Early returns-
Not as transcendent as Funeral, superior to Neon Bible across the board.
It also seems like the kind of album that will grow on me.
Two thumbs up.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
social networking
A thought for self-hating fatties on Facebook and other social networking sites-
Instead of contriving some tortured camera angle for your portrait (which does nothing but highlight the fact that you're fat and desperately self conscious about it), just work over a regular pic with Photoshop.
Voila, you're 40lbs lighter and none of your internet friends is any the wiser!
Instead of contriving some tortured camera angle for your portrait (which does nothing but highlight the fact that you're fat and desperately self conscious about it), just work over a regular pic with Photoshop.
Voila, you're 40lbs lighter and none of your internet friends is any the wiser!
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Puke Free by 2011
First night in a while with no vomit fire drills, hoooray!
He chowed down on toast & cantaloupe this morning and my back seized up hefting him into his high chair. Fortunately I'd already made coffee. I put on Kipper then lay down on a purple tennis ball to try and un-knot things. The distraction failed and I was subjected to Enhanced Toddler Interrogation Methods, a tennis ball lodged in my back while Fuss sat on my chest hitting me in the face with his new whirligig.
We're off to England shortly. I'm hoping for a puke-free flight and a minimum of baby jet lag.
Man plans, fate laughs....
He chowed down on toast & cantaloupe this morning and my back seized up hefting him into his high chair. Fortunately I'd already made coffee. I put on Kipper then lay down on a purple tennis ball to try and un-knot things. The distraction failed and I was subjected to Enhanced Toddler Interrogation Methods, a tennis ball lodged in my back while Fuss sat on my chest hitting me in the face with his new whirligig.
We're off to England shortly. I'm hoping for a puke-free flight and a minimum of baby jet lag.
Man plans, fate laughs....
Saturday, August 7, 2010
true customer tales
gal on the street to her friend upon spying our window display:
Sounds like something I'd say at 4am after Fuss puked in my hair.
Heeeey! This is the one we hadn't been to, but we thought we looked!
Sounds like something I'd say at 4am after Fuss puked in my hair.
Monday, August 2, 2010
true customer tales
Gal narrating her experience on a ride at the fair:
It was so scary! I couldn't figure out why nobody was screaming- besides me. But it was because they were used to it, and I was old. I hadn't been on anything like that since the Matterhorn back in '77!
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Rough Night II: Electric Boogaloo
Is there anything in the world more awful than a puking child?
I say no.
It's like when he was tiny and woke up every hour shrieking, only with an added bonus chance for vomit. I hoisted him up at the wrong time during a coughing fit and got hosed down with a corrosive gruel of breast milk and stomach acid studded with chunks of gnawed grape and decomposing quesadilla.
I've made it this far having absorbed nothing worse than a single stream of urine during an early diaper change at the hospital, so I can't complain too loudly about the physical manifestations.
There's a vast library of stock expressions I never had to bust out before the Fuss arrived. For instance, "heart rending".
That's something that happens to you at 3:30am when your little boy is sitting in your lap crying in between spasms of retching and he wails "No, wait! Wait!" as he feels the next wave building.
What can you even do with that?
The Wife receives some immediate relief when he calls out for 'nigh-nights' afterward, and later she'll write a poem.
My options are more prosaic, patting him on the back in the moment and in the morning carrying him around on my hip and making a one-handed breakfast instead of setting him down to grasp at my pajamas and complain while I scramble the eggs & butter the toast. And I can sit on the couch with him and provide an audience for his running commentary on season two of 'Blue Doggo' instead of tending my internet garden.
"OOoooh, wassat?"
"Notebook!"
"Oooh, NOTEBOOK."
It seems a suitably practical, fatherly response, if lacking in immediate surcease of misery.
I say no.
It's like when he was tiny and woke up every hour shrieking, only with an added bonus chance for vomit. I hoisted him up at the wrong time during a coughing fit and got hosed down with a corrosive gruel of breast milk and stomach acid studded with chunks of gnawed grape and decomposing quesadilla.
I've made it this far having absorbed nothing worse than a single stream of urine during an early diaper change at the hospital, so I can't complain too loudly about the physical manifestations.
There's a vast library of stock expressions I never had to bust out before the Fuss arrived. For instance, "heart rending".
That's something that happens to you at 3:30am when your little boy is sitting in your lap crying in between spasms of retching and he wails "No, wait! Wait!" as he feels the next wave building.
What can you even do with that?
The Wife receives some immediate relief when he calls out for 'nigh-nights' afterward, and later she'll write a poem.
My options are more prosaic, patting him on the back in the moment and in the morning carrying him around on my hip and making a one-handed breakfast instead of setting him down to grasp at my pajamas and complain while I scramble the eggs & butter the toast. And I can sit on the couch with him and provide an audience for his running commentary on season two of 'Blue Doggo' instead of tending my internet garden.
"OOoooh, wassat?"
"Notebook!"
"Oooh, NOTEBOOK."
It seems a suitably practical, fatherly response, if lacking in immediate surcease of misery.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)