I finally have a few minutes to sit down and write about the last few days.
Ever since my wife gave birth, she has been having trouble with a "plugged duct."
Every doctor we have seen since day one has told her that it was a plugged milk duct.
"Don't worry. You just have to keep feeding him."
"Put ice on it."
"Put heat on it."
"Make sure you really press down on it until it's bruised. That will help get it out."
Now my wife and I were very concerned as she was getting worse and worse. We decided to go to the doctor and wouldn't leave until we got a straight answer.
During her pregnancy, we decided the baby would be born at North Memorial Hospital, because it's only five minutes away. To make this easier, we decided to go with the doctors at the Oakdale Clinic, which is part of the same hospital. Now there are seven doctors that, depending what day you go, switch off.
Doctor H is the head of the clinic now, and she is the one we have seen the most often. This is a woman who may be totally brilliant, but has no beside manner. Now my mother always told me that the colder a doctor is, the more brilliant they are likely to be. This woman is an ice queen, so she must be the best doctor ever. Or I would have thought before this.
Back to the point, on the particular day we went, we saw Doctor L. In a total reverse from the normal thinking, the men at this clinic are very nice and competent, while the women at the clinic are stone cold bitches and don't necessarily know what's going on all the time. Doc L told my wife she would need a sonogram.
One trip to the hospital later, the doctors tell her, "We have no idea what's wrong, but it's not a plugged duct. Of that I'm 100% sure."
We return to the clinic. Doctor H looks over our stuff and says, "It's a plugged duct, pure and simple."
When my wife and I protested, she told us that we were, "overreacting." It's never good when a doctor tells you you're overreacting.
"My sister-in-law had an abscess. Could this be an abscess?" my wife asked.
After a giant sigh, we were told, "No. You don't have the symptoms. Please...quit overreacting."
It's NEVER a good idea to have someone, especially a doctor, tell someone not to overreact when they have a burning sensation and a lump.
Twenty-four hours later, my wife can barely move. The pain is too great. She goes to urgent care where the doctor there tells her, "Oh...hmm. That could be an abscess, but the top part is a boil. Take these antibiotics."
My wife asks the doctor, "Can't you lacerate?"
"No," she is told, "We don't do that."
Wait...doctors don't do that...at urgent care? What's that sir? You cut your finger off? We don't fix that at urgent care.
That night my wife cannot do anything but cry. She's in way too much pain. I am already tired, and now I'm pissed off. I call the clinic and, in my not-so-nice voice, say, "Look, my wife is in so much pain she can't stop crying. She needs to see a doctor...NOW!"
I get her an apointment with Dr. K. He's the other guy on the staff. My wife comes in to the office, Dr. K takes one look at her breast and says, "Yup, that's an abscess. Why didn't you get this taken care of?"
She relates the story to this point to him, and he says, "Oh...ummm...yeah...See this doctor (Doc M)."
After another night of taking care of my wife and my son, we go to Doc M for "the procedure." Basically, he's going to lance my wife's breast and drain it.
Now, the first thing he says to her is, "Oh, you went to urgent care...why didn't they drain it?" This causes me to grumble.
He drains the surface and then his face forms a frown. "Wow, this is DEEP! We're going to have to cut this open and drain it."
Doc M goes on to explain that it will be a simple procedure. They will make an incision, drain the breast, and then she'll be on her way.
We trudge over to the hospital (we're parked over at the clinic), and my wife is checked in and given a room.
It's a closet with a bed.
We wait an hour. The doctor is doing another surgery and isn't sure when he'll be in. My wife is almost bawling. She's really hungry, engorged, and her breast is burning ("It's like a branding iron was broken off in there," she tell me).
When they wheel her out, I am kicked out of the room. "This will take twenty minutes," Doc M tells me. "Go get your wife's medication.
I walk all the way over to North Clinic Pharmacy.
Now, I already wrote about this at MN Speak, but the pharmacy gave me the medication without even looking at my ID. Here's the deal:
Imagine a guy walking up to your counter carrying a child and two bags. He looks like absolute hell. In a bag that looks nothing like his, he pulls out a prescription and says, "I need this filled please." He then hands you an insurance and pharmacy card with a name that cannot possibly be his. Would you fill out that prescription no questions asked? Well, they did. No questions. They just handed it to me and told me to be on my way.
It's at this point that the low point of my day starts (that's right, it got lower). As I walk out of the pharmacy, I am carrying:
My son in a car seat
A diaper bag
My wife's purse
My wife's meds
I figure I can shoot up to the car (it was on the fifth floor of the clinic), drop off her purse and meds, and then get back to my wife in time for her to be out of surgery.
After dropping the stuff off at the car, I get in the elevator and start down to the first floor to walk over to the hospital.
The elevator stops one floor above the tunnel.
"Going up?" a gentleman asks me.
"No, down. Sorry," I reply.
The door shuts, and the elevator takes off...up! Both my son and I are not prepared for this. He wakes up and puts his arms out, while I grab on to the railing as we are going up very fast. We hit the sixth floor and hear a clunk. Not a "the elevator is stopping" clunk, but more of a "and now you're going to drop and die" clunk. The elevator clunks again and stops. Suddenly the alarm button lights up...and the elevator drops. We go very quickly back all the way down.
My first thought is, "Oh hell. I'm going to die in an elevator...how droll."
The next thought? "Ok, when I hear the fifth clunk, I'll have to jump and hope I time it right."
Luckily, the elevator slowed down at the bottom floor...but the doors wouldn't open. I put my son down, and forced the door open. We weren't all the way down. There was woman standing in front of the door, and she just stared at me. Never asked if she could help, just looked on slack-jawed trying to figure out what the hell I was doing getting out of an elevator that wasn't all the way down.
I ran back to the waiting room. As soon as got there, my son started crying. He wanted to eat.
What is it about a crying baby that brings out people's true personalities? I cannot help that my son started crying, and I did everything I could to keep him quiet as I warmed his bottle. How does telling someone, "I have enough annoying me at this point. I don't need YOUR crying baby," make the situation better.
I got lucky again. The guy sitting next to me was an older gentleman who told people to shut up. After the third person gave me a dirty look and made a comment, he said, "Look, we were all babies once. We ALL acted this way. Go back to your own business."
Half way through feeding my son, the doctor came out to take me back. I couldn't stop feeding Poozer, or he would start crying, so I finished feeding him first.
My wife looked terrible when I got back there. She was pale, and out of it due to the anesthetic they gave her.
"Mr. Leab?" a nurse asked.
"That would be me," I replied.
"Your wife can't drive and can barely walk. Here is a list of the things you need to do."
So, beyond just taking care of my son, I would now have to help my wife.
I walked all the way back (taking to stairs to get to the car after my elevator ride didn't go well) and picked her up. When we got home, she passed out. So did Will. I couldn't. I had to prepare bottles, my wife's meds, and her dinner.
That night I slept only about an hour, but I was functioning.
The situation, however, got worse the next morning. I had to help my wife shower and change her dressing. The gauze was IN her breast. We had to slowly peel it out. Then we discovered, much to my wife's horror, that Doc M had not made it clear what "an incision" meant. Her breast had (and, though healing, still has as of tonight) a quarter-sized hole in it. She freaked out. How could anyone not. It was a hole in her body that a finger could fit in. That's insane!
I managed to calm her down.
As of today, she's getting better. I'm just glad my parents were scheduled to visit this weekend anyway. It allowed me to nap, which I needed.
I'm pissed at the doctors right now. Let me run the laundry list:
Can't agree on the diagnosis
Horrible bedside manner
Vague or unclear on procedures
That pretty much covers what is angering me right now. I haven't slept much, but I have become a master bottle feeder to my son. That first night was horrible. Help my wife, help my son, help my wife, help my son, (take a breath) repeat.
This experience has just reinforced my feelings about doctors. There's a reason it's called "A PRACTICE." No one has all the answers. That's just how it is. I'm still shocked about picking up the prescriptions, I'm glad my wife is feeling better, and I'm hoping for a break here in the future.
Then again what do I know? I'm the guy who told a doctor to "rethink how you talk to people." I could be wrong.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Poozer Patrol
My wife had to have surgery today.
I have been up for two straight days, and it looks like it will be three as I need to take care of Little Leab AND my wife.
I'm tired, haven't eaten in 36 hours, and I'm frustrated as all hell at doctors.
Thus, this will be my post for the night.
If MN Speak puts up my post, then you can read about how I got drugs at North Memorial Hospital for my wife without having to show ID.
That could be trouble.
Namaste.
I have been up for two straight days, and it looks like it will be three as I need to take care of Little Leab AND my wife.
I'm tired, haven't eaten in 36 hours, and I'm frustrated as all hell at doctors.
Thus, this will be my post for the night.
If MN Speak puts up my post, then you can read about how I got drugs at North Memorial Hospital for my wife without having to show ID.
That could be trouble.
Namaste.
The GPA Disbands
I've been reading about Artie W's GPA issues in his Spanish class recently, and it got me thinking about my graduate school career.
You see when I was in college, I didn't take my GPA seriously. When you're doing technical theatre professionally, no one looks at your resume to see your grades. They only care to see if you can do the job at hand. Unfortunately, the world of education doesn't quite work that way. We are requested (which the polite way of saying required) to put our GPA on our resume. This means that we have to answer questions about it (more on that later).
In my whole life, I've never received a 4.0. My sister had a 4.0 (she may have also had a 4.1 at some point, but that's neither here nor there), but I never came close.
In the final year of graduate school at St. Thomas, I had a 4.0. That was, of course, until I took Adolescent Literature.
The school had put too many students in the class but was loathe to lose any money. So, they hired a teacher to take one of the sections and then split us 50-50. Half of us (the graduate students) went with the new teacher (who, for the purposes of this post, we'll call Adam). The other half (all the undergrads) went with the teacher who normally teaches the class. This illustrates my first problem: the grads pay more than the undergrads, but we were given the guy who had never before taught the class. Oh so fair.
Adam was a nice guy. He was a cowboy of sorts (loved his horses and went riding every weekend), and he taught English out in Osseo. However, he had never taught a class at a level higher than high school, which was evident from the way he looked at us when he walked into the first day of class. We were quiet, organized, and ready to learn. Every single one of us. I don't think he was expecting that.
The description of the class fell into two parts:
1. Look at how modern literature aimed at adolescents meets their reading needs and desires.
2. Develop ways of making kids want to read those books (including lesson plans).
Adam, however, saw the class much differently than its description. His version was this:
1.Test the graduate students on their English skills.
2. Read and discuss books that have been taught at his school.
Very different in my opinion.
On the first day of class, we got our first assignments. Read the entire book of The Secret Life of Bees (ok, we had a week, not a problem), jot down five questions that you ask a class about the book (all right, annoying, but useful), prepare a five minute presentation on the chapter you're assigned following a rubric given to us by Adam (starting to realize that he doesn't know that some of us have more than one class and a job), AND write a book report (wait, wait wait....A book report?! I'm a grad student...I haven't written a book report in YEARS! What the hell?). Yes, we were required to do all that work, but the book report was insulting. What did we as teachers (almost all of us to be secondary) gain from writing book reports? Grumbling, we left our first class.
The book reports would become a major issue for everyone. Adam had not made it clear that he would not be grading us on our content, but solely on our writing skills. This was exacerbating. He couldn't have cared less if our information about the book was correct. How do I know? Well, when we read They Things They Carried, I put incorrect information into my paper on purpose. I then had two English teachers and a former English major proofread the paper. It was grammatically perfect. I got an A.
This proved it: Adam only graded us on our grammar skills. He was a Grammar Nazi. He took our first papers, copied them, and then put them on the classroom overhead and proceded to destroy us for the way we wrote. Hell, if he read this, he would comment on the fact that I am using "it" which you NEVER do...according to him. "Look, I'll start looking at your content," he said, "when you all can actually write."
As we finished the first half of the semester, NO ONE had an A. I was holding down a B, but only because I was damn lucky and great at preparing presentations. Coming home from class, I would be so angry, because I saw my 4.0 slipping away from me, and I couldn't stop it.
Our class turned into an educational version of Survivor. We lost a person a week until the end of the semester. Some were able to get into the other class (which I would later be jealous of as they actually prepared lesson plans and...oh...I don't know...learned!), while others just left the class in sheer disgust. Hell, we even had someone gain immunity every week: that person's paper wasn't put on the overhead.
As the semester came toward a close, Adam gave us our final project. A fifteen minute presentation and a four page paper. It would seem easy except there was that whole grammar issue again, and this time it would also apply to the way we speak. He was going to grade our speaking abilities. This meant no "ums," "uhs," or, "likes." (Someone later told me he was once a speech coach.) Looking at my grade, I figured out that if I got a solid A on the project, I could get an A for the class. This was exciting to me. Somehow, I was going to survive this test.
My book was Animal Farm. It was perfect, as I knew the book backwards and forwards and had a source on Orwell in the form of my father (wrote a book on it). The piece I prepared was on how Animal Farm could be used to show propaganda. It was a great piece. I still teach it today and had colleagues copy the lesson plan. My presentation time came up, and I was feeling nervous but good. I watched myself doing the presentation and never heard the offending words Adam had mentioned. Even my grammar, which is normally terrible, was in step. Feeling good about the way it went, I took questions from the audience. This, too, went well as I never was stumped, though one gal did ask me a hard question about modern propaganda in the form of pop-up ads.
I felt great. When I got home, I told my wife the whole story, and she said, "Shouldn't be a problem. You'll get that A."
Our final class, Adam gave us our grades. Much like Ralphie in A Christmas Story, I was in for major disappointment. My final grade was an A-. I had lost points during my presentation for asking someone to repeat the question. You read that right. He took off ten points (giving me a 90 instead of a 100), because I couldn't hear one girl's question and asked her, "Would you say that again, please? I couldn't hear you." Full of anger and literally seeing red spots, I asked Adam why I got an A-.
"When Cindy (not her real name) spoke, you asked her to repeat her question. That showed me that you weren't really listening to her, which you have to do in order to be a good teacher."
"But," I replied, "she was so quiet, and you set us over by the vents. How can you expect us to hear every single thing ever said? That's impossible, Adam."
"Not if you really care about students."
Suffice to say, I managed an A-, which was one of the higher grades (some people flat out failed). However, this meant that I no longer had a 4.0 in a program where ALMOST EVERYONE DOES! I was ashamed to put "3.93" on my resume.
I mean there was a gal wanting to become an English teacher who didn't know that William was Shakespeare's first name...and SHE got a 4.0. That hurts.
Everyone around me tried to reassure me:
"No looks at that."
"They won't ask you about it."
"Concentrate on the other stuff."
I rolled into the Education Fair feeling like a million bucks. "There's no way I wouldn't get interviewed," I told myself. "I have a great resume."
Yet every school I talked to asked the same question: "Tell me about your GPA. Why don't you have a 4.0?"
Are you kidding me? Never mind that I have the credentials, you're going to harp on my GPA?
In my mind I wanted to tell them about Adam. "There was this guy who was a Grammar Nazi...," but that would show I couldn't take responsibility (and you only get a short time with each person). Instead I answered, "Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you'll still fail. If you learn from it, the experience makes you a better person. I'm not perfect, but I'll never stop trying to be."
I thought it was a good answer. Most schools ended the interview there. One school (ok it was Blake) ripped up my resume right there in front of me and threw it out. Apparently I wasn't Blake material (I heard this happened to many people).
I will admit that even though I have a job now, I still think about that damn class. I was so close to perfect. The problem is that I could outteach many of the people in my class, but they all had perfect GPAs, so they were considered before me.
My students hear from me all the time that their grade point average is just a number. That's all, but in this world of competitive colleges, they are told that it is everything.
The problem is that as more people buy into the whole GPA garbage, the more some awesome minds are being left out.
I saw Adam recently, and I told him, after a long conversation, that he almost cost me having a job. His response to me was interesting, but also backhanded. He told me that a school concentrating on my GPA only cares about how it looks and not how the students are doing. Then he went on to say that I could have worked harder.
It just angers me that our educational system focuses on numbers (not unlike the business world) and not on the people.
Then again, what do I know? I'm the guy who got an A- in the "Everyone gets a 4.0" program. I could be wrong.
You see when I was in college, I didn't take my GPA seriously. When you're doing technical theatre professionally, no one looks at your resume to see your grades. They only care to see if you can do the job at hand. Unfortunately, the world of education doesn't quite work that way. We are requested (which the polite way of saying required) to put our GPA on our resume. This means that we have to answer questions about it (more on that later).
In my whole life, I've never received a 4.0. My sister had a 4.0 (she may have also had a 4.1 at some point, but that's neither here nor there), but I never came close.
In the final year of graduate school at St. Thomas, I had a 4.0. That was, of course, until I took Adolescent Literature.
The school had put too many students in the class but was loathe to lose any money. So, they hired a teacher to take one of the sections and then split us 50-50. Half of us (the graduate students) went with the new teacher (who, for the purposes of this post, we'll call Adam). The other half (all the undergrads) went with the teacher who normally teaches the class. This illustrates my first problem: the grads pay more than the undergrads, but we were given the guy who had never before taught the class. Oh so fair.
Adam was a nice guy. He was a cowboy of sorts (loved his horses and went riding every weekend), and he taught English out in Osseo. However, he had never taught a class at a level higher than high school, which was evident from the way he looked at us when he walked into the first day of class. We were quiet, organized, and ready to learn. Every single one of us. I don't think he was expecting that.
The description of the class fell into two parts:
1. Look at how modern literature aimed at adolescents meets their reading needs and desires.
2. Develop ways of making kids want to read those books (including lesson plans).
Adam, however, saw the class much differently than its description. His version was this:
1.Test the graduate students on their English skills.
2. Read and discuss books that have been taught at his school.
Very different in my opinion.
On the first day of class, we got our first assignments. Read the entire book of The Secret Life of Bees (ok, we had a week, not a problem), jot down five questions that you ask a class about the book (all right, annoying, but useful), prepare a five minute presentation on the chapter you're assigned following a rubric given to us by Adam (starting to realize that he doesn't know that some of us have more than one class and a job), AND write a book report (wait, wait wait....A book report?! I'm a grad student...I haven't written a book report in YEARS! What the hell?). Yes, we were required to do all that work, but the book report was insulting. What did we as teachers (almost all of us to be secondary) gain from writing book reports? Grumbling, we left our first class.
The book reports would become a major issue for everyone. Adam had not made it clear that he would not be grading us on our content, but solely on our writing skills. This was exacerbating. He couldn't have cared less if our information about the book was correct. How do I know? Well, when we read They Things They Carried, I put incorrect information into my paper on purpose. I then had two English teachers and a former English major proofread the paper. It was grammatically perfect. I got an A.
This proved it: Adam only graded us on our grammar skills. He was a Grammar Nazi. He took our first papers, copied them, and then put them on the classroom overhead and proceded to destroy us for the way we wrote. Hell, if he read this, he would comment on the fact that I am using "it" which you NEVER do...according to him. "Look, I'll start looking at your content," he said, "when you all can actually write."
As we finished the first half of the semester, NO ONE had an A. I was holding down a B, but only because I was damn lucky and great at preparing presentations. Coming home from class, I would be so angry, because I saw my 4.0 slipping away from me, and I couldn't stop it.
Our class turned into an educational version of Survivor. We lost a person a week until the end of the semester. Some were able to get into the other class (which I would later be jealous of as they actually prepared lesson plans and...oh...I don't know...learned!), while others just left the class in sheer disgust. Hell, we even had someone gain immunity every week: that person's paper wasn't put on the overhead.
As the semester came toward a close, Adam gave us our final project. A fifteen minute presentation and a four page paper. It would seem easy except there was that whole grammar issue again, and this time it would also apply to the way we speak. He was going to grade our speaking abilities. This meant no "ums," "uhs," or, "likes." (Someone later told me he was once a speech coach.) Looking at my grade, I figured out that if I got a solid A on the project, I could get an A for the class. This was exciting to me. Somehow, I was going to survive this test.
My book was Animal Farm. It was perfect, as I knew the book backwards and forwards and had a source on Orwell in the form of my father (wrote a book on it). The piece I prepared was on how Animal Farm could be used to show propaganda. It was a great piece. I still teach it today and had colleagues copy the lesson plan. My presentation time came up, and I was feeling nervous but good. I watched myself doing the presentation and never heard the offending words Adam had mentioned. Even my grammar, which is normally terrible, was in step. Feeling good about the way it went, I took questions from the audience. This, too, went well as I never was stumped, though one gal did ask me a hard question about modern propaganda in the form of pop-up ads.
I felt great. When I got home, I told my wife the whole story, and she said, "Shouldn't be a problem. You'll get that A."
Our final class, Adam gave us our grades. Much like Ralphie in A Christmas Story, I was in for major disappointment. My final grade was an A-. I had lost points during my presentation for asking someone to repeat the question. You read that right. He took off ten points (giving me a 90 instead of a 100), because I couldn't hear one girl's question and asked her, "Would you say that again, please? I couldn't hear you." Full of anger and literally seeing red spots, I asked Adam why I got an A-.
"When Cindy (not her real name) spoke, you asked her to repeat her question. That showed me that you weren't really listening to her, which you have to do in order to be a good teacher."
"But," I replied, "she was so quiet, and you set us over by the vents. How can you expect us to hear every single thing ever said? That's impossible, Adam."
"Not if you really care about students."
Suffice to say, I managed an A-, which was one of the higher grades (some people flat out failed). However, this meant that I no longer had a 4.0 in a program where ALMOST EVERYONE DOES! I was ashamed to put "3.93" on my resume.
I mean there was a gal wanting to become an English teacher who didn't know that William was Shakespeare's first name...and SHE got a 4.0. That hurts.
Everyone around me tried to reassure me:
"No looks at that."
"They won't ask you about it."
"Concentrate on the other stuff."
I rolled into the Education Fair feeling like a million bucks. "There's no way I wouldn't get interviewed," I told myself. "I have a great resume."
Yet every school I talked to asked the same question: "Tell me about your GPA. Why don't you have a 4.0?"
Are you kidding me? Never mind that I have the credentials, you're going to harp on my GPA?
In my mind I wanted to tell them about Adam. "There was this guy who was a Grammar Nazi...," but that would show I couldn't take responsibility (and you only get a short time with each person). Instead I answered, "Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you'll still fail. If you learn from it, the experience makes you a better person. I'm not perfect, but I'll never stop trying to be."
I thought it was a good answer. Most schools ended the interview there. One school (ok it was Blake) ripped up my resume right there in front of me and threw it out. Apparently I wasn't Blake material (I heard this happened to many people).
I will admit that even though I have a job now, I still think about that damn class. I was so close to perfect. The problem is that I could outteach many of the people in my class, but they all had perfect GPAs, so they were considered before me.
My students hear from me all the time that their grade point average is just a number. That's all, but in this world of competitive colleges, they are told that it is everything.
The problem is that as more people buy into the whole GPA garbage, the more some awesome minds are being left out.
I saw Adam recently, and I told him, after a long conversation, that he almost cost me having a job. His response to me was interesting, but also backhanded. He told me that a school concentrating on my GPA only cares about how it looks and not how the students are doing. Then he went on to say that I could have worked harder.
It just angers me that our educational system focuses on numbers (not unlike the business world) and not on the people.
Then again, what do I know? I'm the guy who got an A- in the "Everyone gets a 4.0" program. I could be wrong.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
The Touring Frankens
I ran into Al Franken today in downtown Minneapolis. While my wife was seeing the doctor, I took my son to walk around Minneapolis (as nice as Robbinsdale is, there aren't a ton of sidewalks). As we walked up Nicollet Mall, there was Al Franken walking at a brisk pace. I have mentioned before: I am not star struck. It's very hard to get me to a point where I cannot talk to someone.
We both had to stop at the light as cars flew past. He turned, look at my son in the stroller, and said, "Cute kid."
I said, "Thanks Mr. Franken."
"Oh, you know who I am?"
"We've met before," I replied.
This had his eyebrows reaching toward the sky.
It's true. I met Al Franken while I was a student at Washington University in St. Louis. Franken was looking at schools for his son, Joe (who would later end up at Princeton, I believe). The head of the department, Jeffery Matthews, wanted someone to show Franken and his son around the school. I was chosen. Why? I still have no clue. Maybe it was because I would answer his questions truthfully without holding back. Or maybe it was a test (I was not good at the political game when I was in college...it got me in trouble now and then).
Jeffery prepared me in his office a few hours before the visit.
"Oook. Make sure you say something nice about his work. Maybe Saturday Night Live or something. Say something nice about his son (his name is Joe). This is VERY important. Do you understand?"
Say something about his work? If this had happened to my parents when I was looking at colleges, they (and I) would have been pissed. Yet here I was standing outside the Performing Arts Department trying to figure out what to say.
So, Al and Joe Franken appeared. They talked to Jeffery for a few minutes, and then we were introduced. I shook Joe's hand first, because this was about him, not his father (Jeffery was not happy about that).
At this point I was looking right at Mr. Franken and began to shake his hand. The first thing out of my mouth was, "You know, sir, Stuart Saves His Family was underrated and quite good. I really enjoyed it."
"Well...thank you, I guess," was all he said.
It took the Frankens on the tour. Explained everything I could and answered every question I could. Al seemed to be interested in the fact that I was from New York, and that I was a Techie.
"So do you like working with actors?" he asked me.
"As long as I don't have to eat with them," I replied.
There was a slight chuckle.
After a few more minutes, we finished the tour. We shook hands and then I "blew the deal," as Jeffery would and probably will tell me everytime I see him.
Somehow, a photographer showed up. You see, Harold Ramis, who Franken had worked with, had gone to WUSTL. In truth, Ramis based a great deal of Animal House on life at Wash. U (Not Dartmouth and not any other school that claims it). There is a "Wall of Fame" where the professors of the department have their pictures with students and famous people. The head of the department, for example, has a picture of himself with a student and Kevin Kline (he also refers to Kevin Kline as, "Kev.") on this wall.
The photographer was supposed to take a picture of Franken, Jeffery, and myself. However, Joe, the whole reason Franken was there (supposedly), was not to be in the picture. He was told, by the photographer, to, "sit over there (indicating a bench) until we're done."
That didn't sit well with me. The kid was being marginalized in the name of helping the school.
So, I excused myself. Jeffery had a look of terror on his face. I said, "Mr. Franken, it was nice to meet you. Joe, good luck, and if you have any questions, you have my email. I need to get to a lighting rehearsal." Granted, it was only 1 pm, but it could have been true.
Without the student, the whole thing wouldn't work. Why would perspective parents care about a celebrity meeting with the professors? They would want the students involved.
Maybe the blown photo op was the reason why Joe didn't go to Wash. U. I don't know, and I don't care.
I enjoyed showing the Frankens around the school, but it felt weird. It was almost like being part of a show where everyone knows the script except you.
So, with that in mind, I looked into Mr. Franken's eyes and said, "Yes, we met at Washington University in St. Louis when your son was looking at schools. I gave you a tour."
He nodded and said, "Oh sure," which really meant, "I don't remember, but I'll be nice as I am very Minnesotan and will forget this meeting almost immediately after I cross the street, person who is a nobody."
The light changed. We crossed, he much faster than I.
"Have a good day," I said.
"You too," he replied.
My son and I continued walking at our slow pace watching Franken move quickly on to his destination.
The best part? Honestly? Hearing my son be called cute. Makes me a proud papa.
Namaste.
We both had to stop at the light as cars flew past. He turned, look at my son in the stroller, and said, "Cute kid."
I said, "Thanks Mr. Franken."
"Oh, you know who I am?"
"We've met before," I replied.
This had his eyebrows reaching toward the sky.
It's true. I met Al Franken while I was a student at Washington University in St. Louis. Franken was looking at schools for his son, Joe (who would later end up at Princeton, I believe). The head of the department, Jeffery Matthews, wanted someone to show Franken and his son around the school. I was chosen. Why? I still have no clue. Maybe it was because I would answer his questions truthfully without holding back. Or maybe it was a test (I was not good at the political game when I was in college...it got me in trouble now and then).
Jeffery prepared me in his office a few hours before the visit.
"Oook. Make sure you say something nice about his work. Maybe Saturday Night Live or something. Say something nice about his son (his name is Joe). This is VERY important. Do you understand?"
Say something about his work? If this had happened to my parents when I was looking at colleges, they (and I) would have been pissed. Yet here I was standing outside the Performing Arts Department trying to figure out what to say.
So, Al and Joe Franken appeared. They talked to Jeffery for a few minutes, and then we were introduced. I shook Joe's hand first, because this was about him, not his father (Jeffery was not happy about that).
At this point I was looking right at Mr. Franken and began to shake his hand. The first thing out of my mouth was, "You know, sir, Stuart Saves His Family was underrated and quite good. I really enjoyed it."
"Well...thank you, I guess," was all he said.
It took the Frankens on the tour. Explained everything I could and answered every question I could. Al seemed to be interested in the fact that I was from New York, and that I was a Techie.
"So do you like working with actors?" he asked me.
"As long as I don't have to eat with them," I replied.
There was a slight chuckle.
After a few more minutes, we finished the tour. We shook hands and then I "blew the deal," as Jeffery would and probably will tell me everytime I see him.
Somehow, a photographer showed up. You see, Harold Ramis, who Franken had worked with, had gone to WUSTL. In truth, Ramis based a great deal of Animal House on life at Wash. U (Not Dartmouth and not any other school that claims it). There is a "Wall of Fame" where the professors of the department have their pictures with students and famous people. The head of the department, for example, has a picture of himself with a student and Kevin Kline (he also refers to Kevin Kline as, "Kev.") on this wall.
The photographer was supposed to take a picture of Franken, Jeffery, and myself. However, Joe, the whole reason Franken was there (supposedly), was not to be in the picture. He was told, by the photographer, to, "sit over there (indicating a bench) until we're done."
That didn't sit well with me. The kid was being marginalized in the name of helping the school.
So, I excused myself. Jeffery had a look of terror on his face. I said, "Mr. Franken, it was nice to meet you. Joe, good luck, and if you have any questions, you have my email. I need to get to a lighting rehearsal." Granted, it was only 1 pm, but it could have been true.
Without the student, the whole thing wouldn't work. Why would perspective parents care about a celebrity meeting with the professors? They would want the students involved.
Maybe the blown photo op was the reason why Joe didn't go to Wash. U. I don't know, and I don't care.
I enjoyed showing the Frankens around the school, but it felt weird. It was almost like being part of a show where everyone knows the script except you.
So, with that in mind, I looked into Mr. Franken's eyes and said, "Yes, we met at Washington University in St. Louis when your son was looking at schools. I gave you a tour."
He nodded and said, "Oh sure," which really meant, "I don't remember, but I'll be nice as I am very Minnesotan and will forget this meeting almost immediately after I cross the street, person who is a nobody."
The light changed. We crossed, he much faster than I.
"Have a good day," I said.
"You too," he replied.
My son and I continued walking at our slow pace watching Franken move quickly on to his destination.
The best part? Honestly? Hearing my son be called cute. Makes me a proud papa.
Namaste.
Monday, August 07, 2006
A War With No Winner
Ok, I have a confession to make here.
When I was younger, I was a HUGE comic book collector. I admit it. Batman, Superman, Spider-Man, Green Lantern. All of them were a part of my week. New comics would come out every Wednesday. My mother would give me a ride to the place I bought from (ironically called: My Mother Threw Mine Away) and I would spend hours pouring of the artwork and words.
I can even remember the first comic book I was ever given. My father bought me Flash 1 in 1987. That was my first comic. I was hooked right away. I started buying Spider-Man, Action Comics, and more.
There was always something about the comic book world when I was kid. Before the true modern day comics, the good guys always won. The Flash would save the girl and beat the bad guy. So would Superman, Batman, Spider-Man, and more. You could count on Captain America to fight for America and stay on the right side of the law (more on that later).
My favorite comic books, though I am slightly embarrased to admit it, were The Punisher and Batman.
The Punisher. Frank Castle. He was a New York cop whose family was murdered by mobsters, so he took the law into his own hands in order to avenge his wife, Maria, and children. The Punisher had no powers. He couldn't regenerate like Wolverine, he couldn't stick to walls like Spiderman, and he didn't have hyper senses like Daredevil. He was just a slightly above normal guy (ex-marine and cop) with access to weapons. He had standards about the men he killed and the way he did it. No women, unless truly necessary, and no children. In the end, however, he fought for the little guy, took on the very worst of mankind, and did it in the name of justice.
Batman. Bruce Wayne. A man whose parents were killed in front of him. Again, here is a man without powers. He uses his brains and training to take down the bad guys. What was always interesting to me about Batman was the fact that the rogues he faced were all psychologically created:
Joker: Crazy, yet brilliant.
Two-Face: Multiple personality disorder
Catwoman: Classic dominatrix
I could go on and on.
Both Batman and the Punisher were the closest you could get to regular people in the super-powered world.
Of course in the modern world Batman created ways to destory his teammates, and the Punisher committed suicide and then came back and operated outside the rest of the marvel universe.
Now, a little history before I get to the real point of this post. DC Comics (the home of Batman, Superman, et al) has fictional cities. Gotham City (Batman) and Metropolis (Superman) are actually the East and West Sides of New York. Flash operated out of Keystone City, while Green Lantern was in Coast City. You get the idea. Though the cities represented real life cities, they were not the same (though recently DC has put heroes in Seattle, New York, and Detroit).
Marvel, on the other hand, has always, according to former leader Stan Lee, been based in the real world. Many of the heroes live in New York, though some base themselves in Chicago, Los Angeles, or San Francisco. There are heroes who are gay, Jewish, Muslim, and more. Marvel has made it clear that they live in our world, so the President of the United States in the comic books is George Bush. War is happening in the Middle East. There are made up nations, of course. Doctor Doom leads Latveria, The Black Panther is king of Wakanda in Africa. Off the coast of Africa is Genosha, an island made for mutants.
The reason it is important to note that Marvel's characters live in our world is because of their current storyline: Civil War, which has asked a simple question. A short synopsis:
A group of c-list heroes on a reality tv show attack some bad guys. One of the bad guys is named Nitro and has the power to explode. He is being attacked and crashes against a bus at a school. Fed up, he explodes, killing children, teachers, and parents. The government decides that superheroes are to dangerous to let run around anymore (as one guy puts it, "They're living WMDs). Thus they propose the Superhero Registration Act. This act would require the heroes to reveal their identities, list themselves in a database, and then get government training and work through a federal agency. Some heroes are all for it, while others feel it is not up to government to decide who the heroes fight.
It's a brilliant idea, but the heroes you would think would be on a side aren't. What do I mean?
Ok, Spider-Man. Here is a man whose girlfriend at the time (Gwen Stacy) was killed when his then nemesis (the Green Goblin) learned his true identity. He has his wife (Mary Jane) and his aunt (May) who have been put in jeopardy in the past when others (such as Eddie Brock, the man who became Venom) learned how Peter Parker (Spider-Man's real name) was the hero. Even though, for over forty years, Spider-Man has been extremely private about his real identity, Marvel has made a major turn and had him expose his identity to the world. That's right. Tony Stark, also known as Iron Man, called a press conference to show how some heroes are backing the Registration Act. Spider-Man, to show his allegiance, took off his mask on International TV. The results? Well, his family is now in danger as his rogues gallery knows who he is, he is being sued by J. Jonah Jameson for all the money he made for taking pictures of himself while working at the Daily Bugle, and many of the other super heroes he called friends now hate him.
My biggest gripe is that you don't have someone who acts so private suddenly be ok with outing himself. Think of JD Salinger, who has avoided the public for years, suddenly coming out and saying, "Please...ask me questions about the work I have done and where I have been."
It betrays the character. It would be like Superman turning on America when he promises to uphold, "Truth, Justice, and the American Way."
Even more interesting to me is Captain America. Ole Cap is actually leading the resistance against the Act. That's right, the man who has upheld America's image, no matter what, is now standing against the very country he fought with for so many years. When asked to help the government, Captain America shouts back, "Don't play politics with me! Super heroes need to stay above that stuff or Washington starts telling us who the super-villains are." It's a viable argument about where federal power ends and creating a system of national ID (which we're discussing with the whole immigration thing). And, just like in real life with the Iraq war, many countries in the Marvel universe are not going along with America's plans.
The reason I call this a war with no winner is for a few reasons:
1. Marvel's head writers have stated that the outcome of this war will have ramifications for years to come and it won't have a happy ending. Unlike your typical comic book where the bad guy is defeated, here the heroes are both good and bad. No black and white, all grey.
2. The real world is starting to take sides...sort of. For example, when Fox News ran a piece about the story arc, they phrased it like this:
Marvel's superheroes are split into two opposing factions. One side, championed by heroes such as Spider-Man, is in favour of the new law. The other side, however, which has Captain America and his sort, refusing to turn their identities over to the government.
Ouch. When you use words like "championed" and "sort" in a piece, the reader or listener is automatically supposed to know who the right and who the wrong are.
However, NPR has a different spin:
A group led by Iron Man embraces the government's demand that they register as living weapons of mass destruction and reveal their secret identities while attempting to force others to do as they want. On the opposing side, Captain America and his allies refuse in order to protect civil liberties and private freedom.
Now this version of it makes it seem as if Captain America is right, while the other side is wrong. That's why this story line is so interesting. It takes the whole, "how much and whose freedom would you give up," idea and takes it to another level.
In a recent discussion between the Fantastic Four's Thing and Invisible Woman, he asks, "What should we be doing? You wanna take up arms against our own government?"
Her reply? "Disagreement isn't disloyalty. Sometimes, the most patriotic thing you can do in a democracy is disagree.''
That's a long way away from, "Stop, villain. Your end is at hand!"
If you want an interesting article about the storyline, read this from the Miami Herald.
The story is only three issues in with the fourth to be coming out very soon. It's unclear right now which side will win, but the Superhero Registration Act has passed in the world of Marvel, so the heroes will now have to deal with the fallout.
As for the outcome being happy. Well, that's really up to you, dear reader. If the world is all for the SPA, will you cheer or jeer? As one guy put it, "If the readers agree with the Act, then everything Stan Lee and his colleagues built since day one will be betrayed.
So far more people seem to be for Captain America's side than Iron Man's. The ACLU chapter in Florida actually put out a statement agreeing with the character. Joe Quesada, the editor-in-chief at Marvel, has stated that he has had real politicians contact him about the Act. Some of them have, "said they agree with the [SPA], while others have voiced that they feel strongly against it."
The interesting part is that many people are reading the book who aren't normally comic book readers. I recommend you pick it up and read it. It's an interesting look at the way America is today.
Of course what do I know? I'm just some nerd who reads comic books. I could be wrong.
When I was younger, I was a HUGE comic book collector. I admit it. Batman, Superman, Spider-Man, Green Lantern. All of them were a part of my week. New comics would come out every Wednesday. My mother would give me a ride to the place I bought from (ironically called: My Mother Threw Mine Away) and I would spend hours pouring of the artwork and words.
I can even remember the first comic book I was ever given. My father bought me Flash 1 in 1987. That was my first comic. I was hooked right away. I started buying Spider-Man, Action Comics, and more.
There was always something about the comic book world when I was kid. Before the true modern day comics, the good guys always won. The Flash would save the girl and beat the bad guy. So would Superman, Batman, Spider-Man, and more. You could count on Captain America to fight for America and stay on the right side of the law (more on that later).
My favorite comic books, though I am slightly embarrased to admit it, were The Punisher and Batman.
The Punisher. Frank Castle. He was a New York cop whose family was murdered by mobsters, so he took the law into his own hands in order to avenge his wife, Maria, and children. The Punisher had no powers. He couldn't regenerate like Wolverine, he couldn't stick to walls like Spiderman, and he didn't have hyper senses like Daredevil. He was just a slightly above normal guy (ex-marine and cop) with access to weapons. He had standards about the men he killed and the way he did it. No women, unless truly necessary, and no children. In the end, however, he fought for the little guy, took on the very worst of mankind, and did it in the name of justice.
Batman. Bruce Wayne. A man whose parents were killed in front of him. Again, here is a man without powers. He uses his brains and training to take down the bad guys. What was always interesting to me about Batman was the fact that the rogues he faced were all psychologically created:
Joker: Crazy, yet brilliant.
Two-Face: Multiple personality disorder
Catwoman: Classic dominatrix
I could go on and on.
Both Batman and the Punisher were the closest you could get to regular people in the super-powered world.
Of course in the modern world Batman created ways to destory his teammates, and the Punisher committed suicide and then came back and operated outside the rest of the marvel universe.
Now, a little history before I get to the real point of this post. DC Comics (the home of Batman, Superman, et al) has fictional cities. Gotham City (Batman) and Metropolis (Superman) are actually the East and West Sides of New York. Flash operated out of Keystone City, while Green Lantern was in Coast City. You get the idea. Though the cities represented real life cities, they were not the same (though recently DC has put heroes in Seattle, New York, and Detroit).
Marvel, on the other hand, has always, according to former leader Stan Lee, been based in the real world. Many of the heroes live in New York, though some base themselves in Chicago, Los Angeles, or San Francisco. There are heroes who are gay, Jewish, Muslim, and more. Marvel has made it clear that they live in our world, so the President of the United States in the comic books is George Bush. War is happening in the Middle East. There are made up nations, of course. Doctor Doom leads Latveria, The Black Panther is king of Wakanda in Africa. Off the coast of Africa is Genosha, an island made for mutants.
The reason it is important to note that Marvel's characters live in our world is because of their current storyline: Civil War, which has asked a simple question. A short synopsis:
A group of c-list heroes on a reality tv show attack some bad guys. One of the bad guys is named Nitro and has the power to explode. He is being attacked and crashes against a bus at a school. Fed up, he explodes, killing children, teachers, and parents. The government decides that superheroes are to dangerous to let run around anymore (as one guy puts it, "They're living WMDs). Thus they propose the Superhero Registration Act. This act would require the heroes to reveal their identities, list themselves in a database, and then get government training and work through a federal agency. Some heroes are all for it, while others feel it is not up to government to decide who the heroes fight.
It's a brilliant idea, but the heroes you would think would be on a side aren't. What do I mean?
Ok, Spider-Man. Here is a man whose girlfriend at the time (Gwen Stacy) was killed when his then nemesis (the Green Goblin) learned his true identity. He has his wife (Mary Jane) and his aunt (May) who have been put in jeopardy in the past when others (such as Eddie Brock, the man who became Venom) learned how Peter Parker (Spider-Man's real name) was the hero. Even though, for over forty years, Spider-Man has been extremely private about his real identity, Marvel has made a major turn and had him expose his identity to the world. That's right. Tony Stark, also known as Iron Man, called a press conference to show how some heroes are backing the Registration Act. Spider-Man, to show his allegiance, took off his mask on International TV. The results? Well, his family is now in danger as his rogues gallery knows who he is, he is being sued by J. Jonah Jameson for all the money he made for taking pictures of himself while working at the Daily Bugle, and many of the other super heroes he called friends now hate him.
My biggest gripe is that you don't have someone who acts so private suddenly be ok with outing himself. Think of JD Salinger, who has avoided the public for years, suddenly coming out and saying, "Please...ask me questions about the work I have done and where I have been."
It betrays the character. It would be like Superman turning on America when he promises to uphold, "Truth, Justice, and the American Way."
Even more interesting to me is Captain America. Ole Cap is actually leading the resistance against the Act. That's right, the man who has upheld America's image, no matter what, is now standing against the very country he fought with for so many years. When asked to help the government, Captain America shouts back, "Don't play politics with me! Super heroes need to stay above that stuff or Washington starts telling us who the super-villains are." It's a viable argument about where federal power ends and creating a system of national ID (which we're discussing with the whole immigration thing). And, just like in real life with the Iraq war, many countries in the Marvel universe are not going along with America's plans.
The reason I call this a war with no winner is for a few reasons:
1. Marvel's head writers have stated that the outcome of this war will have ramifications for years to come and it won't have a happy ending. Unlike your typical comic book where the bad guy is defeated, here the heroes are both good and bad. No black and white, all grey.
2. The real world is starting to take sides...sort of. For example, when Fox News ran a piece about the story arc, they phrased it like this:
Marvel's superheroes are split into two opposing factions. One side, championed by heroes such as Spider-Man, is in favour of the new law. The other side, however, which has Captain America and his sort, refusing to turn their identities over to the government.
Ouch. When you use words like "championed" and "sort" in a piece, the reader or listener is automatically supposed to know who the right and who the wrong are.
However, NPR has a different spin:
A group led by Iron Man embraces the government's demand that they register as living weapons of mass destruction and reveal their secret identities while attempting to force others to do as they want. On the opposing side, Captain America and his allies refuse in order to protect civil liberties and private freedom.
Now this version of it makes it seem as if Captain America is right, while the other side is wrong. That's why this story line is so interesting. It takes the whole, "how much and whose freedom would you give up," idea and takes it to another level.
In a recent discussion between the Fantastic Four's Thing and Invisible Woman, he asks, "What should we be doing? You wanna take up arms against our own government?"
Her reply? "Disagreement isn't disloyalty. Sometimes, the most patriotic thing you can do in a democracy is disagree.''
That's a long way away from, "Stop, villain. Your end is at hand!"
If you want an interesting article about the storyline, read this from the Miami Herald.
The story is only three issues in with the fourth to be coming out very soon. It's unclear right now which side will win, but the Superhero Registration Act has passed in the world of Marvel, so the heroes will now have to deal with the fallout.
As for the outcome being happy. Well, that's really up to you, dear reader. If the world is all for the SPA, will you cheer or jeer? As one guy put it, "If the readers agree with the Act, then everything Stan Lee and his colleagues built since day one will be betrayed.
So far more people seem to be for Captain America's side than Iron Man's. The ACLU chapter in Florida actually put out a statement agreeing with the character. Joe Quesada, the editor-in-chief at Marvel, has stated that he has had real politicians contact him about the Act. Some of them have, "said they agree with the [SPA], while others have voiced that they feel strongly against it."
The interesting part is that many people are reading the book who aren't normally comic book readers. I recommend you pick it up and read it. It's an interesting look at the way America is today.
Of course what do I know? I'm just some nerd who reads comic books. I could be wrong.
Ramblings for the Evening (8/06/06)
Sunday night, and I'm home with my son.
I guess this really makes me an adult.
So without further ado: CASTLE AAAARRRGGHH!
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Classes:
Way back before my son was born, my wife and I signed up for an infant/child CPR class. That class was so full at the time (between last September and this past June) that we were forced to wait until today to be able to go to class.
There was something both nice and horrifying about leaving my son with the neighbors. They love him. The gal next door REALLY wants another child, but her guy is fine with one...JUST one.
Anyway, I felt both happy to be away from my son and sad that I was away from him. My first thought as we drove to the hospital was, "It will be nice to have an adult conversation."
I was wrong in thinking we would.
The class was in the basement classrooms of North Memorial Hospital in Robbinsdale.
Though we were a minute late, my wife and I were the first couple there. Thus, the class started late as the instructor waited for the other people to show up (including us, there were supposed to be sixteen people, but only ten would show up).
Some highlights:
-We basically watched a video in order to get certified. No tests.
-We did get to work with dummies, however, which was fascinating. The instructor had "rigged" one dummy to go haywire when the breathing started. It scared the hell out of the couple behind us.
-They brought in an AED (Automated External Defibrillator) and demonstrated it, but the idiot couple in the corner had spilled water and not cleaned it all up, which led to the instructor getting shocked. It was mild, but still: the couple should have apologized.
-The class was supposed to be from 9 to noon, but we all left at 10:45.
-As we practiced the Heimlich Manuver, the instructor came over to my wife and me and commented that I shouldn't push on, "the navel of a pregnant woman." My wife...she's no longer pregnant. It was hard on my wife and the instructor. It got worse when one of the gals in the back, who was a rail, said she had given birth only three weeks before the class. She then explained that she, "gained ten pounds and felt like a pig."
I spent the entire walk back to the car and ride home trying to make my wife feel better. I also had to stop her from beating the holy hell out of that girl.
-Sitting in the front of the class was the creepiest couple ever. The guy had a camera and recorded everything, while the woman started crying (I mean BAWLING) during the video when the kid was choking.
Now it's possible that they lost a child, but they were super-touchy and super-creepy.
-There was a "hipster" couple who showed up in pajamas, talked smack the entire time to the other people in the class and the instructor, and bitched about how their time was wasted and they could be shopping with their kid. After listening to them bitch for two minutes, I gave my wife an embarrassing moment when I told them to, "shut the hell up and leave if you're so upset." After a quick sneer, they stopped talking. This was a problem later as well and made for a very awkward elevator ride when the four of us rode together.
This got me thinking, however, how much I'm really getting sick of the whole hipster parent generation. You see so many people my age don't want to act like adults. I listened to one couple talk about how they couldn't discipline their child because, "they wouldn't be friends." What? Friends? What the hell?!
You're a parent, not their buddy.
Look, I'm friendly with my students, but I'm still the authority. I don't let things slide because I'm afraid they won't like me. What the hell is wrong with you that you would let your kid do whatever because you're afraid they may hate you. Help your child.
I think I need to write a post later about how I feel about the whole hipster thing and how disappointed I am in my generation (most of you suck. Sorry, but you do).
All in all, I'm glad I can help my son if there's a problem, but I feel like I could have done the whole thing online and had as much teaching. The only difference would be the dummy.
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Hype the Music:
Every once in a while, I give you a site that I think has a great deal of potential. I directed you to Slanderous, I linked you to MN Speak, Margaret, Michele (can't do the accent my dear), and Worm's various personalities (all in my student section to the right).
Now I give you The Hype Machine. If you're a fan of MNSpeak's Aggregator, then you'll love Hype Machine. It's a music aggregator that collects music placed throughout the web. Maybe there's a song you've been looking for in stores. Search the machine and you can find where to buy it online for your ipod (or in certain cases, as I have found, some people have FREE downloads).
Go check it out.
and finally,
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Poozer the Player:
My son is a major league player. Little Leab went to Arbor Lakes with his mom and dad today. While mom was trying on shoes at Aerosoles, dad was sitting on a cube in the corner holding the Poozer. Holy cow did women flock to him. At one point, I placed him back in his stroller only to have a woman come over and stick her face right in there with him. Some highlights that prove his player abilities:
- I went into Yankee Candle to see if my favorite scent was still available (it's Hazelnut Coffee, and it's sadly discontinued). As I turned the stroller to ask for help, Poozer smiled at the manager. She melted! Not a little, mind you, she went full puddle. She started in with baby talk and was all over him. Upon seeing this, two other workers came over and started cooing over him. One woman went so far as to fondle his arms and tell him how strong he was. It's at this point that I also learned how dangerous it is to not have your wedding ring on when with your child. One woman started talking to me about (and I quote), "how hard it must be for you to raise your son all alone."
I explained very quickly that my wife was next door.
-In Aerosoles, woman after woman wanted to see him, talk to him, hold him. The most awkward moment came when the rather large-breasted sales clerk leaned into the stroller to see him. He obviously saw her breasts, because he stared smacking his lips. When she asked me what he was doing, I merely said, "Well, I think he's trying to say hello to you." My wife and I, however, shared a knowing look with each other and a major laugh when we left the store.
-My son also has met his future wife...apparently. A woman with her six month old daughter stopped us to look at William (that's his name, by the way. I know I haven't written that before as I wanted him to have anonymity, but I guess he'll be ok. Most people still don't know my first name....moving on.) and commented on how good looking he is. Wait, it gets better. Because he was, "so handsome," and because he had such, "beautiful eyes," she decided that her daughter (Rory) was going to marry my son. Never mind that they had never met before, and who the hell knows what the next 25-30 years can bring, this woman was convinced. She gave my wife her phone number and told us, "not to be strangers." It was weird.
-Apparently men with babies are sexy. I don't know why. I was wearing a black shirt that had been spit up on after my son ate, a five 0'clock shadow on my face, and the smell of milk on me, but that didn't stop women from talking to me about how "great it was," that I was a father, and how, "so many men would be ashamed to hold a baby." The best was the woman in Anthropologie who was flirting with me...and I had no clue. My wife was really angry at me, though I'm not sure if it's because the woman was flirting with me, or because I had no clue and just thought she was being nice. I mean I really thought she was talking to me because she liked the kid. In retrospect, as my wife pointed out, she never looked at Poozer once after first seeing him. I hadn't noticed until she said something about that.
-The boy also got me a discount at Border's. We didn't have our coupon, but the woman dug one out for us because, "your son is SO cute."
Now...how can I use him to get a new car much cheaper...hmmm...would crying or smiling work better.
I'm just kidding. I wouldn't exploit him that way...yet.
Namaste.
I guess this really makes me an adult.
So without further ado: CASTLE AAAARRRGGHH!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Classes:
Way back before my son was born, my wife and I signed up for an infant/child CPR class. That class was so full at the time (between last September and this past June) that we were forced to wait until today to be able to go to class.
There was something both nice and horrifying about leaving my son with the neighbors. They love him. The gal next door REALLY wants another child, but her guy is fine with one...JUST one.
Anyway, I felt both happy to be away from my son and sad that I was away from him. My first thought as we drove to the hospital was, "It will be nice to have an adult conversation."
I was wrong in thinking we would.
The class was in the basement classrooms of North Memorial Hospital in Robbinsdale.
Though we were a minute late, my wife and I were the first couple there. Thus, the class started late as the instructor waited for the other people to show up (including us, there were supposed to be sixteen people, but only ten would show up).
Some highlights:
-We basically watched a video in order to get certified. No tests.
-We did get to work with dummies, however, which was fascinating. The instructor had "rigged" one dummy to go haywire when the breathing started. It scared the hell out of the couple behind us.
-They brought in an AED (Automated External Defibrillator) and demonstrated it, but the idiot couple in the corner had spilled water and not cleaned it all up, which led to the instructor getting shocked. It was mild, but still: the couple should have apologized.
-The class was supposed to be from 9 to noon, but we all left at 10:45.
-As we practiced the Heimlich Manuver, the instructor came over to my wife and me and commented that I shouldn't push on, "the navel of a pregnant woman." My wife...she's no longer pregnant. It was hard on my wife and the instructor. It got worse when one of the gals in the back, who was a rail, said she had given birth only three weeks before the class. She then explained that she, "gained ten pounds and felt like a pig."
I spent the entire walk back to the car and ride home trying to make my wife feel better. I also had to stop her from beating the holy hell out of that girl.
-Sitting in the front of the class was the creepiest couple ever. The guy had a camera and recorded everything, while the woman started crying (I mean BAWLING) during the video when the kid was choking.
Now it's possible that they lost a child, but they were super-touchy and super-creepy.
-There was a "hipster" couple who showed up in pajamas, talked smack the entire time to the other people in the class and the instructor, and bitched about how their time was wasted and they could be shopping with their kid. After listening to them bitch for two minutes, I gave my wife an embarrassing moment when I told them to, "shut the hell up and leave if you're so upset." After a quick sneer, they stopped talking. This was a problem later as well and made for a very awkward elevator ride when the four of us rode together.
This got me thinking, however, how much I'm really getting sick of the whole hipster parent generation. You see so many people my age don't want to act like adults. I listened to one couple talk about how they couldn't discipline their child because, "they wouldn't be friends." What? Friends? What the hell?!
You're a parent, not their buddy.
Look, I'm friendly with my students, but I'm still the authority. I don't let things slide because I'm afraid they won't like me. What the hell is wrong with you that you would let your kid do whatever because you're afraid they may hate you. Help your child.
I think I need to write a post later about how I feel about the whole hipster thing and how disappointed I am in my generation (most of you suck. Sorry, but you do).
All in all, I'm glad I can help my son if there's a problem, but I feel like I could have done the whole thing online and had as much teaching. The only difference would be the dummy.
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Hype the Music:
Every once in a while, I give you a site that I think has a great deal of potential. I directed you to Slanderous, I linked you to MN Speak, Margaret, Michele (can't do the accent my dear), and Worm's various personalities (all in my student section to the right).
Now I give you The Hype Machine. If you're a fan of MNSpeak's Aggregator, then you'll love Hype Machine. It's a music aggregator that collects music placed throughout the web. Maybe there's a song you've been looking for in stores. Search the machine and you can find where to buy it online for your ipod (or in certain cases, as I have found, some people have FREE downloads).
Go check it out.
and finally,
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Poozer the Player:
My son is a major league player. Little Leab went to Arbor Lakes with his mom and dad today. While mom was trying on shoes at Aerosoles, dad was sitting on a cube in the corner holding the Poozer. Holy cow did women flock to him. At one point, I placed him back in his stroller only to have a woman come over and stick her face right in there with him. Some highlights that prove his player abilities:
- I went into Yankee Candle to see if my favorite scent was still available (it's Hazelnut Coffee, and it's sadly discontinued). As I turned the stroller to ask for help, Poozer smiled at the manager. She melted! Not a little, mind you, she went full puddle. She started in with baby talk and was all over him. Upon seeing this, two other workers came over and started cooing over him. One woman went so far as to fondle his arms and tell him how strong he was. It's at this point that I also learned how dangerous it is to not have your wedding ring on when with your child. One woman started talking to me about (and I quote), "how hard it must be for you to raise your son all alone."
I explained very quickly that my wife was next door.
-In Aerosoles, woman after woman wanted to see him, talk to him, hold him. The most awkward moment came when the rather large-breasted sales clerk leaned into the stroller to see him. He obviously saw her breasts, because he stared smacking his lips. When she asked me what he was doing, I merely said, "Well, I think he's trying to say hello to you." My wife and I, however, shared a knowing look with each other and a major laugh when we left the store.
-My son also has met his future wife...apparently. A woman with her six month old daughter stopped us to look at William (that's his name, by the way. I know I haven't written that before as I wanted him to have anonymity, but I guess he'll be ok. Most people still don't know my first name....moving on.) and commented on how good looking he is. Wait, it gets better. Because he was, "so handsome," and because he had such, "beautiful eyes," she decided that her daughter (Rory) was going to marry my son. Never mind that they had never met before, and who the hell knows what the next 25-30 years can bring, this woman was convinced. She gave my wife her phone number and told us, "not to be strangers." It was weird.
-Apparently men with babies are sexy. I don't know why. I was wearing a black shirt that had been spit up on after my son ate, a five 0'clock shadow on my face, and the smell of milk on me, but that didn't stop women from talking to me about how "great it was," that I was a father, and how, "so many men would be ashamed to hold a baby." The best was the woman in Anthropologie who was flirting with me...and I had no clue. My wife was really angry at me, though I'm not sure if it's because the woman was flirting with me, or because I had no clue and just thought she was being nice. I mean I really thought she was talking to me because she liked the kid. In retrospect, as my wife pointed out, she never looked at Poozer once after first seeing him. I hadn't noticed until she said something about that.
-The boy also got me a discount at Border's. We didn't have our coupon, but the woman dug one out for us because, "your son is SO cute."
Now...how can I use him to get a new car much cheaper...hmmm...would crying or smiling work better.
I'm just kidding. I wouldn't exploit him that way...yet.
Namaste.
Friday, August 04, 2006
Peace Be Unto Me
So my last post was a little...much. What can I say, I'm tired. I'm an insomniac with a child. Edgy is my new calm.Anyway here is a photo my wife took of Little Leab on the day he turned six weeks old.
I have to remember that my anger can affect someone other than myself.
He is my reason to be calm.
Hopefully you can enjoy him as much I do.
And yes, Margaret is right: I need to just get a flickr account.
Namaste.
Oh, and one more thing. So if you haven't been listening to Gnarls Barkley...well...you should. It's fun stuff, especially for the summer.
Now, here is a mash-up of four great songs:
1. Supertramp, Logic Song
2. Gnarls Barkley, Crazy
3. The Who, Go to the Mirror Boy
4. Rockwell, Somebody's Watching.
It sounds like an incredibly odd mix, but it workds really well. The author of the mash-up, Arty Fufkin, has done some incredible work.
Go check it out. Enjoy the music. It's going to be part of my workout now.
Peace.
Motherly Advice
My wife has a friend we'll call Kay (not her real name).
Kay had her child three weeks just before we had the Poozer.
Unfortunately, she's clinically insane.
Ok, ok, that's an exaggeration.
Kay is a girl who grew up in a family even more intellectual than mine. Every single member of the family is a doctor. Not an M.D., mind you, but a PhD. Every single one, including her. That's a bunch of smart people. However, with great intelligence comes great problems. Kay's family cannot talk about anything. Case in point.
My wife and I were invited to Kay's wedding out in New Hampshire.
It was gorgeous, I admit. Made me even think about moving out there, but that's off topic.
When Kay was in college, she went a little...wild. Got tattoos, piercings, etc. One of her friends decided that as a gift, he would tape the rehearsal dinner/party, the wedding, and the reception. At the party, I dealt with engineers galore (this is a friend of my wife after all, not me. Most of my friends, sadly, are either actors, techies, or teachers...and I don't have many friends.) telling me about how my job is not necessary anymore...blah,blah,blah. Well, Kay decided to come and talk to me, and the subject eventually became about being open with friends and family (it was at this point that I was dealing with how to talk to some friends of mine about their life and overt religious issues (a story for another time).
Kay made a comment about how I was a wimp for not telling my friends outright about how I feel, which was her right, I admit, but her approach and procedure were out of place.
Well, when the videographer came around, I made a short speech about how Kay's hubby-to-be needed to watch out for the pierced nipples she has because they can cut if not dealt with properly as well as discussing the wild nature of those with hardware on their breasts.
Within minutes, I was confronted by Kay.
"Why did you say that?"
"I thought it was funny." I responded.
This led to me learning that her parents were totally unaware of what she had done in college. She wore make-up over her tattoos so they wouldn't see them, and she never told them about the piercings.
I felt she was being a hypocrite, but my wife begged me to behave, so I did.
The wedding was nice, but so over the top I was annoyed.
Kay's parents and siblings all made speeches where they even dropped in references to how smart they are. For example, her dad mentioned the books he wrote, her brother noted the math theory or law he helped make, and so on. (Whereas at my wedding, my family just ducked and covered until they could get out.)
So why am I bringing this up? Because Kay is applying these issues to her child. My wife and Kay talk all the time now about children, and my wife is violating rule number one when it comes to children: You NEVER compare to someone else. EVER!
Kay's son is named James (his real name). I feel sorry for James in alot of ways. Let me tell you some of the things Kay is doing with her child.
1. She has figured out a way that she can powerwalk and breastfeed her child at the same time. I'm not kidding. It started out with just regular walking, then it became power walking. She's working toward running. Again, not kidding.
2. She got a c-section (my wife gave birth naturally). Because of this, Kay was able to bounce back a little faster.
3. Kay refused to cancel her attendance at a conference in Germany, so she packed up her kid and flew there a week ago.
Now, let's cover the problems.
1. My wife is having problems with the breastfeeding. Mostly because of plugged ducts and such, yet she reads Kay's emails and feels bad because it's not going for her like it is for Kay. Beyond that, my wife can't walk and feed. Partially because she's a Midwesterner and partially because she's worried it might hurt the kid. Plus, Poozer doesn't latch like James (we got a picture. No I'm not posting it).
2. Because my wife gave birth naturally, there was tearing and other issues. Kay had a simple c-section and left. Within days of birth, she was training for a marathon. My wife could barely move without help. This isn't about how in shape you are, it's more that the different ways lead to different outcomes. Yet my wife believes that something is wrong with her, because Kay was up and about so fast.
3. Mrs. Leab will be returning to work soon and will have to travel. In two weeks we (together) are heading to Kansas City to see her parents and family. We will be driving because it's much, MUCH cheaper. Yet my wife is so jealous because Kay is in Germany with a nine-week old, who apparently already sleeps through the night and has no problems eating. Oh, and Kay's husband knows his place. So my wife sees her six-week old son having issues taking the bottle (he's not a fan yet), not sleeping through the whole night (he still has to eat in the middle of the night for a little longer), and sees she won't be jetting off to Europe.
I can't really help her, but I'm just so damn annoyed, because she compares herself to Kay everyday. She gets an email or a phonecall and then tells me what is happening with James. If it doesn't happen with Poozer, then she gets upset. She questions HER mothering techniques.
I just stand by and get angry. Another reason Kay drives me nuts is because she BAWLED when she gained ten pounds during her pregnancy. Ten pounds! It's recommended that you at least gain twenty. She cried about it. Why? Because ten was TOO MUCH! Sigh.
As I write this my wife and son are asleep. He'll sleep until about four and then need to eat (I'll sleep when I'm dead). I tell my wife everyday that she's a great mother, but all she thinks about is what her friend tells her.
"Oh, James was able to hold himself up today...and at only seven weeks!"
"He's a champ. Eats at midnight, and then doesn't need anything else until six."
On and on it goes.
Thus I get to the point of this writing: Motherly advice. This is advice to all mothers new or to be from a father in the know.
1. Do not compare yourself to others. It's great to talk to someone about their experiences, but everyone's is different. My mother dealt with three extremely different kids (I had to go to the hospital, my sister called a cab to get rid of my other sister, my other sister was kicked out one night, etc). Her sister (my aunt) had two boys totally unlike me. My mother never compared how she raised me to how her sister raised my cousins. Why? Because she would have gone nuts. The second things don't go the way they went for someone else, you'll start questioning how good of a parent you are. Do not compare how you do to how others did or are doing. As long as the kid wasn't thrown down steps, or killed, you're doing fine.
2. Do not read the books. Oh my God, the books contradict each other and make you feel horrible. One book my wife received talked about how, "Dad should be in on the breast feeding experience everytime." Huh? I'm supposed to, what, not clean the house or help my wife with all her other stuff so I can clean my wife's boob after she feeds? That's insane.
Much like comparing to others, reading the books will have you questioning your parenting skills to a point where your kid will get hiccups, and you'll believe you're to blame (here's a hint: It's natural...not unlike spitting up). If you need a book, buy a Spock. Something simple.
3. Find your way. Parenting is a practice. It's not perfect, and it's in no way textbook. You have to find your way in it. For me, it's like teaching. I do not teach like any of my colleagues. Ask the students, I do things very differently, but the students learn. Same thing with parenting. We all do things differently. Somehow I don't think the DeRusha's are raising Seth the way I am raising Poozer. It's just how it is. We all do different things. The key is to find comfort for you AND your child. There is no perfect way. Remember that.
4. One mistake is not the end (in most cases). Now if you leave the kid on top of the car and take off fast...that might be it for him or her. However, if you accidentally wake your child up early and he or she is crying, that doesn't mean you suck. It just means you made a mistake. Own up to it, understand it, and then correct it for the next time.
5. Advice from Leab. This is the only advice I will give...other than the stuff above. If your child is crying and you are feeling overly frustrated, even moving toward anger, put the child down. Lay your son or daughter down in the crib or in a safe place and move away to calm down. Babies sense frustration. I don't know how, but they know. Recently I was alone with my son, and trying to feed him. It was really not going well, and I was getting angry. He knew it. He FELT it, but he couldn't stop crying. I felt that frustration shooting through my spine, so I put him on the playmat and walked into the other room. There I counted to ten to calm down. Once calm, I went back and we tried again. This time we were more successful.
That's that only life-tested advice I can give.
As for my wife, I don't know what I'll do. Kay is a good friend, and my wife trusts her. I've told her repeatedly not to compare, and she says she understands, but I know my wife. She still does it.
As for your dads out there: Love your wives and love your children. They need us. They do.
Kay had her child three weeks just before we had the Poozer.
Unfortunately, she's clinically insane.
Ok, ok, that's an exaggeration.
Kay is a girl who grew up in a family even more intellectual than mine. Every single member of the family is a doctor. Not an M.D., mind you, but a PhD. Every single one, including her. That's a bunch of smart people. However, with great intelligence comes great problems. Kay's family cannot talk about anything. Case in point.
My wife and I were invited to Kay's wedding out in New Hampshire.
It was gorgeous, I admit. Made me even think about moving out there, but that's off topic.
When Kay was in college, she went a little...wild. Got tattoos, piercings, etc. One of her friends decided that as a gift, he would tape the rehearsal dinner/party, the wedding, and the reception. At the party, I dealt with engineers galore (this is a friend of my wife after all, not me. Most of my friends, sadly, are either actors, techies, or teachers...and I don't have many friends.) telling me about how my job is not necessary anymore...blah,blah,blah. Well, Kay decided to come and talk to me, and the subject eventually became about being open with friends and family (it was at this point that I was dealing with how to talk to some friends of mine about their life and overt religious issues (a story for another time).
Kay made a comment about how I was a wimp for not telling my friends outright about how I feel, which was her right, I admit, but her approach and procedure were out of place.
Well, when the videographer came around, I made a short speech about how Kay's hubby-to-be needed to watch out for the pierced nipples she has because they can cut if not dealt with properly as well as discussing the wild nature of those with hardware on their breasts.
Within minutes, I was confronted by Kay.
"Why did you say that?"
"I thought it was funny." I responded.
This led to me learning that her parents were totally unaware of what she had done in college. She wore make-up over her tattoos so they wouldn't see them, and she never told them about the piercings.
I felt she was being a hypocrite, but my wife begged me to behave, so I did.
The wedding was nice, but so over the top I was annoyed.
Kay's parents and siblings all made speeches where they even dropped in references to how smart they are. For example, her dad mentioned the books he wrote, her brother noted the math theory or law he helped make, and so on. (Whereas at my wedding, my family just ducked and covered until they could get out.)
So why am I bringing this up? Because Kay is applying these issues to her child. My wife and Kay talk all the time now about children, and my wife is violating rule number one when it comes to children: You NEVER compare to someone else. EVER!
Kay's son is named James (his real name). I feel sorry for James in alot of ways. Let me tell you some of the things Kay is doing with her child.
1. She has figured out a way that she can powerwalk and breastfeed her child at the same time. I'm not kidding. It started out with just regular walking, then it became power walking. She's working toward running. Again, not kidding.
2. She got a c-section (my wife gave birth naturally). Because of this, Kay was able to bounce back a little faster.
3. Kay refused to cancel her attendance at a conference in Germany, so she packed up her kid and flew there a week ago.
Now, let's cover the problems.
1. My wife is having problems with the breastfeeding. Mostly because of plugged ducts and such, yet she reads Kay's emails and feels bad because it's not going for her like it is for Kay. Beyond that, my wife can't walk and feed. Partially because she's a Midwesterner and partially because she's worried it might hurt the kid. Plus, Poozer doesn't latch like James (we got a picture. No I'm not posting it).
2. Because my wife gave birth naturally, there was tearing and other issues. Kay had a simple c-section and left. Within days of birth, she was training for a marathon. My wife could barely move without help. This isn't about how in shape you are, it's more that the different ways lead to different outcomes. Yet my wife believes that something is wrong with her, because Kay was up and about so fast.
3. Mrs. Leab will be returning to work soon and will have to travel. In two weeks we (together) are heading to Kansas City to see her parents and family. We will be driving because it's much, MUCH cheaper. Yet my wife is so jealous because Kay is in Germany with a nine-week old, who apparently already sleeps through the night and has no problems eating. Oh, and Kay's husband knows his place. So my wife sees her six-week old son having issues taking the bottle (he's not a fan yet), not sleeping through the whole night (he still has to eat in the middle of the night for a little longer), and sees she won't be jetting off to Europe.
I can't really help her, but I'm just so damn annoyed, because she compares herself to Kay everyday. She gets an email or a phonecall and then tells me what is happening with James. If it doesn't happen with Poozer, then she gets upset. She questions HER mothering techniques.
I just stand by and get angry. Another reason Kay drives me nuts is because she BAWLED when she gained ten pounds during her pregnancy. Ten pounds! It's recommended that you at least gain twenty. She cried about it. Why? Because ten was TOO MUCH! Sigh.
As I write this my wife and son are asleep. He'll sleep until about four and then need to eat (I'll sleep when I'm dead). I tell my wife everyday that she's a great mother, but all she thinks about is what her friend tells her.
"Oh, James was able to hold himself up today...and at only seven weeks!"
"He's a champ. Eats at midnight, and then doesn't need anything else until six."
On and on it goes.
Thus I get to the point of this writing: Motherly advice. This is advice to all mothers new or to be from a father in the know.
1. Do not compare yourself to others. It's great to talk to someone about their experiences, but everyone's is different. My mother dealt with three extremely different kids (I had to go to the hospital, my sister called a cab to get rid of my other sister, my other sister was kicked out one night, etc). Her sister (my aunt) had two boys totally unlike me. My mother never compared how she raised me to how her sister raised my cousins. Why? Because she would have gone nuts. The second things don't go the way they went for someone else, you'll start questioning how good of a parent you are. Do not compare how you do to how others did or are doing. As long as the kid wasn't thrown down steps, or killed, you're doing fine.
2. Do not read the books. Oh my God, the books contradict each other and make you feel horrible. One book my wife received talked about how, "Dad should be in on the breast feeding experience everytime." Huh? I'm supposed to, what, not clean the house or help my wife with all her other stuff so I can clean my wife's boob after she feeds? That's insane.
Much like comparing to others, reading the books will have you questioning your parenting skills to a point where your kid will get hiccups, and you'll believe you're to blame (here's a hint: It's natural...not unlike spitting up). If you need a book, buy a Spock. Something simple.
3. Find your way. Parenting is a practice. It's not perfect, and it's in no way textbook. You have to find your way in it. For me, it's like teaching. I do not teach like any of my colleagues. Ask the students, I do things very differently, but the students learn. Same thing with parenting. We all do things differently. Somehow I don't think the DeRusha's are raising Seth the way I am raising Poozer. It's just how it is. We all do different things. The key is to find comfort for you AND your child. There is no perfect way. Remember that.
4. One mistake is not the end (in most cases). Now if you leave the kid on top of the car and take off fast...that might be it for him or her. However, if you accidentally wake your child up early and he or she is crying, that doesn't mean you suck. It just means you made a mistake. Own up to it, understand it, and then correct it for the next time.
5. Advice from Leab. This is the only advice I will give...other than the stuff above. If your child is crying and you are feeling overly frustrated, even moving toward anger, put the child down. Lay your son or daughter down in the crib or in a safe place and move away to calm down. Babies sense frustration. I don't know how, but they know. Recently I was alone with my son, and trying to feed him. It was really not going well, and I was getting angry. He knew it. He FELT it, but he couldn't stop crying. I felt that frustration shooting through my spine, so I put him on the playmat and walked into the other room. There I counted to ten to calm down. Once calm, I went back and we tried again. This time we were more successful.
That's that only life-tested advice I can give.
As for my wife, I don't know what I'll do. Kay is a good friend, and my wife trusts her. I've told her repeatedly not to compare, and she says she understands, but I know my wife. She still does it.
As for your dads out there: Love your wives and love your children. They need us. They do.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Cop Sense
This, according to the cop I talked to on Tuesday, is illegal. "While they can request it, it would be impossible to enforce it," he told me. "What if, during the course of our shift, we get called into a car chase? We can't very well be writing fifty violations if we're part of a chase. We have other paper work then. Sure, we're on for twelve hours at a time, but expecting us to write out every single jaywalking ticket is ridiculous."
Now what's happening in North Carolina, according to the cop I spoke to, is illegal. "How do you know if the cop is writing you a ticket because you were really were speeding or if he just wanted that certificate?"
I also learned a few more things that might be helpful from the cops who came to the National Night Out party:
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1. Always go to court. "If you show up, you have a better than 50% chance of winning."
2. Be polite. "Never call us, 'Sir,' or, 'Ma'am.' It should always be officer. And be polite. You anger us, you can forget the warning."
3. Don't lie and don't conceal. "You know you were speeding. Just be honest. Say, 'I was speeding. I know it was wrong. Is there any way I can get a warning.' If you're that polite and haven't been doing that alot (meaning many tickets) we'll probably give you a warning."
4. Always pull over to the right. "I can't tell you how many times I've been afraid for my life because people pull over on the median. You do that, I will write you a ticket everytime. Go the right shoulder."
5. Don't be a smart ass. "I had a guy ask me about the calibration of my radar gun. Most of us have that information now. When you prove we made a mistake, more often than not, we'll find something else. The guy who asked me? He had expired tags. Instead of a speeding ticket, he got TWO expired tag tickets (one for each plate)."
6. It's rare you'll get out of it. "Even if your spouse is at the hospital, even if you're late to work or an appointment, and even if your a cop, it's really very rare that you won't get a ticket. And sorry ladies, crying, talking in a different language, and pulling your top down don't make us change out minds.
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Hopefully these tips will be helpful.
Namaste.
Now what's happening in North Carolina, according to the cop I spoke to, is illegal. "How do you know if the cop is writing you a ticket because you were really were speeding or if he just wanted that certificate?"
I also learned a few more things that might be helpful from the cops who came to the National Night Out party:
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
1. Always go to court. "If you show up, you have a better than 50% chance of winning."
2. Be polite. "Never call us, 'Sir,' or, 'Ma'am.' It should always be officer. And be polite. You anger us, you can forget the warning."
3. Don't lie and don't conceal. "You know you were speeding. Just be honest. Say, 'I was speeding. I know it was wrong. Is there any way I can get a warning.' If you're that polite and haven't been doing that alot (meaning many tickets) we'll probably give you a warning."
4. Always pull over to the right. "I can't tell you how many times I've been afraid for my life because people pull over on the median. You do that, I will write you a ticket everytime. Go the right shoulder."
5. Don't be a smart ass. "I had a guy ask me about the calibration of my radar gun. Most of us have that information now. When you prove we made a mistake, more often than not, we'll find something else. The guy who asked me? He had expired tags. Instead of a speeding ticket, he got TWO expired tag tickets (one for each plate)."
6. It's rare you'll get out of it. "Even if your spouse is at the hospital, even if you're late to work or an appointment, and even if your a cop, it's really very rare that you won't get a ticket. And sorry ladies, crying, talking in a different language, and pulling your top down don't make us change out minds.
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Hopefully these tips will be helpful.
Namaste.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Ramblings for the Evening (08/02/06)
Another day, another sunrise and sunset. At this point, I'll take it.
Let's get to it.
So, without further ado: WAIT....YOU'RE A COP? UHHHH...RUN!
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National Night (Rained) Out:
So the Grimes/Halifax National Night Out party did occur last night, even though we had a ton of rain pouring down upon us. Did everyone on the two streets show up? Oh, not even close. We did, however, get a good turn out (45 houses invited, 22 showed up), and the people who did come were nice for the most part.
Here's the rundown:
Gordy: He is a retired middle school teacher who left his house for the first time since his wife died (many neighbors remarked that I must have been, "incredibly persuasive," in order to get him out). He had a great time and was smiling, laughing, and cracking jokes.
Heidi and Mike: The people closest to our age on the block. They were very nice, though a little odd. She's a psychologist about to have a child (which is SOOOO not a good idea. Psychologists end up performing experiments on their children, whether they mean to or not). Mike worked a tech job and was kind of a tech guy (ok, a little nerdy, but very nice). We gave them a crash course in how to hold a baby (Mike almost dropped the Poozer, which did make me nervous).
The Powells: This was nice, but odd. Senor Powell is a nice guy...but he's kind of a salesman. A great deal of glad handing and schmoozing. Mr. P was very good friends with the two bastards who made me change the outlook of my yard (a story for another time). His daughter, however, was getting a little too "Lolita" with some of the older men.
Joe and Missy: Thank God they showed up. They have the only two car garage in the neighborhood, so, when the downpour started, we grabbed my grill and went over to continue the party in their garage. They were awesome.
Bob and Carollee: They have lived in the neighborhood since it was built in the 1950s. It was great to hear how the neighborhood had changed.
Other "fun" moments (some good, some not).
The police came and we discussed what's happening with the St. Paul cops (How they have to write all those tickets now). One officer said, "What they said they have to do is illegal." Yikes.
A fire truck came and partied with us for awhile. Nice guys, but the women were drooling by the time they left.
Garry, a contractor, yelled at me for ten minutes about the fact that I painted my house instead of getting new siding. When I explained that I couldn't afford $15,000 right now, he started saying that, "It's a necessary investment."
"Yeah," I replied, "But to be an investment, you have to HAVE the money."
It got better when later in the night he started throwing a kid's rubber ball (you know, the pink ball) against the side of my house saying, "Wow, now you NEED new siding."
Sigh.
Unlike many people around the metro (or so the cops told us) we did not stop partying because of the rain.
Hopefully you got a good party and didn't have any real issues. (Our worst moment came when a guy ignored the barriers put up and tried to drive through the street almost running over five people.)
The only other downside? As one neighbor put it, "You guys are so good at throwing parties, you're going to plan them all." D'oh.
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MTV Goes Silver:
So MTV is 25. That's great, except that the network honchos announced that there will be less M in the coming future. That's right. The station that started out by playing music videos...will be doing less of that. Instead they will point music lovers to the Internet and show more of their lame-ass reality shows. That's right: MORE of The Hills. MORE of The Real World (which is SUCH a misnomer. There's nothing real about it. Put those kids out on the street with $50. THAT would be the real world).
The name of the station has to be changed if they stop showing music. And no, Making the Band doesn't count as music. If music videos are completely dropped out of MTV's rotation, the name must change to something else. I'll let you come up with your own ideas for the name.
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Queer Eye Poked:
Ok, bad title. Yes, the three year old show, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, has been canceled. Could it be that all men have become, not unlike my cousin, metrosexual? I mean he goes to the spa every two weeks to get his nails done.
Could it be because the new "in" thing is retrosexuality (men being very manly men with rough beards and bad smells)?
I don't know.
This does, however, illustrate how short the attention span of the viewing public has become. I am amazed, for example, that shows like 24 have made it to the sixth season.
Look at Gunsmoke. The show was on for twenty years (1955-1975). You will never see that again. Sure, The Simpsons are close, but they're ratings are dropping as people have started to see them as "uncool" when placed against Family Guy.
Look at the modern, popular shows.
Lost: Won't make it past season 4. The audience won't have the patience.
24: I think this might be it's last season, regardless of the contracts. It's predictable now.
ER: If you still watch it, raise your hand...anyone...anyone?
I think Ricky Gervais has it right. The longer a show goes on, the harder it becomes to make it fresh and to keep it fun.
I admit I watched Queer Eye during the first season, because it was so different. Its popularity has been moved to Project Runway, which maybe has one more season in it. Just one. Back to the point, the Fab Five had some interesting points when they weren't making catty comments about the guys they re-made.
Of course every single one of those guys will continue to have a great career. How can they not? They're beloved by Hollywood's elite.
And finally:
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Jason DeRusha's Evil Twin:
There is a gentleman on ESPN that is DeRusha's evil twin. Looks like him, sounds like him, and has the same hair. It's creepy.
Check it out. He's on NFL Live tonight at 11:40 PM.
Namaste.
(Update: The guy's name is Dave Revsine. He doesn't look like DeRusha in the photo, but on NFL Live, he's got the hair, eyes, and chin. Same inflections as well. It really is creepy.)
Let's get to it.
So, without further ado: WAIT....YOU'RE A COP? UHHHH...RUN!
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National Night (Rained) Out:
So the Grimes/Halifax National Night Out party did occur last night, even though we had a ton of rain pouring down upon us. Did everyone on the two streets show up? Oh, not even close. We did, however, get a good turn out (45 houses invited, 22 showed up), and the people who did come were nice for the most part.
Here's the rundown:
Gordy: He is a retired middle school teacher who left his house for the first time since his wife died (many neighbors remarked that I must have been, "incredibly persuasive," in order to get him out). He had a great time and was smiling, laughing, and cracking jokes.
Heidi and Mike: The people closest to our age on the block. They were very nice, though a little odd. She's a psychologist about to have a child (which is SOOOO not a good idea. Psychologists end up performing experiments on their children, whether they mean to or not). Mike worked a tech job and was kind of a tech guy (ok, a little nerdy, but very nice). We gave them a crash course in how to hold a baby (Mike almost dropped the Poozer, which did make me nervous).
The Powells: This was nice, but odd. Senor Powell is a nice guy...but he's kind of a salesman. A great deal of glad handing and schmoozing. Mr. P was very good friends with the two bastards who made me change the outlook of my yard (a story for another time). His daughter, however, was getting a little too "Lolita" with some of the older men.
Joe and Missy: Thank God they showed up. They have the only two car garage in the neighborhood, so, when the downpour started, we grabbed my grill and went over to continue the party in their garage. They were awesome.
Bob and Carollee: They have lived in the neighborhood since it was built in the 1950s. It was great to hear how the neighborhood had changed.
Other "fun" moments (some good, some not).
The police came and we discussed what's happening with the St. Paul cops (How they have to write all those tickets now). One officer said, "What they said they have to do is illegal." Yikes.
A fire truck came and partied with us for awhile. Nice guys, but the women were drooling by the time they left.
Garry, a contractor, yelled at me for ten minutes about the fact that I painted my house instead of getting new siding. When I explained that I couldn't afford $15,000 right now, he started saying that, "It's a necessary investment."
"Yeah," I replied, "But to be an investment, you have to HAVE the money."
It got better when later in the night he started throwing a kid's rubber ball (you know, the pink ball) against the side of my house saying, "Wow, now you NEED new siding."
Sigh.
Unlike many people around the metro (or so the cops told us) we did not stop partying because of the rain.
Hopefully you got a good party and didn't have any real issues. (Our worst moment came when a guy ignored the barriers put up and tried to drive through the street almost running over five people.)
The only other downside? As one neighbor put it, "You guys are so good at throwing parties, you're going to plan them all." D'oh.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
MTV Goes Silver:
So MTV is 25. That's great, except that the network honchos announced that there will be less M in the coming future. That's right. The station that started out by playing music videos...will be doing less of that. Instead they will point music lovers to the Internet and show more of their lame-ass reality shows. That's right: MORE of The Hills. MORE of The Real World (which is SUCH a misnomer. There's nothing real about it. Put those kids out on the street with $50. THAT would be the real world).
The name of the station has to be changed if they stop showing music. And no, Making the Band doesn't count as music. If music videos are completely dropped out of MTV's rotation, the name must change to something else. I'll let you come up with your own ideas for the name.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Queer Eye Poked:
Ok, bad title. Yes, the three year old show, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, has been canceled. Could it be that all men have become, not unlike my cousin, metrosexual? I mean he goes to the spa every two weeks to get his nails done.
Could it be because the new "in" thing is retrosexuality (men being very manly men with rough beards and bad smells)?
I don't know.
This does, however, illustrate how short the attention span of the viewing public has become. I am amazed, for example, that shows like 24 have made it to the sixth season.
Look at Gunsmoke. The show was on for twenty years (1955-1975). You will never see that again. Sure, The Simpsons are close, but they're ratings are dropping as people have started to see them as "uncool" when placed against Family Guy.
Look at the modern, popular shows.
Lost: Won't make it past season 4. The audience won't have the patience.
24: I think this might be it's last season, regardless of the contracts. It's predictable now.
ER: If you still watch it, raise your hand...anyone...anyone?
I think Ricky Gervais has it right. The longer a show goes on, the harder it becomes to make it fresh and to keep it fun.
I admit I watched Queer Eye during the first season, because it was so different. Its popularity has been moved to Project Runway, which maybe has one more season in it. Just one. Back to the point, the Fab Five had some interesting points when they weren't making catty comments about the guys they re-made.
Of course every single one of those guys will continue to have a great career. How can they not? They're beloved by Hollywood's elite.
And finally:
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jason DeRusha's Evil Twin:
There is a gentleman on ESPN that is DeRusha's evil twin. Looks like him, sounds like him, and has the same hair. It's creepy.
Check it out. He's on NFL Live tonight at 11:40 PM.
Namaste.
(Update: The guy's name is Dave Revsine. He doesn't look like DeRusha in the photo, but on NFL Live, he's got the hair, eyes, and chin. Same inflections as well. It really is creepy.)
Monday, July 31, 2006
Run...Rabbit...Run!
So I've been thinking about what Sopheava said about her cat and his quirky antics a lot lately.As you already know, I have three lovely kitties, who like to hunt and kill (though they spend most of their time indoors).
The event that pushed this idea back into my head was my neighbor's cat, Mork, seen here hiding in my lilacs, brought me a squirrel today. I knew he liked me, as he has entered my house on many occasions, but I never thought that he liked me enough to bring me "a kill." It seems that during this lovely hot day, Mork went out, killed Rocky, and instead of bringing him to his owners, he brought him to me. As I contemplated what my side dish should be (no, I didn't end up eating it. For God's sake, it's a city squirrel...not even remotely fat enough to eat...uh...I digress), I realized that cats, rodents, and myself have had an interesting history. I also have a side story about "products" and animals similar to Margaret's.
Step into the way back machine. When I was six years old, my family's cat attempted to eat a chipmunk. Being the good lad I was, I decided, "I need to SAVE this animal." So, I grabbed the chipmunk away from the cat, thinking, "Hey, I'm a her...OWWWW!"
It's at this point that I learned that Chipmunks are not like Alvin, Simon, and Theodore. No, they bite...hard.
This chipmunk bit down on my right index finger. It didn't matter that I saved it from certain death, this little fella was going to get away from everything. So, he latched on to my finger. Imagine a six year old, shaking his hand with a little brown blur at the end of it. That was me.
The sad part? After saving the little guy and having him bite me, he let go, took about three or four steps, and then the cat grabbed him again.
There was a look in her eye as she ate him in front of me. It was if she was saying, "I am ALWAYS right. Don't forget it."
I would later send a card to my sister as she was at camp that read: "Beware the chipmunk." I was six, folks.
Fast forward seven years. I am in bed one night, when I suddenly feel something wet by my head. It had been raining, and I had left the window open, but this didn't feel like water. It was...sticky. As I fumbled for the light, I heard a noise next to my pillow. It almost sounded like twigs snapping. The light clicked on, and my horror began. Almost straight out of The Godfather, there the cat chewing on a rabbit head she had brought me. It was on my pillow, and the sticky wetness I was feeling was its blood. Again, the cat did this because she loved me, but her execution was...not so good. The sheets, unfortunately, were ruined.
When I was in college, I adopted the cats that I have now. I like to let them go outside. This leads to two incidents of hunting.
The first occurred when Oscar (the orange cat) decided to catch a cardinal and take him (it was a male cardinal) into the house. All I saw was a flash of orange (as Oscar jumped up into the air to catch the bird) and then a flash of red as the bird was let go in the house.
If you don't know, cats like to play with their food before eating it. In this case, he wanted to play with the cardinal. Everytime I would get close to the bird, Oscar would swoop in, grab the bird, run to another part of the house, and let the bird go.
After going through this three times, I finally got to the bird with Oscar nowhere in sight. I thought to myself, "Finally. I can save this bird." There was a window right there. All I had to do was open it, and the bird was free. I opened the window, held out my hand with the bird in it...and watched in horror as Oscar appeared from out of nowhere and devoured the bird in front of me. All that was left was part of a wing that was still in my hand.
Ah, but the second time was even more traumatic. It was my senior year of college. Sam, the black cat, had only days before scratched the hell out of a Doberman Pincher. The cats and I were out in the yard when I saw Sam dive on to something. However, after catching whatever it was, he walked away. This is because my cats never learned the killing stroke. You see, cats are trained by their parents to kill. If they do not learn the killing stroke, then they can hurt an animal, but will leave it alive. It's not the same with a bird as it is with a squirrel or rabbit. Mork knows the killing stroke, which was evident by the squirrel he brought me.
Back to the point. What Sam had found was a baby bunny. After landing on the bunny, Sam had slit open its stomach, but he was unsure of what to do next. So, here I have this baby bunny dying in my backyard. I have no clue what to do. I know it can't be saved as its intestines have spilled out on the grass.
With no other choice and with adivce given to me by my wife (only my girlfriend then), I grabbed a brick and crushed the rabbit's head. Let's just say that I felt terrible for the next few days.
As for now? Well the cats pretty much only eat bugs. It's how my house stays so nice and bug-free.
The story that rivals Margaret's "feminine product" story? Easy. My mother used to have a dog that like to eat out of the trash. He would roam the house from can to can looking for good stuff to either play with or eat. In one instance he brought a large chocolate wrapper to my mother from my father's trash can. As he was not supposed to be having chocolate, this led to a fun confrontation.
In his best move, however, Beau (the dog's name) went dumpster-diving into the guest bedroom's trash. Of course my lovely sister and her husband were staying at the house at the time, and, after making the beast with two backs (or dancing the Horizontal Mambo...your choice), my brother-in-law threw his condom out in the trash can. Of course the dog decided that he wanted that, so he paraded around the house with this Magnum condom hanging out the side of his mouth. I could hear my sister screaming from here.
Yet another reason why I still haven't owned a dog. As for toys? My cats still play with the first toy I ever bought them: a catnip-filled dinosaur we call Dino. They ignore almost every other toy...except crumbled up paper. If only children were that easy to please.
Of course what do I know? I once rolled on to an unsuspecting cat while in the middle of flagrante de licto. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Insomniac Popcorn Film I
This is quite good for a couple of kids.
I'm not really a Star Wars geek, but I do appreciate good film. Especially when it's professional looking home video.
Are there issues? Sure, but the film is quite well done.
Think of it as a film for insomniacs.
Enjoy.
I'm not really a Star Wars geek, but I do appreciate good film. Especially when it's professional looking home video.
Are there issues? Sure, but the film is quite well done.
Think of it as a film for insomniacs.
Enjoy.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Musical Plagiarism
So I read about the "Winner of the National Anthem Project" in the Star Tribune this morning (unfortunately the Trib's website does not have the story online, so here is another site with the story).
Here's my problem.
If you read the blurb about her, the big thing that made a difference was, "the twist at the end."
Her "twist" is to take high note at the end of, "The land of the free," and go higher with it.
People have been talking about how original and different that is.
The problem?
I've seen someone who's been doing that for six years. It's not original.
Mike Schmidt is the anthem singer for The Minnesota Wild. As he reaches the end of the song, he takes the high note and slaps it up a full octave with a Pavoratti vibratto. My wife HATES when he does that. "It demeans the song...makes it about him instead of the anthem."
Yet, here is Ms. Malone doing what Schmidt has done for six years and being called and genius. I would love to know if she goes to Wild games and that's what gave her the idea.
Borrowing from other singers is nothing new.
At the last home Wild game, they played a techno-version of "Adagio for Strings" (The song used throughout Platoon).
Hell, all of modern music is nothing more than covers and sampling.
Examples?
Soft Cell's "Tainted Love" used a part of the Supremes' "Where Did Our Love Go." This is funny as Rihanna's "S.O.S" uses "Tainted Love" as a sample.
Need I remind you how Puff Daddy/ P. Diddy/ Diddy/ Sean Combs actually has a career.
Sampling Sting, Led Zeppelin, and more.
Remember, one of the most popular songs of the 90s was MC Hammer's "You Can't Touch This." I think Rick James and "Superfreak" may have had something to say about that.
Vanilla Ice's "Ice, Ice, Baby" was nothing more than "Under Pressure" with a slightly different beat.
Very few musicians can actually write original songs anymore. It's kind of sad.
As for Ms. Malone. Hey, congratulations on winning, but make sure you don't sell your "technique" as your own, because I know about 18,000 people who will say someone else did it before you.
Here's my problem.
If you read the blurb about her, the big thing that made a difference was, "the twist at the end."
Her "twist" is to take high note at the end of, "The land of the free," and go higher with it.
People have been talking about how original and different that is.
The problem?
I've seen someone who's been doing that for six years. It's not original.
Mike Schmidt is the anthem singer for The Minnesota Wild. As he reaches the end of the song, he takes the high note and slaps it up a full octave with a Pavoratti vibratto. My wife HATES when he does that. "It demeans the song...makes it about him instead of the anthem."
Yet, here is Ms. Malone doing what Schmidt has done for six years and being called and genius. I would love to know if she goes to Wild games and that's what gave her the idea.
Borrowing from other singers is nothing new.
At the last home Wild game, they played a techno-version of "Adagio for Strings" (The song used throughout Platoon).
Hell, all of modern music is nothing more than covers and sampling.
Examples?
Soft Cell's "Tainted Love" used a part of the Supremes' "Where Did Our Love Go." This is funny as Rihanna's "S.O.S" uses "Tainted Love" as a sample.
Need I remind you how Puff Daddy/ P. Diddy/ Diddy/ Sean Combs actually has a career.
Sampling Sting, Led Zeppelin, and more.
Remember, one of the most popular songs of the 90s was MC Hammer's "You Can't Touch This." I think Rick James and "Superfreak" may have had something to say about that.
Vanilla Ice's "Ice, Ice, Baby" was nothing more than "Under Pressure" with a slightly different beat.
Very few musicians can actually write original songs anymore. It's kind of sad.
As for Ms. Malone. Hey, congratulations on winning, but make sure you don't sell your "technique" as your own, because I know about 18,000 people who will say someone else did it before you.
Friday, July 28, 2006
It Takes Balls
I am a patient man.
I am.
It takes a heck of a lot for me to show my anger and frustration.
Hell, ask my students.
One student, a kid we'll just call "D" to protect him, spent the whole year trying to upset me.
His goal was to have me turn red and yell at him in order to prove that he could be annoying (he never did it).
I believe in The Tao, and it keeps me calm.
Yet, here I am at midnight, after an exhausting twenty-four hour period, and I am angry. I mean I destroyed the sand-filled stress ball (it popped).
Let me show you my day. We'll start at midnight of yesterday.
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My son can't sleep, so I take the midnight shift so my wife can sleep. I invent games and talk to him for two hours, then he eats. After changing his diaper, I fall asleep around three a.m.
I'm up at 6:30 when he starts crying to be fed. (He's still at the needing to eat every few hours stage, but it's getting longer in between.) My wife has plugged ducts, so I have to run back and forth from the kitchen to microwave towels so she can have moist heat on the ducts. Then I change my son's diaper, and go shower.
With my son still eating, I start breakfast (bacon, eggs, waffles), plus I empty the dishwasher.
My wife, full from eating, goes back to sleep with my son. This is my only break until I started writing this. I read the Star Tribune and USA Today, then I check my email, read some blogs, and do some work for my mother (she needs some help...and I'm doing it for free).
I also start the laundry and figure out the chores for the day. Being Thursday, tomorrow is trash pick-up.
The kitchen is first, I wipe down all of the counters and appliances, then sweep the floor.
My son wakes up and needs to be changed, so it's diaper number three for me.
After the change, I see that I have to get to my dentist appointment, so I run out the door.
(Side note: I still don't like the dentist. The curse continues, however, as the young, "hot" dentist everyone liked left a week after seeing me. My hygenist was not happy about that and cut my teeth to hell with the floss.)
Back home at noon. I've only eaten one piece of bacon and one waffle.
My wife hasn't had the opportunity to shower, so I take my son while she does so. This also leads to diaper number 4. I care for my son for 3o minutes, then my wife takes him back, so I can mow.
Now I mow the lawn, then trim and edge, then clean up all the weeds, and take the can and the bags to the curb.
Next I take out all the trash from around my house, wipe down the bathroom, and change the kitty litter.
My wife has to feed again, so I'm on warming duty again (it's every other feeding), plus we have diaper change number 5.
Once done with that, I run down to finish the laundry and change the sheets on our bed.
Evening rolls around, and I make dinner, plus, while getting fresh herbs from my garden, I discover and pick all the ripe tomatoes.
Dinner is finished, so I do the dishes, and take out the last bag of trash.
Then I take my son so my wife can nap again.
Finally, I help my wife feed him again, then I change his diaper again (number 6) and play with him while my wife does work-related stuff.
Then he eats again (he's starting to cluster-feed as he is about to have a huge growth spurt...it is almost week 6 of his life), so I'm on warming duty again and change diaper 7.
Finally, my wife goes and lies down and I take my son until ten minutes ago when he eats again (and I changed diaper number 8).
So why do I bring this up? Well, for starters, this is a typical day for me now. Just change the dentist office to the grocery store or some sort of errand that needs to be run (I will be getting the oil changed in the car soon. Still have to do that one).
And the anger? Well...someone had the audacity to claim that I wasn't, "pulling my weight," around the house. Another comment was that I wasn't doing enough.
And the killer? My wife said that I had it easy, "because you don't have to feed him like I do."
Ok, my wife I will forgive. She's having a bit of a rough time right now with the plugged ducts, the guilt trips from her mom about how far away we live, and with her boss trying to get her to do work even though she has six more weeks off from work. I'll let her go.
However, the other people who tell me I'm not doing enough can kiss my ass.
I'm not doing enough? What am I supposed to do, get implants so I can feed the kid? Am I supposed to take him 24/7 so my wife can be free to do whatever she wants when she wants?
It takes a tremendous amount of balls to tell a man who hasn't really slept in awhile, because he's doing everything he can to help his wife keep her sanity that he isn't doing enough.
It's like telling the robber that he isn't holding his gun the right way. He isn't going to appreciate it, and neither do I.
I get that you miss her, I get that you want her back to party, and I get that you feel we live too far away, but back off!
You know, Jesus wouldn't have the patience I have been showing. He would go all Willem Dafoe in The Last Temptation of Christ on your asses.
Those of you without children cannot even fathom how much work this is. Those of you with children but who had nannies do all the work cannot say anything period.
Did I say things I shouldn't have? Yes! I admit it, and I apologize. I'm doing it in the blogosphere like I did it in public.
However, I will also be blunt. Just because your husbands or significant others never lifted a finger, just because they slept through the night and said things like, "your turn," for years on end doesn't mean I am like them.
I would love to go to a movie, but it won't happen, and I'm fine with that.
And I'm sorry, the dentist visit is not, by any means, "a resting period." That doesn't count as time off. It's not a mini-vacation.
Bottom line: Shut the fuck up, back off, and stop telling my wife all this bullshit!
She's kind of fragile right now, and you aren't helping her.
In the next few weeks you'll either see her or have her back. Until then just let her rest.
As for me...well...we all know how you feel about me. You stay out of my way, I'll stay out of yours.
(Sorry for the rant folks. I just needed to vent.)
Namaste.
I am.
It takes a heck of a lot for me to show my anger and frustration.
Hell, ask my students.
One student, a kid we'll just call "D" to protect him, spent the whole year trying to upset me.
His goal was to have me turn red and yell at him in order to prove that he could be annoying (he never did it).
I believe in The Tao, and it keeps me calm.
Yet, here I am at midnight, after an exhausting twenty-four hour period, and I am angry. I mean I destroyed the sand-filled stress ball (it popped).
Let me show you my day. We'll start at midnight of yesterday.
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My son can't sleep, so I take the midnight shift so my wife can sleep. I invent games and talk to him for two hours, then he eats. After changing his diaper, I fall asleep around three a.m.
I'm up at 6:30 when he starts crying to be fed. (He's still at the needing to eat every few hours stage, but it's getting longer in between.) My wife has plugged ducts, so I have to run back and forth from the kitchen to microwave towels so she can have moist heat on the ducts. Then I change my son's diaper, and go shower.
With my son still eating, I start breakfast (bacon, eggs, waffles), plus I empty the dishwasher.
My wife, full from eating, goes back to sleep with my son. This is my only break until I started writing this. I read the Star Tribune and USA Today, then I check my email, read some blogs, and do some work for my mother (she needs some help...and I'm doing it for free).
I also start the laundry and figure out the chores for the day. Being Thursday, tomorrow is trash pick-up.
The kitchen is first, I wipe down all of the counters and appliances, then sweep the floor.
My son wakes up and needs to be changed, so it's diaper number three for me.
After the change, I see that I have to get to my dentist appointment, so I run out the door.
(Side note: I still don't like the dentist. The curse continues, however, as the young, "hot" dentist everyone liked left a week after seeing me. My hygenist was not happy about that and cut my teeth to hell with the floss.)
Back home at noon. I've only eaten one piece of bacon and one waffle.
My wife hasn't had the opportunity to shower, so I take my son while she does so. This also leads to diaper number 4. I care for my son for 3o minutes, then my wife takes him back, so I can mow.
Now I mow the lawn, then trim and edge, then clean up all the weeds, and take the can and the bags to the curb.
Next I take out all the trash from around my house, wipe down the bathroom, and change the kitty litter.
My wife has to feed again, so I'm on warming duty again (it's every other feeding), plus we have diaper change number 5.
Once done with that, I run down to finish the laundry and change the sheets on our bed.
Evening rolls around, and I make dinner, plus, while getting fresh herbs from my garden, I discover and pick all the ripe tomatoes.
Dinner is finished, so I do the dishes, and take out the last bag of trash.
Then I take my son so my wife can nap again.
Finally, I help my wife feed him again, then I change his diaper again (number 6) and play with him while my wife does work-related stuff.
Then he eats again (he's starting to cluster-feed as he is about to have a huge growth spurt...it is almost week 6 of his life), so I'm on warming duty again and change diaper 7.
Finally, my wife goes and lies down and I take my son until ten minutes ago when he eats again (and I changed diaper number 8).
So why do I bring this up? Well, for starters, this is a typical day for me now. Just change the dentist office to the grocery store or some sort of errand that needs to be run (I will be getting the oil changed in the car soon. Still have to do that one).
And the anger? Well...someone had the audacity to claim that I wasn't, "pulling my weight," around the house. Another comment was that I wasn't doing enough.
And the killer? My wife said that I had it easy, "because you don't have to feed him like I do."
Ok, my wife I will forgive. She's having a bit of a rough time right now with the plugged ducts, the guilt trips from her mom about how far away we live, and with her boss trying to get her to do work even though she has six more weeks off from work. I'll let her go.
However, the other people who tell me I'm not doing enough can kiss my ass.
I'm not doing enough? What am I supposed to do, get implants so I can feed the kid? Am I supposed to take him 24/7 so my wife can be free to do whatever she wants when she wants?
It takes a tremendous amount of balls to tell a man who hasn't really slept in awhile, because he's doing everything he can to help his wife keep her sanity that he isn't doing enough.
It's like telling the robber that he isn't holding his gun the right way. He isn't going to appreciate it, and neither do I.
I get that you miss her, I get that you want her back to party, and I get that you feel we live too far away, but back off!
You know, Jesus wouldn't have the patience I have been showing. He would go all Willem Dafoe in The Last Temptation of Christ on your asses.
Those of you without children cannot even fathom how much work this is. Those of you with children but who had nannies do all the work cannot say anything period.
Did I say things I shouldn't have? Yes! I admit it, and I apologize. I'm doing it in the blogosphere like I did it in public.
However, I will also be blunt. Just because your husbands or significant others never lifted a finger, just because they slept through the night and said things like, "your turn," for years on end doesn't mean I am like them.
I would love to go to a movie, but it won't happen, and I'm fine with that.
And I'm sorry, the dentist visit is not, by any means, "a resting period." That doesn't count as time off. It's not a mini-vacation.
Bottom line: Shut the fuck up, back off, and stop telling my wife all this bullshit!
She's kind of fragile right now, and you aren't helping her.
In the next few weeks you'll either see her or have her back. Until then just let her rest.
As for me...well...we all know how you feel about me. You stay out of my way, I'll stay out of yours.
(Sorry for the rant folks. I just needed to vent.)
Namaste.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Ramblings for the Evening (7/26/06)
When it rains, it pours, then your house floods, then your cat drowns, then the insurance company won't pay for the damages, then your sibling won't take you in, and you credit card is maxed out.
Wow...that's bad.
I'm really not having a good day here.
So, without further ado: I'D LIKE TO CUT YOUR HEAD OFF, SO I CAN WEIGH IT! WHAT DO YOU SAY?
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These are the People in Your Neighborhood:
I really like most of my neighbors. I've said that before many times. However, my overall neighborhood is hit or miss.
Now, next tuesday is National Night Out. My neighbors and I are throwing a party. I'm bringing the grill and wine, they're bringing the meat and veggies, and everyone else who comes is to bring chairs and side dishes.
I drew the short straw, so I got to be the one who went around with flyers to each of the neighbors.
It sounded great in my head. "Hey, I'm the guy who lives in the brown house down there. They call me Leab. We're having a party for National Night Out, and we'd love you to be there."
So...here's what happens instead.
One house sees me coming...and turns on the sprinklers. I step back and do the person across the street first (he just moved in and wanted to meet people). The sprinklers are off, so I decide to go back. As soon as I touch the walkway, they turn on again. It's at this point I see the guy turning them on and off by the window. I'm not going to give up, so I keep coming up even though I'm gettting wet. When I get to the door, the guy takes the flyer and crumples it up in front of me.
"See you there," I say.
"No you won't, fag," I hear back.
One couple told me they weren't coming because, "it's too far away. Unless it's in front of our house...forget it."
Never mind that it's four doors down. God forbid these people...walk or something.
The people who didn't want to come, rather than just give a polite, "Thanks, but no thanks," had to do something to make me go away.
How hard is it to just say, "No thanks," when asked?
It's no wonder that more and more people are becoming socially inept. It's no wonder that people have no manners. Look at the role models.
I get that people hate having Jehovah's Witnesses show up at their door, but come on now.
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Et Tu, Monopoly?:
Monopoly, the board game that many people claim to love (but few finish) is getting a major overhaul this upcoming fall. The game, which has been around for over 70 years (that's amazing...) will no longer be based on Atlantic City (If you didn't know, the avenues are in or near Atlantic City). Instead the new "Here and Now" edition will have American landmarks, such as Wrigley Field, Times Square, and the Golden Gate Bridge.
But wait...THERE'S MORE!
The railroads have been replaced. Who takes the train anymore? (I know, Dad, I know...ssshhh.)
The railroads will now be...airports. Four famous airports from around the US. JFK! LAX! O'HARE! I have no clue what the fourth will be!
Is that all? Heck no!
New playing pieces are being introduced. No longer will we see the Boot, the Car, and the Dog. NOOOOO! That's so 1930's! Instead we will have to wait, but they are promising "more hip" pieces (though they are to be a surprise, the rumor is that there will be the following:
A cell phone
An ipod-like piece
A hamburger
A "modern" car)
And the capper? No more paper money.
That's right, the paper money, much like in real life, is being replaced with a debit card. You'll run the card through the included "ATM" and that's how you'll buy things, pay for things, and get your $200 when you pass go.
It's modern, which is great, but I'll miss the paper. It's like Risk. You ever play Risk? They're changing it to reflect a more modern world, and it's going to be electronic.
There was something fun about the setup. That was the point. You took the time to be civil and set up the game. The end was always crazy (or abandoned in the case of Monopoly), but the begninning was great.
All I ask is this: If you're going to change all the old games, Life has to be next and has to reflect the reality we live in now:
Lost your job to outsourcing! Go back and find a new career.
Spouse left you for best friend, leaves children with you. Remove from car, lose a turn, and feel the shame of knowing your couldn't give your spouse what was needed!
Child is abducted and killed in Utah. Remove one child, lose a turn, lose cash, and feel the shame of being a bad parent!
And, when you get to "Retirement": Assess your wealth. If you have X amount of cash, you may retire, otherwise you go to work at local super store.
Any takers or ideas?
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Uh oh, Uh oh...Sherpa Time!
Sigh.
So here's the story, morning glory.
Like the selfless sherpa I am, I carried my son throughout my wife's work today. I watched as a few of her co-workers fawned over the Poozer (that's good), fawned over my wife's breasts (that's bad), and made comments about me not, "being one of them" (which I could care less about...though it is rude).
Part of the time I spent talking to one of my wife's co-workers (Wanda, who I really like...because we are amazingly alike) about her upcoming trip to Cincinnati (or America's Mole).
And then there was lunch.
I didn't realize that the people invited were all in my wife's new group within her company. It was mostly women, which I expected. There were 12 people, 2 men including myself and another guy named Ken.
My wife's boss, however...did not show up. Now he had a viable excuse (so his admin said) of his wife having to have Gall Bladder surgery due to huge stones. My father almost had that surgery, so I'll let it go.
The problem, however, was that the whole reason I was there was to take care of the baby so my wife and her boss, "could connect." With him hot there, it became pointless.
Lunch was Buca in Maple Grove, which is a nice restaurant, but we were in the Pope Room, which was small and hot. There wasn't enough room for the baby to be in the Baby Holder Thingy they brought, so...my son and his car seat sat on the lazy susan at the cent of the table with only the Pope's faux head to protect him. Many times during lunch, he was spun around so that people could look at him, poke at him, or talk about him.
Let's look at some fun topics:
1. Breast issues: We talked about 16 year old girls getting fake boobs (apparently a woman at my wife's work is buying breasts for her daughter's sweet 16). They also talked about breasts getting beaten due to feeding. Ken and I shrank a little.
2. Defending public schools: That was up to me. See most people there have kids in private schools, and one gal was homeschooled and talked about how she was so much smarter than the other kids in college. I defended as best I could. I also slipped at one point and ripped on the homeschooled gal talking about the social aspects and more (she married an actual rocket scientist...and he's apparently afraid of me because of the way I talk, how animated I get, and the fact that I have crazy stories).
3. How men don't do anything: This was my favorite part. First of all, I didn't get to eat. I ordered soup, but I never got to eat it, because when it arrived, my son woke up and wanted to eat. By the time I was done feeding and changing him, my soup, which I never even took a bite of, was gone. ("It had gotten cold," I was told. "It needed to go." Never mind that it could have been warmed up?)
Now, as I mentioned, I fed my son. I got the hot water, I warmed the bottle, and I fed him. Then, when he filled his diaper, I excused myself and changed him in the bathroom. (Ken, followed me and talked my ear off. It was obvious he NEEDED a guy to talk to working with all those women.)
I returned to the table to overhear a conversation about how men never help out.
"Never?" I asked. "What about me?"
"Well this is only one time. Do you do it all the time?"
"I've changed almost every diaper since he was born. Does that count?"
"What else have you done?"
"Well, what else do I need to do? Seriously. What do men need to do to be considered 'helpful' by you?"
"Feed the baby, change the baby...basically make it so I can relax for a while."
"Isn't that what I'm doing?"
"Do you do this every day?"
"Yes. I just said I change every diaper just about. I can't feed him all the time as he is breastfed. He will be weaned eventually."
"Whatever" the quiet girl in the corner says ending the conversation.
4. My wife drinking: This is a big deal. Basically my wife is a great deal like her father. She LOVES being the center of attention. She will drink and then party it up. Minnesotans, who are mostly reserved, love this because it's fascinating to them. It's something they can't do.
I heard over and over again about how my wife will be, "partying it up," when she comes back to work. "I mean you can pump and dump, right?" asks one co-worker.
All in all...it was a waste. My wife got a headache because she missed a feeding. I got to deal with incredibly annoying people, one of whom remembered me from the Christmas party we went to (the one with carols and such) because I was, "The Jew."
However, I love my wife. I would kill for her.
So I deal.
Namaste.
Wow...that's bad.
I'm really not having a good day here.
So, without further ado: I'D LIKE TO CUT YOUR HEAD OFF, SO I CAN WEIGH IT! WHAT DO YOU SAY?
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These are the People in Your Neighborhood:
I really like most of my neighbors. I've said that before many times. However, my overall neighborhood is hit or miss.
Now, next tuesday is National Night Out. My neighbors and I are throwing a party. I'm bringing the grill and wine, they're bringing the meat and veggies, and everyone else who comes is to bring chairs and side dishes.
I drew the short straw, so I got to be the one who went around with flyers to each of the neighbors.
It sounded great in my head. "Hey, I'm the guy who lives in the brown house down there. They call me Leab. We're having a party for National Night Out, and we'd love you to be there."
So...here's what happens instead.
One house sees me coming...and turns on the sprinklers. I step back and do the person across the street first (he just moved in and wanted to meet people). The sprinklers are off, so I decide to go back. As soon as I touch the walkway, they turn on again. It's at this point I see the guy turning them on and off by the window. I'm not going to give up, so I keep coming up even though I'm gettting wet. When I get to the door, the guy takes the flyer and crumples it up in front of me.
"See you there," I say.
"No you won't, fag," I hear back.
One couple told me they weren't coming because, "it's too far away. Unless it's in front of our house...forget it."
Never mind that it's four doors down. God forbid these people...walk or something.
The people who didn't want to come, rather than just give a polite, "Thanks, but no thanks," had to do something to make me go away.
How hard is it to just say, "No thanks," when asked?
It's no wonder that more and more people are becoming socially inept. It's no wonder that people have no manners. Look at the role models.
I get that people hate having Jehovah's Witnesses show up at their door, but come on now.
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Et Tu, Monopoly?:
Monopoly, the board game that many people claim to love (but few finish) is getting a major overhaul this upcoming fall. The game, which has been around for over 70 years (that's amazing...) will no longer be based on Atlantic City (If you didn't know, the avenues are in or near Atlantic City). Instead the new "Here and Now" edition will have American landmarks, such as Wrigley Field, Times Square, and the Golden Gate Bridge.
But wait...THERE'S MORE!
The railroads have been replaced. Who takes the train anymore? (I know, Dad, I know...ssshhh.)
The railroads will now be...airports. Four famous airports from around the US. JFK! LAX! O'HARE! I have no clue what the fourth will be!
Is that all? Heck no!
New playing pieces are being introduced. No longer will we see the Boot, the Car, and the Dog. NOOOOO! That's so 1930's! Instead we will have to wait, but they are promising "more hip" pieces (though they are to be a surprise, the rumor is that there will be the following:
A cell phone
An ipod-like piece
A hamburger
A "modern" car)
And the capper? No more paper money.
That's right, the paper money, much like in real life, is being replaced with a debit card. You'll run the card through the included "ATM" and that's how you'll buy things, pay for things, and get your $200 when you pass go.
It's modern, which is great, but I'll miss the paper. It's like Risk. You ever play Risk? They're changing it to reflect a more modern world, and it's going to be electronic.
There was something fun about the setup. That was the point. You took the time to be civil and set up the game. The end was always crazy (or abandoned in the case of Monopoly), but the begninning was great.
All I ask is this: If you're going to change all the old games, Life has to be next and has to reflect the reality we live in now:
Lost your job to outsourcing! Go back and find a new career.
Spouse left you for best friend, leaves children with you. Remove from car, lose a turn, and feel the shame of knowing your couldn't give your spouse what was needed!
Child is abducted and killed in Utah. Remove one child, lose a turn, lose cash, and feel the shame of being a bad parent!
And, when you get to "Retirement": Assess your wealth. If you have X amount of cash, you may retire, otherwise you go to work at local super store.
Any takers or ideas?
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Uh oh, Uh oh...Sherpa Time!
Sigh.
So here's the story, morning glory.
Like the selfless sherpa I am, I carried my son throughout my wife's work today. I watched as a few of her co-workers fawned over the Poozer (that's good), fawned over my wife's breasts (that's bad), and made comments about me not, "being one of them" (which I could care less about...though it is rude).
Part of the time I spent talking to one of my wife's co-workers (Wanda, who I really like...because we are amazingly alike) about her upcoming trip to Cincinnati (or America's Mole).
And then there was lunch.
I didn't realize that the people invited were all in my wife's new group within her company. It was mostly women, which I expected. There were 12 people, 2 men including myself and another guy named Ken.
My wife's boss, however...did not show up. Now he had a viable excuse (so his admin said) of his wife having to have Gall Bladder surgery due to huge stones. My father almost had that surgery, so I'll let it go.
The problem, however, was that the whole reason I was there was to take care of the baby so my wife and her boss, "could connect." With him hot there, it became pointless.
Lunch was Buca in Maple Grove, which is a nice restaurant, but we were in the Pope Room, which was small and hot. There wasn't enough room for the baby to be in the Baby Holder Thingy they brought, so...my son and his car seat sat on the lazy susan at the cent of the table with only the Pope's faux head to protect him. Many times during lunch, he was spun around so that people could look at him, poke at him, or talk about him.
Let's look at some fun topics:
1. Breast issues: We talked about 16 year old girls getting fake boobs (apparently a woman at my wife's work is buying breasts for her daughter's sweet 16). They also talked about breasts getting beaten due to feeding. Ken and I shrank a little.
2. Defending public schools: That was up to me. See most people there have kids in private schools, and one gal was homeschooled and talked about how she was so much smarter than the other kids in college. I defended as best I could. I also slipped at one point and ripped on the homeschooled gal talking about the social aspects and more (she married an actual rocket scientist...and he's apparently afraid of me because of the way I talk, how animated I get, and the fact that I have crazy stories).
3. How men don't do anything: This was my favorite part. First of all, I didn't get to eat. I ordered soup, but I never got to eat it, because when it arrived, my son woke up and wanted to eat. By the time I was done feeding and changing him, my soup, which I never even took a bite of, was gone. ("It had gotten cold," I was told. "It needed to go." Never mind that it could have been warmed up?)
Now, as I mentioned, I fed my son. I got the hot water, I warmed the bottle, and I fed him. Then, when he filled his diaper, I excused myself and changed him in the bathroom. (Ken, followed me and talked my ear off. It was obvious he NEEDED a guy to talk to working with all those women.)
I returned to the table to overhear a conversation about how men never help out.
"Never?" I asked. "What about me?"
"Well this is only one time. Do you do it all the time?"
"I've changed almost every diaper since he was born. Does that count?"
"What else have you done?"
"Well, what else do I need to do? Seriously. What do men need to do to be considered 'helpful' by you?"
"Feed the baby, change the baby...basically make it so I can relax for a while."
"Isn't that what I'm doing?"
"Do you do this every day?"
"Yes. I just said I change every diaper just about. I can't feed him all the time as he is breastfed. He will be weaned eventually."
"Whatever" the quiet girl in the corner says ending the conversation.
4. My wife drinking: This is a big deal. Basically my wife is a great deal like her father. She LOVES being the center of attention. She will drink and then party it up. Minnesotans, who are mostly reserved, love this because it's fascinating to them. It's something they can't do.
I heard over and over again about how my wife will be, "partying it up," when she comes back to work. "I mean you can pump and dump, right?" asks one co-worker.
All in all...it was a waste. My wife got a headache because she missed a feeding. I got to deal with incredibly annoying people, one of whom remembered me from the Christmas party we went to (the one with carols and such) because I was, "The Jew."
However, I love my wife. I would kill for her.
So I deal.
Namaste.
I'm Just the Sherpa
Tomorrow I am supposed to go with my wife and my child to her work and to lunch with her co-workers and friends. I was not asked if I would like to go, but merely told.
Not by my wife, mind you. No, that would be too easy to get out of in that case.
No, the message was from my wife's new boss and her co-workers.
You see I have been home all day with the Poozer, while my wife has been at the doctors (note to ladies everywhere: breastfeeding is not the most simple, nice action ever. Those commercials lie).
It was a rough morning for the both of us (compounded by the fact that I may have a cold, and I haven't really stopped working for longer than...well...how ever long it takes to blog).
I decided that Little Leab and I needed to go for a walk, so I packed up our stuff, took the stroller, and we went for a walk around our neighborhood (this was also done because we lost power today for a few hours).
Though it was warm, the walk was nice. I got some much needed exercise in, and Poozer slept.
I returned home to find my wife just returning as well. After discussing the issues at the doctor, we went inside so Poozer could eat.
I listened to the messages, but discovered my wife had first (they were saved, not new). The first was from my wife's new boss:
"Hey, looking forward to lunch tomorrow. I need you to come in before then though, so we can discuss your upcoming trips. Hope the husband is ready for some good alone time with the boy (insert annoying laugh here). Annnnyway, your husband should come tomorrow. He'll have to pay for his own lunch buy at least he can get some practice dealing with the kid in public. I mean, you can't feed him at lunch, right? (Another fake laugh.) Ok, call me."
I tell my wife the message. She just nods her head (this does not bode well).
The next message is a co-worker who I know quite well. I like this gal, but her message makes me snap the pencil in my hand.
"Hey, it's J. Looking forward to tomorrow. We can't wait to meet the little guy. P (my wife's boss) says your hubby's coming. That's great. He can handle the baby while we party. Hey, maybe if he feeds him, then you can have a drink. After all...Pump and Dump, right? Of course, if Hubby looks like he did the last time I saw him, you might want to tell him to go get a haircut...and to shave. After all, the boss IS going to be there.
And remember girl, if Hubby complains, just explain that you are the Mountain Climber and he's the Sherpa. No one listens or remembers the Sherpa. He's only there to carry your stuff and make you look good . We only care about the Mountain Climber. See you tomorrow. Byyyyyeeeee!"
So, now I am expected to be at this lunch tomorrow, and I am expected to be the following:
1. Quiet. I am not allowed to talk, because I don't work at the company.
2. Well-dressed. Again, not part of the company, but I have to look it.
3. Well-mannered. This goes back to #1 as well. In the past, I have called my wife's co-workers and bosses on B.S. I am NOT allowed to do that with this new guy. Plus...he's hard-core Catholic...SIGH!
4. (My favorite) Babysitter. The baby is solely my responsibility. No one else's. If my wife and her co-workers decide to go on from lunch (to a bar or whatever), I am expected to come along, keep my wife aloft, and keep my child quiet and happy.
My wife's reasoning behind all this? Well, this guy can really launch her career. That's really important to her. "I NEED you on this," she tells me.
How can I say no? She had a difficult labor and has had to take care of Poozer so far as I couldn't feed him before now.
I'm just the Sherpa. I schlep things where they need to go. That's my job now. That and reality comes back a month from now.
As for Poozer? He's fantastic. Had a rough morning being stuck with his dad, but he's a trooper.
Then again...I'm just the Sherpa.
Not by my wife, mind you. No, that would be too easy to get out of in that case.
No, the message was from my wife's new boss and her co-workers.
You see I have been home all day with the Poozer, while my wife has been at the doctors (note to ladies everywhere: breastfeeding is not the most simple, nice action ever. Those commercials lie).
It was a rough morning for the both of us (compounded by the fact that I may have a cold, and I haven't really stopped working for longer than...well...how ever long it takes to blog).
I decided that Little Leab and I needed to go for a walk, so I packed up our stuff, took the stroller, and we went for a walk around our neighborhood (this was also done because we lost power today for a few hours).
Though it was warm, the walk was nice. I got some much needed exercise in, and Poozer slept.
I returned home to find my wife just returning as well. After discussing the issues at the doctor, we went inside so Poozer could eat.
I listened to the messages, but discovered my wife had first (they were saved, not new). The first was from my wife's new boss:
"Hey, looking forward to lunch tomorrow. I need you to come in before then though, so we can discuss your upcoming trips. Hope the husband is ready for some good alone time with the boy (insert annoying laugh here). Annnnyway, your husband should come tomorrow. He'll have to pay for his own lunch buy at least he can get some practice dealing with the kid in public. I mean, you can't feed him at lunch, right? (Another fake laugh.) Ok, call me."
I tell my wife the message. She just nods her head (this does not bode well).
The next message is a co-worker who I know quite well. I like this gal, but her message makes me snap the pencil in my hand.
"Hey, it's J. Looking forward to tomorrow. We can't wait to meet the little guy. P (my wife's boss) says your hubby's coming. That's great. He can handle the baby while we party. Hey, maybe if he feeds him, then you can have a drink. After all...Pump and Dump, right? Of course, if Hubby looks like he did the last time I saw him, you might want to tell him to go get a haircut...and to shave. After all, the boss IS going to be there.
And remember girl, if Hubby complains, just explain that you are the Mountain Climber and he's the Sherpa. No one listens or remembers the Sherpa. He's only there to carry your stuff and make you look good . We only care about the Mountain Climber. See you tomorrow. Byyyyyeeeee!"
So, now I am expected to be at this lunch tomorrow, and I am expected to be the following:
1. Quiet. I am not allowed to talk, because I don't work at the company.
2. Well-dressed. Again, not part of the company, but I have to look it.
3. Well-mannered. This goes back to #1 as well. In the past, I have called my wife's co-workers and bosses on B.S. I am NOT allowed to do that with this new guy. Plus...he's hard-core Catholic...SIGH!
4. (My favorite) Babysitter. The baby is solely my responsibility. No one else's. If my wife and her co-workers decide to go on from lunch (to a bar or whatever), I am expected to come along, keep my wife aloft, and keep my child quiet and happy.
My wife's reasoning behind all this? Well, this guy can really launch her career. That's really important to her. "I NEED you on this," she tells me.
How can I say no? She had a difficult labor and has had to take care of Poozer so far as I couldn't feed him before now.
I'm just the Sherpa. I schlep things where they need to go. That's my job now. That and reality comes back a month from now.
As for Poozer? He's fantastic. Had a rough morning being stuck with his dad, but he's a trooper.
Then again...I'm just the Sherpa.
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