bed in the manner of Jacques Derrida and playing Spot the Monster, with variations.
This time he capped several minutes of call and response monster naming with
"Dada, I love them!"
Yep, that's my son.
Last night found us once again 'making' the bed in the manner of Jacques Derrida and playing Spot the Monster, with variations.
This time he capped several minutes of call and response monster naming with
"Dada, I love them!"
Yep, that's my son.
True Customer Tales
One of the neo-homless guys who scrounges books to sell came in with a an equally scruffy pal, and as they hovered inside the doorway described the store thusly:
It's like BooBoo's, only for books
Why they call him THE ANSWER
Because when you run into Kenny in the parking lot behind the store after a genuinely Paradisaical commute, the golden hazed view out the open sunroof soundtracked by cheerful, pleasantly lo-fi jangle-pop off the new Ducktails (courtesy Miko), and you shout HEY, WHERE'S MY DOUGHNUT! in jest, he replies "I've got a maple bar for you right here!", pulls a bag out of the back seat then apologizes because the place was out of the Bacon Maple bars mentioned in his morning FB update.
This is the second best start to a day since the time Fuss inexplicably slept in until 9:30.
Thanks, ANSWER!
This is the second best start to a day since the time Fuss inexplicably slept in until 9:30.
Thanks, ANSWER!
Saturday, February 12, 2011
navel gazing
The existence of google's statistical back end has been impossible to resist. While I don't particularly court readership, it's interesting to see where people come from and what draws them in.
Over the past few days my review of Spielberg's Munich had drawn several hits from France and Poland.
Who knows why!
Over the past few days my review of Spielberg's Munich had drawn several hits from France and Poland.
Who knows why!
Oh, Modern World
Poked my head in next door to pick up a new Bill Frisell (which I didn't know was out until I heard my pal Neal playing it on the morning jazz show- mortifying!) and receive assurances from Frank that he's bringing the funk in a suitably hardcore death metal way.
Malik popped out of the back room and pressed a listening copy on me, with the stipulation I return it before he clocked out for the day.
As one of the pages of my personal Life's Little Instruction Book instructs the reader to listen to anything Malik recommends, I took it with me.
But!
The store no longer has a CD player- it cashed in sometime last year and in the meandering way of used book stores worldwide has yet to be replaced. For my part I imported an iPod dock for those times when the local NPR station is taken over by progressive talk radio or local city council meetings.
As despair descended on coal black wings, a spark of realization kindled in the palsied brain of your humble narrator.
Say wait a minute....could I just....why yes...yes, wait....by Jove I can just stick the CD in the computer and have the devil iTunes automagically drain its soul!
As much as it galls me to have anything birthed of Jobs save the day, credit where credit is due.
Thanks, Steve!
/edit
Oh good, I found something to complain about-
iTunes rips CDs really, really, really, nearly indefensibly slowly.
Damn you anyway, Jobs!
Malik popped out of the back room and pressed a listening copy on me, with the stipulation I return it before he clocked out for the day.
As one of the pages of my personal Life's Little Instruction Book instructs the reader to listen to anything Malik recommends, I took it with me.
But!
The store no longer has a CD player- it cashed in sometime last year and in the meandering way of used book stores worldwide has yet to be replaced. For my part I imported an iPod dock for those times when the local NPR station is taken over by progressive talk radio or local city council meetings.
As despair descended on coal black wings, a spark of realization kindled in the palsied brain of your humble narrator.
Say wait a minute....could I just....why yes...yes, wait....by Jove I can just stick the CD in the computer and have the devil iTunes automagically drain its soul!
As much as it galls me to have anything birthed of Jobs save the day, credit where credit is due.
Thanks, Steve!
/edit
Oh good, I found something to complain about-
iTunes rips CDs really, really, really, nearly indefensibly slowly.
Damn you anyway, Jobs!
True Customer Tales
Irascible older woman who sounds almost exactly like Phyllis Diller and just had eye surgery, asking after the fate of our late, unlamented competitor while I rang up her purchase:
lady: I never been here before, we always went to that other place- what ever happened to them? Anyway, I think this place is better, for some reason.
me: Thanks, we like it.
Lady, after a longish pause: It has better BOOKS, that's what it is!
lady: I never been here before, we always went to that other place- what ever happened to them? Anyway, I think this place is better, for some reason.
me: Thanks, we like it.
Lady, after a longish pause: It has better BOOKS, that's what it is!
Friday, February 11, 2011
Monster Game
Flying solo this evening, I got a pot of potato leek soup simmering and managed to make the bed.
You'd be justified in saying I'm not a strong housekeeper, but I'd still demand an Olympic diving style degree of difficulty multiplier for performing both acts with Fuss fresh off a nap and raring to go. Jack LaLanne tows a bunch of boats across a harbor, whatever. But when he drags them across with his teeth while handcuffed and shackled, that's news!
That's making the bed with Fuss. Jumping, hiding, playing ghostie, throwing everything on the floor to make a pile to jump on while you're looking for pillowcases...you name it.
Eventually I won the trench war and we both collapsed to recover from shell shock.
While lying there delirious, Fuss decided to turn off the light and play a game.
"Look dada, it's a JUICE MONSTER!" Pointing at his sippy cup on the dresser.
"Look dada, it's a...PICTURE MONSTER!" Pointing at the Arcade Fire poster.
"Look dada, it's a HAT MONSTER!" Pointing at one of the ceiling fans (Hats, in Fuss Speak).
"Dada...ANOTHER Hat Monster!" pointing at the other one.
It goes on like that for a while and I get in the rhythm, echoing his descriptions and making appropriately terrified sounds. Then, as he often does, he throws his curve ball. Pointing the open closet door, he says
"Look, dada...it's a WARDROBE MONSTER!"
And totally cracks me up.
You'd be justified in saying I'm not a strong housekeeper, but I'd still demand an Olympic diving style degree of difficulty multiplier for performing both acts with Fuss fresh off a nap and raring to go. Jack LaLanne tows a bunch of boats across a harbor, whatever. But when he drags them across with his teeth while handcuffed and shackled, that's news!
That's making the bed with Fuss. Jumping, hiding, playing ghostie, throwing everything on the floor to make a pile to jump on while you're looking for pillowcases...you name it.
Eventually I won the trench war and we both collapsed to recover from shell shock.
While lying there delirious, Fuss decided to turn off the light and play a game.
"Look dada, it's a JUICE MONSTER!" Pointing at his sippy cup on the dresser.
"Look dada, it's a...PICTURE MONSTER!" Pointing at the Arcade Fire poster.
"Look dada, it's a HAT MONSTER!" Pointing at one of the ceiling fans (Hats, in Fuss Speak).
"Dada...ANOTHER Hat Monster!" pointing at the other one.
It goes on like that for a while and I get in the rhythm, echoing his descriptions and making appropriately terrified sounds. Then, as he often does, he throws his curve ball. Pointing the open closet door, he says
"Look, dada...it's a WARDROBE MONSTER!"
And totally cracks me up.
Outings
I finally found a way to stay under a c-note at Costco: declare everything except butter, eggs and bread off limits. So when you (predictably) break your vow, swayed by an enticing end display of smoked meats you're still under $40.
Win!
Fuss' comment on the flag snapping in the perpetual LOVR breeze:
"Dada, that's flag's happy."
We got a bit of a late start because he insisted on pulling weeds, which led to insisting on turning on the fountain and it was such a mild, lovely day how could I refuse even knowing he'd end up soaking wet from head to toe.
It'd been a while since we ran the Buddha head and filling it up agitated a bunch of complacent ants, some of whom found their way onto Fuss' feet and legs. Every time he noticed one he ran over and made me pick it off. I liked how his first response to the miniature invasion was to call in dada to help, standing frozen until the invaders had been dealt with.
It's easy to be annoyed with that sort of thing (and sometimes they do annoy me), but when there's nothing else going on and you're both just relaxing in the yard and it's a warm sunny day in February with enough of a sea breeze to hear the ocean by, it's nice that your child needs you.
Even when it's just to flick an ant off a chubby kneecap.
Win!
Fuss' comment on the flag snapping in the perpetual LOVR breeze:
"Dada, that's flag's happy."
We got a bit of a late start because he insisted on pulling weeds, which led to insisting on turning on the fountain and it was such a mild, lovely day how could I refuse even knowing he'd end up soaking wet from head to toe.
It'd been a while since we ran the Buddha head and filling it up agitated a bunch of complacent ants, some of whom found their way onto Fuss' feet and legs. Every time he noticed one he ran over and made me pick it off. I liked how his first response to the miniature invasion was to call in dada to help, standing frozen until the invaders had been dealt with.
It's easy to be annoyed with that sort of thing (and sometimes they do annoy me), but when there's nothing else going on and you're both just relaxing in the yard and it's a warm sunny day in February with enough of a sea breeze to hear the ocean by, it's nice that your child needs you.
Even when it's just to flick an ant off a chubby kneecap.
Morning Request
Fuss is still under the weather and so particularly fussy. Breakfast provoked a squall of wailing and thrashing and the concrete demand "wanna watch a show, dada!"
Being nothing if not flexible in the face of an implacable, ill toddler I asked his preference.
"Wanna watch paper ghosties! Paper ghosties chase-a the dragon through the door!"
Which is Fuss Speak for Spirited Away. He claimed not to like it at the time ("dada, too creepy! Too creepy!") but, as is often the case, it now fascinates him.
Devra did a large painting that sits downstairs in Meek's hallway, a refrigerator sized depiction of a vaguely cannibalistic neo-fetus hovering over a blasted wasteland, as if its oversized head were a balloon.
Originally, Fuss was terrified of it and refused to enter the apartment unless the "scary guy" was hidden, turned to the wall. This evolved to still wanting the Scary Guy facing the wall, but visiting him and peeking into the dark crack between painting and wall for a glimpse of mystery. At some point the full Scary Guy experience, proudly face-out, became a focal point of any downstairs visit. And once, when Meek had moved it out of the hallway during a cleaning binge, Fuss collapsed on the floor in pain, wailing, thrashing and demanding the return of Scary Guy.
Which I'm sure says something profound about human nature...maybe I'll figure out what after my first cup of coffee.
Being nothing if not flexible in the face of an implacable, ill toddler I asked his preference.
"Wanna watch paper ghosties! Paper ghosties chase-a the dragon through the door!"
Which is Fuss Speak for Spirited Away. He claimed not to like it at the time ("dada, too creepy! Too creepy!") but, as is often the case, it now fascinates him.
Devra did a large painting that sits downstairs in Meek's hallway, a refrigerator sized depiction of a vaguely cannibalistic neo-fetus hovering over a blasted wasteland, as if its oversized head were a balloon.
Originally, Fuss was terrified of it and refused to enter the apartment unless the "scary guy" was hidden, turned to the wall. This evolved to still wanting the Scary Guy facing the wall, but visiting him and peeking into the dark crack between painting and wall for a glimpse of mystery. At some point the full Scary Guy experience, proudly face-out, became a focal point of any downstairs visit. And once, when Meek had moved it out of the hallway during a cleaning binge, Fuss collapsed on the floor in pain, wailing, thrashing and demanding the return of Scary Guy.
Which I'm sure says something profound about human nature...maybe I'll figure out what after my first cup of coffee.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Post-Bath Discussion
(Fuss finds a nickel under a couch cushion)
Fuss: Dada, look, a PENNY! Dada, what's this?
Me: That's money, it's a nickel.
Fuss, looking concerned: Oh...it's scary money.
Gonna put it back! *stuffs nickle back under cushion*
Me: Okay!
Fuss, looking around comically: Dada, where'd it go? where'd the money go?
Me: Maybe it's hiding?
Fuss, distainfully: No...it's in the bank! I can't reach it, it's in the bank!
Fuss: Dada, look, a PENNY! Dada, what's this?
Me: That's money, it's a nickel.
Fuss, looking concerned: Oh...it's scary money.
Gonna put it back! *stuffs nickle back under cushion*
Me: Okay!
Fuss, looking around comically: Dada, where'd it go? where'd the money go?
Me: Maybe it's hiding?
Fuss, distainfully: No...it's in the bank! I can't reach it, it's in the bank!
Geographic Tongue
Ran Fuss by the doc this afternoon to have his tongue checked out- he got these weird circles on it a few days ago, about when we both started getting sick. It's one of those "probably nothing" things that I'd ignore if I caught it while brushing my own teeth, but with the Little Man even minor mysteries arrive clothed in worry and tracking concern all over the rug.
The checklist went
- fever: over it, temp normal.
- wart on thumb: nothing to be done until he's older, not dangerous.
- red spot on ankle: legacy of Dada's weird skin issues, nothing to be done about it, not dangerous.
As for the tongue...in the words of the doc
"He has what we call Geographic Tongue...when your tongue grows, it sheds skin. Some people shed little bits all over the tongue, some...well, that's your son. They shed in circles."
So, it was nothing to worry about and it'll make a great name for his first punk bad.
Everybody wins.
On the way home we swung by the store to pick up a check.
Spotting the weathervane on the courthouse building, Fuss grew excited-
"Look dada- a TURKEY! He's stuck up there!"
And commenting on the rather sedate flag atop the JP Andrews building:
"Dada, look- the flag's tired."
The checklist went
- fever: over it, temp normal.
- wart on thumb: nothing to be done until he's older, not dangerous.
- red spot on ankle: legacy of Dada's weird skin issues, nothing to be done about it, not dangerous.
As for the tongue...in the words of the doc
"He has what we call Geographic Tongue...when your tongue grows, it sheds skin. Some people shed little bits all over the tongue, some...well, that's your son. They shed in circles."
So, it was nothing to worry about and it'll make a great name for his first punk bad.
Everybody wins.
On the way home we swung by the store to pick up a check.
Spotting the weathervane on the courthouse building, Fuss grew excited-
"Look dada- a TURKEY! He's stuck up there!"
And commenting on the rather sedate flag atop the JP Andrews building:
"Dada, look- the flag's tired."
Today's Tidbits
keyword searches of the day:
&
Take a bow, Mr. Funk!
who are the voices in Wonder Pets
&
Angus Young costume
Take a bow, Mr. Funk!
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