Saturday, December 29, 2007
I know it's been this long because when you talk to the residents of our town, which we named PooDoo, they are either shocked, delighted or appalled that I haven't been around for 41 months. In the mean time, weeds have overgrown, mail has jammed up the post office, I've forgotten who I was supposed to be delivering the comic book to, and many neighbors have either moved out, starved to death or committed seppuku. And the roaches have come. Many of them. My fishing rod has also mysteriously vanished. One can only speculate.
Alas, disaster has befallen our sister town of Oz, which was residing on another memory card (each sold separately!), but reported as corrupt when trying to get there by train. I can assume that means inner political turmoil or some such mess.
Some things are the same as sweet Daisy is still there, as is Twiggy and Liz, and all the resident felines Kitty, Punchy, and Bangle. Ed and Tom are still in town and they were conspicuously not at home at the same time. I always suspected one or the other was hitting on me. So it's highly suspect that perhaps they found love or at least a hook up. I mean, one of them is literally a horse.
Not surprisingly, I've still never paid off my house (in the game or otherwise). I should have known better than to get a loan from a Tanuki. If only I could sell my junk in real life I'd be set. It's been so long that my then wife was playing, paid off her house, had time to start another game, paid off that house and was still writing me love notes. She always did beat me at all video games.
What have I been doing lately in the real world? Oh, that's not really all that important. I also can't remember exactly. But then that's what twitter is for, right?
I may have left some Negative Nancy comments on a blog or two and I apologize if that was yours in my wake. I'm realizing now that I need to go into social hibernation during the holidays, at least on the internet, instead of trying to pretend to like it. It just makes me ranty and/or depressed. Some years are better than others. And there's just no soothing ointment good for that kind of irritation. But moving on, as I have tried to...
Monkeys have discovered the game and since it's all reading, I say, score! However, I do have to restrain the Elder Monkey from wildly cutting down all the trees in sight. Give a boy a golden axe and suddenly he's Paul Bunyan.
Oh and just an FYI, I expect we'll be occupied at 8 o'clock PM for quite a few Saturday evenings to come listening to the complete K.K. Slider repertoire.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
I was going to wait and send this around on Turkey Day along with in depth commentary about the evils of suburban over-consumption and the general modern era lack of respect for the food chain.
However, I'm going to forego all that as instead I've watched it 20 times in a row and I'm at the point where I need an inhaler to breathe because I've laughed so hard. Vegetarian's might want to
Bascially, I blame mom (mom's edit: It's not my fault!), for pointing it out to me, having nothing better to do than watch HGTV all day, every day. We'll get into her remodeling plans later for my house (mom's edit: Oh, do I have plans for this house!).
But, wait! Bonus features!
Firstly, I'm sure many of you wouldn't mind being the turkey in this scenario.
Also, it would be remiss not point out the oddity of top hit "Women's Sumo Wrestling" in the Related Videos section.
(mom's edit: Aren't you done yet? I need to go to the grocery store! No turkeys on the menu.)
Thursday, November 01, 2007
I have no idea what that means but I'll probably never get a chance to use it in real life so I'm getting it out of the way now.
I would have pictures to show you of the Halloweenies of yesterday but my camera is broke. So we'll just have to pretend (which is rather appropriate).
Elder Monkey was a Wolverine, complete with claws that kept getting in the way and mask that was way too itchy. Also the night before he realized he actually wanted to be Elvis. We thought perhaps if you combine the two he'd be going as Wolvis. Or Elverine. Or, basically, Hugh Jackman. And his catch phrase would be "Uh-huh, thank-ya-very-much, Bub." Snikt.
Younger Monkey was a Buzz Lightyear, for the second time, only it was a full-fledged outfit complete with inflatable jetpack with wings. Now that he is an uber-social (super)butterfly, he also feels the need to announce his presence at every door when knocking. Because not only does he want your treat, but also if he can come into your home, watch TV, be your best friend or ask the nice Filipino man across the street if he knows any Spanish. And then knock you over unintentionally with his inflatable purple wings.
Oh and his "helmet" made him look like Patsy.
Generally I write off Halloween and I do not dress up. Although Elder Monkey had to make the suggestion that I should be 007. Leave it to him to think of the one guise I would totally get into. We shall see.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
I'm totally serious.
But they would need to go through me first for some training and verification of orientation. Because otherwise someone needs to love that woman the way that, um, apparently only a gay man can.
Example: When on a date and she asks if you like the shirt she is wearing, do not answer with "Do you like the shirt you are wearing?" And when she says "Not really." do not at that point say "Well, there you go then."
Especially when I already told her she looked fine in the shirt she was wearing.
This will only send her home, forlorn looking, put her head on my shoulder and then promptly renew her Netflix account to resign her to watching things like Evan Almighty and Donnie Brasco back to back.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Me: Massaging C's shoulders. Deeply.
C: Gives F the thumbs up.
F: Sigh (half wistful, half annoyed). I wish I had someone to massage me.
C: G isn't looking very busy over there.
G: I'm actually doing my Kegel's at the moment.
Orchestra: Cue the 1812 Overture with fireworks.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
I felt better pretty much within the morning but, gee, I seemed to have misplaced my pants and car keys. What really is one to do? So I catch up with a few important details like perusing blogs, eating hard boiled eggs and watching Dancing Spiderman (and friends!). Everyone should watch Dancing Spiderman. Go ahead I'll wait.
I got to greet monkeys when the bus came home, my dad and step-mom came over for while and then the boyfriend brought dinner over.
Later, we went to Target to purchase a cast-iron dutch oven that only Target carries (on sale!). I had one to offer him, but since this particular model was highly recommended by America's Test Kitchen it's the only one he'd bother with. Kitchen items are his toys. Not surprisingly, everything he has cooked has always hit the right notes and I am surprised I'm not more chunky. Maybe since I get to carry heavy things like dutch ovens. I must also remember this if I ever need to knock someone out from above. You never know.
I intended to end the evening early but my bedroom was still waiting for aid from FEMA. So, I stayed up until the wee morning hours reclaiming my territory and I'm having feelings that the end of the mess is nigh! Either that or I'm having gas.
Unfortunately, I may have cleaned too well as I still can't find my car keys.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Remember Shimajiro, the potty training tiger? He's back to show us how to use a public toilet in Japan!
(Also, this further affirms my theory that what is safe for Asian children may or may not be safe for work. Or the unchiphobic.)
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Except for me. Instead I went to the boyfriend's home and had baked beans on toast for dinner. Priorities, people.
Monday, September 24, 2007
I spent yesterday wondering if I was having mere allergies or if i was getting sick. I had played tonsil hockey with a certain someone that morning and he was having all kinds of guilt about giving me a cold. I s'pose those are the risks when you haven't made out with your sweetie for a week. To set his mind at ease, I can now confirm it is something in this particular bin of paper I'm going through. Some kind of long dormant spores have been flung into the ether as I was fine all day and now my eyes burn. They buuuuuuuurn.
I can hear mom laughing at me when I start my bathroom monologue about why we as humans have so much mucus. Just where does it all come from and why must I swim in it? It was flinging everywhere like a frog's tongue catching flies. Her amusement at my trials is not an unusual occurrence. I might be doing it more on purpose now since it cheers her up.
In true form, this being the last batch of papers (I hope, I pray) I finally found my social security card at the bottom. People scoff when I don't simply dump everything in a monstrous purge and start over but it's for these items I know I can't do that. I originally went to go get a new one for the Target job but after waiting three hours in the social security office I simply had to leave. It was a scary place and I must be sure never to lose it for good.
By the way, I'm still waffling on the Cub Scouts. Elder Monkey most certainly wants to do it and I may just be worrying too much about the whole thing. He really does need something like this.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
It hasn't been a problem lately as she's been downsizing her items as well. The weekends have been filled with several trips to the Goodwill, trading in DVDs, donating to the library. Today was all about finding a new refrigerator that won't randomly freeze the lettuce overnight and to search for new pants. I have no idea if these things are related.
We found a prospective fridge at Hardware Uberstore but it seems to be too tall for my kitchen. We also learned that the bathroom aisle is a replica of the foreboding set from "When Toilets Attack!", a heartfelt musical/slasher film with singing toilets interspersed with shrieks of terror.
Being the Local People that we are we continued onto the Local Outlet Shop that trains the cashiers to say things like "Oh, Fiddle Faddle!" over the loudspeaker while searching for return slips.
Mom is, like myself, somewhat of an anti-fashionista. Buying clothing is one of the things I put at the bottom of my priority list, right next to immunizing hippos for herpes. Putting aside the probable candidacy for What Not To Wear, she has lost so much weight her already baggy clothes have started to swallow her whole. New pants of some sort are in order.
While she tried on the one pair that were neither floral explosion nor plus sized (this is Florida after all) I occupied myself with the wall of VHS for sale located in the Petite section. If I am ever in need of any movie sequel on VHS I will know where to go. The Sandlot 2. Critters 3. House Party 2, 3, and 4!
Also sandwiched in the midst of Steven Seagal and Barber Shop 2 was Trick. I was most amused by visions of any one of the meandering blue-haired clientele picking this up at discount savings for a fun afternoon with Coco Peru. You remember, this movie with Neve's brother and Tori Spelling? I've always wanted to try playing the piano with a partner ever since.
Then, while waiting for mom to figure out her newly acquired debit card to purchase her new pair of pants and two books of sudoku, all for under ten dollars, I realized I might very well be "The One".
No offense but if your last name happens to be Smith please don't call. I've moved.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
When mom moved in, my plan of course was to go through all lurking items and have the house tip-top beforehand. But those plans never work. If I had a fulltime construction crew and a TV show, possibly. Someone get on that for me. Anyways, to make space for her I shoveled everything into mile high totes and boxes banishing them to cold storage. Since then I've been extracting a few at a time and shredding, shredding, shredding. Because it's all paper. Thirty years worth. And it's been breeding.
So, I kinda promised if Elder Monkey was good we'd break out the newly excavated SNES and N64. I had found the systems earlier this week and he's been eyeing them over my bed, but the games were nowhere to be found. So we went treasure hunting in the depths of the storage unit. The box was located at last, on the farthest wall to the back at the bottom under the dead sea scrolls, guarded by a pack of wild, rabid stuffed animals. They demanded a sacrifice and so I said rest assured my sinuses would be paying the price later.
For some reason I decided to truck a lot of it back and needless to say, I should be in asleep at the moment but I can't seem to find the bed again. Soon. Maybe next year.
I've heard some people say that words at their root are just words and should not hold power. I have a seven year old you might want to talk to.
It was the apocalypse of meltdowns. He hated homework. He hated Younger Monkey. He hated that Younger Monkey did not have homework. He hated his mom. More telling though, he hated living with them.
He did not, however, hate me. I was seemingly in his eyes, his only ally. Which probably quickly turned when I took away privileges upon hearing of all the spewing disrespect to his mom. However, I could smell something was festering and he wasn't ready to give it up. This was stewing rather than spewing.
Somewhere in the parenting manual there is a chapter still being written detailing maneuvers on how to speak to adults-in-training. I hardly ever have the right words to say. I stumble over them most of the time and I'm never sure which combination of words are scathing and which are healing.
Yesterday, one of his spelling words was "married". To the Elder Monkey, this word made his eyes burn. Tears began to streak his face and as they rolled out came words of his own.
It's not that he wants to just live with me, but all of us together. It's mom's fault completely that we aren't married anymore.
At this point we break out the words that are antidotes, the ones that soothe, the ones that try to break the resolve of a chaotic unfair life. But we still aren't sure of their effectiveness.
While I have the belief that our situation is probably as good as it can be, the verbal sucker punches along that path still know where it hurts the most.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Elder Monkey loves his little brother, but he gets annoyed with him so much more frequently than he used to. So I find it perfectly logical that he should want to seek out another social circle with other kids that won't turn him into a pretzel with their telekinesis.
As I was never inclined as a child to do things like go outside (ew!) and all that brotherly bonding stuff, I'll readily admit I'm not the best when it comes to encouraging such activities.
But that's me and not him. So we went to see what all it entails last night.
On the plus Cub Scouts is a different beast than Boy Scouts where parental involvement seems much more integral, which I'm all for. It would certainly get him out of the house, whereas I throw them outside now only after I've hacked at the lawn every six months or so. Elder Monkey seemed especially keen on the whole prospect of the Pinewood Derby.
Oh, and archery. His only questionto the scout leader was whether they'd get to do archery. He was all over that. Which given his propensity for shooting blunt objects, I suppose the least he could do is learn to aim. Famous last words.
I am also not so thrilled for various reasons that are probably just paranoia. It reminds me of what it was like going to church. Not the least of which is how much I kept reading about an emphasis on "duty to God" throughout the literature. Also that it strangely feels like am signing him up for the mini-military.
Are there any former Cub Scouts out there that can share their experience?
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Which is most true?
1. All that exists is matter and energy.
2. There is a spiritual side to being human.
I'm having the hardest time leaning towards one or the other, since I don't think they are mutually exclusive. Why can't these things be connected?
If I go with No.1 I get:
You scored as Materialist
Materialism stresses the essence of fundamental particles. Everything that exists is purely physical matter and there is no special force that holds life together. You believe that anything can be explained by breaking it up into its pieces. i.e. the big picture can be understood by its smaller elements.
Materialist - 81%
Cultural Creative - 81%
Modernist - 63%
Existentialist - 50%
Idealist - 31%
Romanticist - 25%<
Fundamentalist - 19%
What is Your World View?
created with QuizFarm.com
If I go with No. 2 I get:
You scored as Cultural Creative
Cultural Creatives are probably the newest group to enter this realm. You are a modern thinker who tends to shy away from organized religion but still feels as if there is something greater than ourselves. You are very spiritual, even if you are not religious. Life has a meaning outside of the rational.
Cultural Creative - 81%
Materialist - 81%
Modernist - 63%
Existentialist - 50%
Idealist - 31%
Romanticist - 25%<
Fundamentalist - 19%
What is Your World View?
created with QuizFarm.com
I ponder onward.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Elder Monkey calls me up from school this afternoon with ten minutes left to go until the bus whisks them home in order to tell me about his man business. His actual man business.
"Daddy, my penis hurts. And there is some white stuff. No I can't ride the bus. It hurts!"
I feel bad of course, but being an hour away, I tell him to tough it out. Since I am the resident parental unit with the similar equipment, Daddy gets to deal with explanations of this sort. I'm totally not ready for this yet but at least it's something I know about.
This is fine with Mommy, who was unavailable for comment, as she is getting super embarrassed with all the naked flaunting of boy parts as of late. Modesty doesn't seem to be as highly understood a commodity as I had embraced it in my youth.
Seeing no end to the pain, off Elder monkey goes to the doctor with Mom. Younger Monkey of course accompanied them and gave his usual rambling and strangely related commentary track. Since he is a master at the bluntmanship, a transcript follows, translated into the langauge most appropriate for this conversation:
Oh hai ther, I'm [yunger munky], You R Dr. Jumba(?). Nice to meetya. *handshake*
I went to skool on da bus iwth my harness and went to Mz. Teechr's class. Then I ate da lunch. I had chipsss. And a penutbuder sammich.
U can do me a favor. My butt. U can looks at it plz? A fart came out of it. K Thnx.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Meaning, the twelfth day of the month means twelve photos for you.
01. Clickety clickety clack go the keys in the morning email.
02. John has returned from Japan with treasures and stories galore.
03. Please Do Not Touch. That means you.
04. I'd wondered where my shadow wandered off to.
05. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
06. Mac+Cheese Dinner v2.0 (Lunch Edition).
07. Shhhhhhhh! Now recording...
08. Green Orange. Patience, my sweet.
09. Scheherazade is the only soundtrack to the sunset.
10. Stocking the monkey cupboards: Bananas. Bread. Peanut Butter.
11. A wind whistles a lonely tune through the empty Box. I think I saw a tumbleweed pass by.
12. In the end, two silly women Jenga it out on the television.
See whole bunch more and get in on the game at Chad Darnell's ongoing 12 of 12 project.
Monday, September 03, 2007
Double plus my computer has been completely taken over by cannibals, androids and virgin entrails.
I'm totally not kidding about this and it's totally not my fault.
I could tell you about the dream I had last night where my neighbors houses on either side of me vanished when I woke up in the morning. No grass or trash or evidence of any previous life, just paved concrete slabs. For some reason one was my dead grandparents house and I went an a rampage trying to dig though the chasm underneath the concrete to find everything stacked in a moist stinky pile. Then I decided to go to back to Canada to cohabitate with all the rainbow colored moose.
That might have just been the drool in my sleep talking though.
I can also tell you that the birthday crazy train has finally come to a screeching halt now that August is done with and everyone has stopped becoming older for now. Praise Jeebus.
So the days have been good, bad and inbetween. It promises to be the start of a jumpy week so maybe you'll hear about it, maybe not.
In the meantime, here's how my sister, as most native Floridians do, co-habitates with insects.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Today we went down to the garage apartment that she (and for awhile her children) called home for near 20 years. I packed the remainder of my sister's wondrous oddities, the last dusty bookshelf to go. Mom put the key under the doormat for the landlord. We traipsed down the steep steps, onto the walkway that carved through the backyard. Then she pulled a gardenia close to her face, gave it a sniff and we piled in the car and drove away.
I wonder if there is any bittersweetness to it at all for her. It's hard to tell. It was a place to call home regardless of it's faults. Rather like a marriage that slowly fell apart long ago but you stay together because you need each other. You curse each other but you are used to each other, so it becomes the way things are. You thrive together and you grow old together.
For all of it's cracks in the walls and odors emenating from the minefield of doggy doo in the afternoon heat and boisterous, obtrusive neighbors with their mounds of garbage...There was still a nice breeze that came through the windows on just the right day.
I think now with each day that goes by that I am getting all the piles of my stuff whittled away she is feeling better about the move. We got her a new dresser today to be delivered next Saturday. I was finally inspired to replace the shower curtain and rusted rod that if not positioned properly would flood the bathroom. One can walk now through house from the front door to the back door without a gymnist's olympic medal.
And I mowed the lawn. Can I get an amen? Cause that my brethren is a miracle unto itself.
As I drove to the boyfriend's home this evening, there was an especially spectacular cloud formation brushed across the broad canvas sky. The clouds live for change. They do it freely and at every moment of every day. They cause grace even when furious and they paint just the right nuance. This is why people look to the sky when they need solace, when their trials are bluntly falling upon on their feet to trip them up. It's a place that is different, something vast and always new.
Things are getting done and so the canvas changes with it.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
The frustrating part is even when I'm done fixing up the house they still really won't have a proper bedroom to speak of. I'm contemplating giving them my room.
Today is Super X-Wife's birthday. The zillionth August child in a row and they aren't done yet. She's having friends over and I'm taking the boys an extra night. I am more than glad to take them overnight more if it mean's some kind of social life emerge for her.
There may even be a "boyfriend" in the works but I use the term extremely loosely. There is a history of men in her life, even before me...how do I put this lightly... switching to play for the other team midgame. And this new one seems to be in denial.
I don't think mom is doing so well with the boys' chaos. An afternoon with them is at her threshold. A whole weekend is bringing out the worst in her and them. In fact if this is going to be the norm, it's not going to work at all. She's tired, they're at top speed and I'm somewhere in the middle playing traffic cop.
I'm sure there are more important things to say but I can hear closeby echoes of rumblings and tumblings from where there should be slumbering and there's bound to be a throw down soon...
Click on the image to see all it's delights close up.
Plus I think this comic by the same artist, Rosemary Mosco, is rather brilliant: Mid-Cambrian Morning
via Retaliatory Vandalism
Friday, August 24, 2007
For lunch I ventured out with three coworkers who I'll affectionately nickname The Bear Squad. They are married, burly and scruffy lads of the company. Let's just say I offered to drive and my car had considerably less pickup than usual.
As the Bear Squad likes to eat substantial portions we went to a Spanish lunchtype place. I asked what was good and one said the Cuban. I didn't get it but maybe next time I should order one hot-pressed. And naked. Drizzled...in oil... Hungry yet?
The Biggest Bear (the one with the biggest heart of course) of them busted his tooth on a piece o' pork bone and just kept on eating through the pain.
Speaking of which the Younger Monkey's got his first loose tooth. I'm hoping he doesn't chuck it or swallow it but I have a feeling he'll be coming up to me soon with a gap in his smile, location of the wayward chopper unknown. Just in time for school pictures of course.
The other food highlight of the day would be that I used my kitchen to cook dinner for the monkeys for the first time possibly in months. It's only been a room lately where everything piled up while I worked on other rooms. But I had to make sure she had a place to cook for Mom being around, which is at least good for the house.
It makes me clean up after myself. Sorta.
Okay, I swear I just heard someone out there make a taunting giggle-snort.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Fun as that was, I'm pretty sure it affected my mathematical skills as they went haywire several times. I'm no computational whiz but I thought at least I knew my times tables. Today, however, I was adding instead of multiplying, counting fingers I didn't know I had and numbers were generally doing the polka all through my cranium. I can't dance the polka you know.
And then when it was all done we had to count all over again. Maybe I should invest in a monacle and a Transylvanian accent.
Luckily, I have other mad skillz that make people forget about all that. Um, I'll let you know what those are when I figure out what they are.
I left work early to take mom to the psychologist. She's preparing for a disability court hearing and needed her to fill out something or other. She also hadn't seen her in about a year and first thing said was a comment on how thin she has gotten. And, wait for it, that she needs to eat more. I promptly exited with monkeys since this line of questioning would be going on for about an hour.
I also went to the boyfriends house for dinner. I haven't been there in a while since he lives rather far away. He cooked a tamale pie with cornbread crust. It was scrumptious, but then everything he cooks is. He 's got the culinary touch. I'm not just saying that cause I'm sweet on him.
It's because I get free food if I keep telling him I like it. And hot lovin'. Because that's the secret ingredient. Duh.
It seems like my days are packed to the brim now and I'm starting to get exceptionally tired in the evening, especially when I try to write incoherent blog entrys at nigh.... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Mom was feeling sicker today, but not frazzled so that's good. Some days are better than others.
Apparently, I am told, that the Elder Monkey had a major meltdown regarding playing video games this afternoon.
He was doing so well with the listening, too. At least with me. He knows when it's time to turn it off and often does it himself now. I mean I KNOW what it's like to be in the middle of a level and it's all the sudden time to go. I've been there, I relate. So I thought things were well in this arena.
Which means when you throw new people into the mix, we start all over again.
I'm told he's been talking back to his mom harshly. That is so not cool.
Have I taught you nothing, monkeyboy? You don't talk back to The Mother. She will always win. Or she will behead you with her stare. Didn't you see the tongue of the School Transportation Call Person as she pulled it through the phone and made balloon animals out of it? Have you forgetten the ancient training, grasshopper?
Sigh. I heard him do it once now and it really shocked me a bit to hear this was the norm. For all the communication the Super Ex-Wife and I keep up, it's still like "He did what?" Apparently, Daddy is much more fun (which really doesn't work out to be fun in the long run).
I'm seeing the brat-beast emerge from it's hibernation state and venture out into the open. It's indeed fugly with all those fangs. But if that's the way he plays it, he knows the cost by now. So no games or TV of any kind again for quite a while. I'm inclined to make them go away for good actually. We shall see.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
That last sentence makes my eyes cross every time look at it. Mainly about the Younger Monkey. It means my youngest offspring will be six years old next week. No more babies here! I suppose there haven't been for quite sometime but that's not the point.
I got up in time to see them off at the bus stop. The bus was twenty minutes late. Standard fare apparently for a first day, but a bit worrisome considering the Epic Battle of the Super Ex-Wife vs. the School Transportation Department that transpired the week before. I had to call yesterday to settle it since both sides now channel Vigo the Carpathian (In stereo!) when speaking
Anyways, all told I heard there was some writing and reading, lunch, P.E. and maybe a teacher or two. I know it's not a sparkly new experience for them anymore, but that was about all I could pry out of the Monkey Mind Meld so it'll have to do.
In other news, did you know that Second Graders do research papers? I will spare you the gory details about the joy that should bring around here.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Part of the plan for mom moving is so that she can watch the boys for us after school for about an hour each day until someone can get home. Yesterday evening was all around frightful. I got a really sinking feeling wondering if it will be okay.
Mom is doing better today. She is starting to adjust to the change at her own pace. It's going to take a while. Today went well once they figured out the PS2 is also a DVD player and Pandas ran amok on screen. For now there is going to be lots of after school movietime.
So far, monkeys don't react much about why Grandma is always feeling sick. They do know that the rule is to take it easy around her. One of the major causes of her depression is that she wants to feel useful, so it does give her a purpose if only for an hour each day. Boy, does it ever give her something to do. I'm thinking this will help her not be so lonely at least.
And I'm thinking all this easier access to Grandma's toy collection won't hurt either. She's always had cooler toys and movies than I.
Monday, August 20, 2007
We get along better than most I think. There are no hardcore personality clashes or overbearing traits of which to write about. In fact I thought of selling my house once and moving in with her. So I find it funny when the first thing I get from others is a cringe and an apology as to my sanity. I imagine the first thought has to do with some Overbearing Mother Syndrome.
Mom is a beautiful person. People used to think she was my big sister sometimes when she came to pick me up from school. She has a tattoo of a vampire bite on her neck and a phoenix on her arm. She loves comic books and anime and Star Wars. She got me to breathe when I starting shaking at my wedding rehearsal. She does not tolerate brash stupidity or being lied to. She has wonderful handwriting. She always knew how to take care of me when I got my annual vomity sickness. She was a very strong person.
Oh, how I wish that her being an interfering busybody were the reason for condolences. I wish I could write about how it's going to be great that she's here. I wish I could tell you that.
Mom is not strong anymore. Doctors can't tell her what's wrong. She is in pain all of the time. She is slowly losing weight. She can only eat a few types of foods that don't make her sick. She can't take drugs that might help, because most the side effects make her even more sick. She can't move with speed or dexterity. She can't push or pull or drive. She doesn't have the physical well being to hold any kind of job anymore. She is exhausted to the point of tears but does not ever sleep.
So the problem with mom is that..we don't know what the problem actually is.
She is down to 100 pounds. When I hug her, she is only a fragile frame of what she once was. When I hug her I can feel the bones in her wearily protrude with hardly anything but a layer of skin to separate them from my touch. While only a mere unit of measure, only a fraction of a space between 100 and 99, I greatly fear for the depth at which her state of mind will plummet the next time she has to approach that scale and the nurse tells her "You need to eat more..." I kind of fear for the nurse as well. With every pound of flesh she loses along with it goes a portion of her hope and will to continue.
But it is not only her body that is a crumbling structure. What remains of her spirit is hanging from it, almost crucified, nearly suffocated. She doesn't care to see the living anymore. Her anger and jealousy tell her it's not fair to see people healthy and living their lives. It's not fair to be a mere witness. To just exist and nothing else.
The only time we go out is a weekly trip to take her grocery shopping. It takes her three times as long to walk, to think, to read, to try something new and decide whether it will make her even sicker. She's tired of eating. She's tired of trying, failing and weeping. She's tired of living.
And yet she can't ever fall sleep.
I don't try to tell her anymore that it will all be okay, when all my hand can feel when I hug her are the segments of her spine, no muscle or fat or substance that has now vanished. I don't tell her anymore not to be sorry for imposing on me when nothing can console. I don't think there are any words that can heal. I am not a doctor and the ones we've seen haven't done any good.
I don't say anything at all. I just breathe comfortably like she told me to once before. The air of my calm is all that I can pass onto her. But we are here together nonetheless.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
You are Linear B. Even those who can follow you think you're all Greek to them. Which, after all, is true - Linear B being the first known text for written Greek. To most people, you're incomprehensible. But what do you care? You're tough, hard, long-enduring and have greater nobility than most. Naturally, you don't admit to borrowing extensively from your brother Linear A.
The Which Ancient Language Are You Test
Thursday, August 16, 2007
For a few hours, I contemplated having a gathering of some sort. But then I came to my senses and remembered that I don't actually like organizing or socializing in groups of people for extended periods of time. Whew, that was close.
So being a man of simple pleasures, I got a haircut.
And my sweetie sent me flowers.
And because he knows I forget to eat lunch I promptly ate them.
Which may be why I have been thirty for exactly one day now and survived to tell about it.
Amazingly, it has all culminated thus far in learning something that I probably knew a long time ago but am just starting to heed: For this Tortoise it's far more satisfying and in fact essential to stop and ask Hare if he likes lemon and honey in his tea instead of winning that silly race. How about that.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Merv Griffin! (Warning: Not really safe for the Lactose intolerant.)
UPDATE: On the author's blog.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
* Every morning should begin with a bang. Like a literal loud "BANG!" Wait, it shouldn't?
* In almost all Super Mario games where Peach and Yoshi are playable, the computer wants to make Peach a royal bitch and Yoshi a punk. And why exactly does Yoshi lay eggs when he is a boy?
* I used some of the Alpha Male Cooling Body Scrub in the shower. I hadn't used it in a while and I suddenly remembered now that it gives orifices of the nether regions a perky, minty-breath freshness.
* When I think I've got The Elder Monkey figured out, that's the moment he will change his mind about everything. The Elder Monkey now likes bagels and cream cheese after deciding to eat my breakfast, since it was obviously better than his.
* When I think I've got The Younger Monkey figured out, that's the moment he doesn't change his mind, but brings it to the next level. The Younger Monkey wants macaroni & cheese and/or cheeseburger and/or a block of cheese for every meal including breakfast.
* The Elder Monkey knows that "I'm not a plant!" as he explained to me he doesn't need the photosynthesis from sitting in the hot car. Also, whining about it helps.
* Even though I have to move my mom in with me by next weekend I decided to spend the day with the boyfriend relaxing and doing, um, almost nothing. Twice. For quite a few hours.
* Peanut butter and banana in a smoothie is apparently quite different from peanut butter and banana in a sandwich.
* I am contemplating a really, really short haircut. And sweetie, it's not a thinning bald spot. When you tuft it with gel it's a "no-hawk".
* Alcohol is generally expensive, tastes horrible and makes you lose all your balance. I fall over myself without being drunk I don't need help with that, thanks.
Was some of that TMI? Oh well. This is what makes my life worth living, people.
I still don't feel like doing much today but my house is a post-modernist art project that needs to come back down to earth. Otherwise, the holes in the walls are... supposed to be there. Yup.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
So if for some odd reason you've been missing my voice here you can find me as one of the hosts at the AnimeNation News Podcast. I probably haven't mentioned it before since I'm quite sure upon listening some of you may not know what the hell we are going on about.
I actually wasn't keen on doing it at first as I do not claim to be anywhere near a full fledged otaku, but it's gotten to be fun. So if you are fellow anime fans, do give it a try!
If you are a twitterati* you've probably gathered that I worked at Target for a total of one day. Um, night. For whatever reason the highly advanced timecard system spit-up all over me and thought my name is Thomas Welch. You may also gather that because of this I've only been paid $23.96 for the few hours of humorous propaganda videos we had to watch but nary much else.
I'm sure Thomas is a very nice bloke and I hope he uses it to perhaps better himself. Perhaps numerous trips to IHOP, some fancy new bling for the lowrider, or taking your woman to the roller derby is in order. Until I can track him down and either threaten him with the boxcutter they foolishly thrust in my hands or offer him a bag of lollipops in return. Whichever works better.
Anywho, it's all way too complicated to condone explanation but I am employed by my old job again. The one that technically never was my old job because I never officially came off the payroll. The only change being after a year and a half of working for them from home I am back to the good ol' daily traffic jam and 40 hour week at the place that is said old job. It's all coming back to me now: The forgetting to eat lunch, the formations of dark matter that overflow from the rafters and the feeling that when I get home I don't really want to DO anything else aside from cauterize my legs at the ankles.
Unfortunately, there is lots going on after hours, in fact much more than usual and labor intensive. It involves drywall, terrazzo and inventing a raygun to vaporize a lifetime of stuff. Or at least the ducks who keep pooping on my front porch. Living life upside down is interesting if for nothing else that you get strong wrists and fingertips from walking on your hands all the time.
Before I forget, my humble thanks to the kind snarky bastard who sent me the colorful parachute. While it turns out I don't need it for the moment I've passed it on to my dad who is in much harsher dire straits regarding employment. Also to Jon and Mush for offering to help with my resume. What can I say I feel, loved.
Back to the grind.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
I always used to remember summers in my youth still as a hot breath of fire, but was quickly quenched every afternoon without fail by a swift roaring storm. I could time my day to it, always in waiting with excitement for that rumble and drop that would wash all the heated dust and sweat away. For the past few weeks it seems summer has been behaving itself a little more and recapturing some of this which I used to love, instead of a recent history of split personality; a fidgety snap of drought for months and hurricanes the rest.
Aside from today when it rained elephants and rhinos. The dogs and cats were on vacation you see. And apparently not only here, but other unexpected locales.
My personal tempests have gotten into a similar kind of groove and show no sign of slowing. I won't let them beat me but I'm a bit exhausted tonight.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Again, it's an enhanced podcast which means it has pictures that pop up along with the audio. It also means you need iTunes or Quicktime to listen and view it.
For those that can't play the enhanced version, you can download the regular mp3 version and just follow along with the links in the shownotes.
Friday, July 06, 2007
There is only one person who can relegate me to such a state with only a few words and a moment. It is always when I must speak with her of things in relation to our children and my apparent stubbornness to stick with my lifestyle. The conversations don't end well lately when in regards to the company I keep and wanting to extend that company to my monkeys.
Even after all this time I am looking for her approval, for a redemption from her. The conversation is a jagged dance. We go through the steps and I am careful not to step on toes and when I do we start over. When I am brave enough to break through in a new move, it's never how I saw it in my head. It's weaker, it scratches and I feel my ankles collapse. It's when the rehearsed lines do not empower, when they slither down into the corner with another foolish hope of acceptance, that is my heel and my downfall.
My bumbling communication skills do not have their limits there either apparently. I'm still on the job hunt. It's not going well.
I know what I am good at, but convincing other people of that is really hard to do. I was on the verge of a new worker drone "art"-type job today. One of those that say artist in the job title but really don't require an iota of creative know how, simply the mechanics of a point and click. I guess anything using Photoshop is considered an artist job? But it didn't work out. So we look onward.
So before that, I went and got the Target job earlier this week. I probably start next week. Peed in a cup and everything. As it is the vampire shift, I am told they lock you in the building until daylight. Wa-hoo.
I do feel better now after taking my dad and his wife with us to the movies. At least I could cheer someone up this evening. I'll try again tomorrow, like always, and see if my routine has changed.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
And now I remember that jobhunting it is the worst thing ever. Worse than being sick. Worse than a breakup. Worse than getting a mullet. Worse than the new Transformers movie.
In my real world unfortunately there are some jobs with which in the past I tend to develop a nervous twitching sensation and risk wretching all over things in my path. I am a kind, loyal individual with a positive outlook on life and a sturdy work ethic. Have to keep telling myself that's what is going on the job application and the fake interview smile. I get hired and then I become the all consuming darkness that that will freeze you with one glint of my prostheitc hook.
Jobs such as being the top in any salesperson/customer relationship. Or strapped to my seat in my XYZ Inc. cubicle contemplating my red stapler. Anything involving "support"? A nightmare waiting to happen. Unless I find a place where they WANT me to throw up on them everyday. I haven't found that yet.
Don't get me wrong, I like having a job. I didn't always love it, but I truly enjoyed where I work now. I also think it was a fluke. I won't find anything really close to it again.
Maybe I've got a neurosis where I don't like dealing with other people's money in any capacity. In terms of dealing with it's exchange for goods and services. As weird as it sounds that includes getting a paycheck. I always feel like I'm getting away with something.
I have no college degree, no formal training in anything, no savings, and my work experience isn't something I can translate into a local AND well paying place of employment. Freelancing is right out for making any kind of stable income. I knew this would be happening soon. For some reason I'm still remarkably calm. In my previous life, most major change required that I shut my bedroom door and write my last will, instead of doing anything about it.
Hm, reading all this essentially makes me a spoiled brat. That kind of sucks too. My redemption for any bad attitude I hope comes in the fact that I'm at least hunting instead of lollygagging about. Amazing what having kids will do to one's motivation. I'm now in that mode of finding the kind of job you get because I have to.
I'm actually more tired than anything of advice, people asking me where I've applied, and how to go about "selling" myself. I get it, it's hard to find a job. I get it, really. I will never like selling things. You don't have to keep repeating yourself. Some people I just don't tell things to anymore because of this.
But I'm telling you since that's what's going on right now. Time to go see if Target is hiring the night shift.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
What this means of course is that he can read anything when given enough time to sound it out. Also I've learned that most expletives are simple and not that difficult to figure out. Like F-U-C-K.
I'm not big on the whole swearing thing, but I don't merely out of lifelong repitition. Another one of those evil things that Good Christian Boys simply did not do and so I did not. In my own youth I only remember my Oma (German for grandma) letting her tongue loose, usually in reference to something Opa (German for grandpa) would do, in the form of a scowly "Jesus Christ!" (God-Fearing Methodist for "You idiotic twit!"). The one time I used the H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks in front of all the neighbors, a story involving a magical, rampaging peacock, I was brought to the side by dad and felt guilty for weeks afterward.
I apparently have carried this over to the adult version of me:
This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words: bomb (1x)
So yesterday, I was "taking a break from work" and happened to see a blinking F-Bomb. And then I hear it dropped in a small but strong voice from behind me. At first I thought it only the child living in my head was finally rebelling but, no, the Elder Monkey was fine-tuning his stealth mode. And phonics. Thank you bloggers for keepin' it real.
Luckily, somewhere in all this parenting thing I learned that if you freak out, they will freak out. Or at least have whatever it was that was supposedly wrong etched in their brain. Not gonna lie, I had to stifle a laugh. Through a twitched face somewhere between panic and amusement, I simply told him that, like many other things it isn't something that he's old enough to use. This usually does the trick and he forgets about it and continues on his merry way. Although my real reasoning is that should he bring that word home to other choice relatives he would not soon forget the ensuing wrath.
I know they are just words, just words. Realistically, he'll hear it all soon enough at school I'm sure (if he hasn't already). But still I can't have a cursing monkey at home just yet. I am completely selfish and enjoying his linguistic innocence. I could just see it now, as he enters the second grade and his first assignment is to write about what he learned over the summer.
And then maybe I'll have a few choice words for myself.
Friday, June 22, 2007
First, I love people who don't make their art a mystery:
More importantly, because of this I have a new favorite song of the moment. If you squished all the band members together, I am certain that I am in this Hot Chip video somewhere. Or should be anyway. These guys are definitely from my home planet:
But instead of drawing I've been completely entranced by SoYouThinkYouCanDance. You have to say it all together like that in order to still have time for dinner. I have great respect for dancers mainly BecauseICan'tDanceAtAll. Clogging anyone?:
Friday, June 15, 2007
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
If you have an idea for a piece that you'd like to see gracing your walls, I'd be glad to give it a go. I'm also very reasonable and will usually work for crumbs so shoot me an email and let's talk:
signalite (at) gmail (dot) com
PS. I'm still not able (or ready) to sell the pieces that are already shown here but at least you know what you are in for.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Since he wanted to show images of what we talked about, it's an enhanced podcast which means it has pictures that pop up along with the audio. It also means you need iTunes or Quicktime to listen/view.
For those that can't play the enhanced version, you can download the regular mp3 version and just follow along with the links in the shownotes.
Monday, June 04, 2007
But I was chosen you see. I am special. Only five houses in the area to get it for free, he said. "He" being rather amiable and the "free" being the equipment and installation, an 1800 dollar value dontchaknow! After I sign up for the monthly charges of course. And the three year contract. And when I put the little sign outside my house so the neighbors can easily know, upon their evening walks down the street, who to lynch for sending other solicitors to their door with a "recommendation from your neighbor." I didn't recommend anyone but now they have my name to bandy about.
I can see it now. The little black octagon is my new pink triangle. "There he is! It's always the flamer with the screaming monkeys! We'll just see how safe he is. Let's wait in the bushes so we can chastise him with insults and pooper scooper remnants!"
I'm not feeling too guilty about it. I was in fact randomly thinking about it the other day--how easy it is to break into my house. I've had my share of long nights when my wife would grip me when fear was gripping her that a stranger was among us. It's amazing how a blanket can turn from feathers to titanium when there may be something lurking on the other side.
I've also had first hand experience shoving various small people through windows I pried open with only my fingernails. Although it's more hinderance than heroism to The Elder Monkey. Also, while more compact and agile, you don't send in the Younger Monkey lest you wait for him to watch a movie before unlocking the door. And a snack. And prayed that I did not leave peanut butter in the open.
So while my options weren't easy, when I've given the break-in a try, if I substitute myself with a person more focused and desperate, it's not exactly a boost to peace of mind to see how easy it is. I know that no one is truly safe, even with a blaring alarm. We could all be toast tomorrow or fish food the next. Perhaps when the dinosaurs come back in their spaceship to restore order, we'll be put back in our place. We'll go back to helping each other survive instead of stealing trivialities.
But for now the deed is done, the keypad installed high from wandering monkey fingers, the secret codes in place. Now, should unsuspecting vagrants brave a forced entry, instead of the previous method of just breaking their neck/being impaled/putting an eye out on the obstacle course directly in front of entranceways, they'll have the added joy of going deaf when I can't figure out how to turn off the darn thing. As you can see, I am not so upset about paying for security but rather the impending sign language lessons for convicts. Followed immediately by the second lynching from neighbors, wherein perishable food and garden gnomes will be hurled from those awakened in the dead of night.
I'll try to take pictures.