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.
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.
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:------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------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. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Hopefully these tips will be helpful.Namaste.
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.)
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.
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.
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.
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.------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------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.
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.
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.
A heartwarming tale about a man, his child, and the world that doesn't understand them.
Ok, not really.
I've had one of those days. It started badly, it didn't get any better, and it ended up just as annoying. Other than my son, that is.
Let me tell you a tale of a man facing off against a city....
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7:15 am: It starts with a knock at my front door. You see my neighbors are out of town right now. I have a spare key and have agreed to water their plants and take their trash to the curb, but that's it. Someone else is supposed to be feeding their cats.
This person forgot the key, but was told I would have a spare.
So, at 7:15, the knocking on my door became a bang as I searched for clothes to answer the door in.
"Ummm. Can I help you?" I ask still in a slight fog of sleep. You see I took the late shift. The very late shift so my wife could sleep. It was part of her "24 hours of you" I gave her.
She had 24 hours for it all to be about her health and well-being. I took the kid for everything except feedings (which I can't do...until he goes to bottle feeding...which I'll get to later). So, when he was fussy, I got up. When he couldn't sleep between 4 and 5, I took him. You get the idea.
"It's about time. I was knocking forever," the gal says.
"Yeah...I have this new kid. Month old today, in fact, and we were sleeping."
"Whatever. I need the key."
"Go to the other door and be quiet. I'll get you the key," I tell her.
After fetching the key, I go and shower. My son is feeding, so I have some time.
I get dressed and see the gal attempting to leave with my key. I go out while still putting on my shirt. The gal sees me...and STARTS TO BACK UP FASTER!
Seeing that she is trying to take my key, I run into the street, calling her, and then finally bang on her hood.
"What are you doing?!" She screams.
"You're trying to take my key," I reply. "I need it in order to let their cat in tomorrow."
"I don't have your key," she says.
I look in and it's in the cup holder. I tell her so.
"Oh...is that yours?" she says, then hands it to me.
"Try not to forget your key tomorrow," I tell her," Because I won't be opening up no matter what. Have a nice day now."
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10:30 am: I have just dropped my wife at her appointment at Litespa. As part of her day, I have gotten her a pedicure and haircut. Her feet are pretty raw, and she wants the haircut. I'm an obliging husband, so I set it up for her. This means I will have Poozer to myself for a few hours. No problem. We'll go pick up the professional pictures we had done then go for a walk around downtown.
No problem...right?
I was wrong.
The first issue came when I picked up the pictures at Ridgedale Mall.
Explain something to me, folks: What is it about a man pushing around a stroller all by himself that makes people either nervous or stupid?
I swear, people would stop and stare at me as I walked through that mall. I felt like I was wearing the Scarlet "P" (for parent). I was waiting for that scene from Invasion of the Body Snatchers when the woman points at Donald Sutherland and makes that horrendous, alien noise. I tought one woman was going to do that when her daughter asked her, "Where is that baby's mommy?"
As for the stupid part? Well in both entering the mall and leaving it, I ran into people unwilling to hold the door open. In one case, the guy saw me coming and let go of the door just a split second before I got there. This meant I had to grab the door before it slammed into the side of my son's stroller without somehow jarring his head to one side when I had to move quickly.
And what is it about people touching babies? Seriously! I walked past a kiosk and this woman saw Little Leab all passed out in his stroller. She rushed up next to me and started to talk to me.
"He's adorable!"
"What? Oh, thanks."
"Look at his hair!"
At this point she tries to touch his head. What? Have I somehow given her permission to touch his head by acknowledging her compliment?
I didn't quite slap her hand, but I made a quick swerve and said, "Oh. When he's sleeping...you really can't touch him. He gets angry. Sorry."
Slightly annoyed, I set back to downtown Minneapolis.
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11:35 am: While walking around, I came to the realization about a few things.
1. I now walk much slower than I used to. Now that sounds odd, but you have to understand: I'm a New Yorker. If any of us entered into the speed walking competition in the Olympics, we'd win by miles. MILES, I tell you. Yet, as I walked about the Skyway today, I was much slower than almost everyone around me. It astonished me. I didn't want to go speeding along. No, slow and steady to keep Poozer comfortable and to people watch. I had a lot of time to kill. Yet business people were blowing by me so fast that I could almost feel the wind. One guy voiced his displeasure at me (while on a cell phone as well) and then shoved into a tiny space between the stroller and the wall to pass me. There was room on the left (made me think of those bikers who scream "On the Left!" while passing), but he chose the right. Then he was angry when he almost biffed it. I was all the way over. What else was I supposed to do? At one point, I pulled over to get some cash from an ATM. I was amazed at how fast people came by. You know how in some music videos the protagonist stands still and is clear, yet the world rushes around him? That's what it was like. It was an odd feeling.
2. People do not like strollers or men with strollers. I was obvious people were annoyed with me walking around with a stroller. I took up too much space on the elevator, I was too slow, and I was not always looking where I was going. I admit all these, but sometimes, people without strollers are just as guilty. I walked to the second floor of the IDS building, and pulled over to the extreme side (near Potbelly). I was nowhere near a door or anything. A woman walking, reading (could have been a day planner, could have been court documents), and talking on a cell phone wasn't paying attention. She walked extremely quickly into my stroller and nearly knocked it over. I caught it, but not before my son woke up.
I was annoyed (the running theme of the day). This woman then turned and started yelling at me about how "People and their fucking strollers. Go someplace else with that thing. Get out of the way!"
Now, I'm already annoyed, and my son is chirping, having been woken from his slumber by this caffeine-crazed idiot, so, in my best annoyed-teacher voice, I said, "Lady...get off the damn phone and watch what your doing. If my son had been hurt, I swear I'd have thrown you over this balcony. Get your shit together and move on before I claim you hurt a baby."
No more words, she left. She asked the person on the phone if he or she heard what I said, and her flustered tone told me that this person didn't. Even if he or she had, I was near a camera. I could back it up in court.
Still, she wasn't the only one. Several people didn't pay attention to or didn't care about the stroller. I also heard a few people looking at me and saying things like, "A guy...alone...with a stroller...that's weird, man."
3. You can never go home again. I went by St. Thomas, which was a mistake. None of the teachers I would want to talk to were there. Security followed me around the building (this goes back to the whole "guy with a stroller" thing) as if my stroller had an explosive in it instead of a baby.
I crossed over the business school (which was nice...I guess) into the law school. I had never been in the law building before. After today, I will never go back. Why you ask? Because I was kicked out. That's right, I was kicked out of the building.
Why?
Well, I was on the second floor. You have to go by the library in order to get to the elevators. I stopped to buy myself a drink, and while it was dispensing, Poozer let out a chirp. Then I got in to the elevator. I was met by a security officer.
"Sir, you're going to have to leave. Your son is being too loud."
"Ok, I'm on my way out anyway. Just waiting for the elevator."
"Good, because we have people here studying to become lawyers, and they don't need your child's noise to distract them."
"Ok then."
From below, I hear someone say (quite loudly, I might add), "Yeah, get that damn kid out of here. We're trying to study!"
The elevator arrives, and I go down to the first floor. It's now that I see the person who yelled up.
He and his friend are playing ping-pong. Apparently, as I was told on the way out, the baby's cry made him lose the point.
Sigh.
This led to an interesting moment outside.
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1:50 pm: With Poozer having been fed and changed and such, it was then we headed through our adventure at St. Thomas. He did, in fact, eat from a bottle, but it was work. He really hated it. It's going to be interesting. Back to the point. He and I have left St. Thomas and are walking across toward Litespa, when we see...WCCO's Jason DeRusha walking up 12th (and obviously heading back to WCCO. I call out to him:
"He...DeRusha!"
But he keeps walking.
I try again.
"Yo, DERUSHA!"
My son stirs a little.
Now, I'm not going to run, but I do step a little quicker.
At this point, he turns and looks right at me, so I yell,
"DeRusha, you fucking rock!"
He keeps walking. It's at this point I notice the trail of headphones in his ears. He couldn't hear me. He was lost in whatever music he was listening to while walking.
I wasn't going to run after him, as I had my son and needed to get my wife, but it was nice to see him out and about. Shows that not all those news people are afraid to descend among the people.
Should we start calling him, "The People's Reporter," a la The Rock (as the People's Champion)?
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7:45 PM: This is the point where I almost lose faith in all humanity. Forget the people who don't see my son. I expect that of people without children, because I used to be one of them.
What hurts, however, is when the people that you trust or have helped in the past do not reciprocate.
I was tired this evening as I did the things I normally do on Thursday night: Mow the lawn, clean the house (vacuum, clean the bathroom, wipe down the kitchen), take out the recycling, and so on. I also had to take my neighbor's recycling and trash out as well. (They're gone, remember?)
So it's not a bad night out, and almost all of the people on my street are out on their lawns or talking to each other or whatever.
I'm taking my recycling to the curb, when I hit a patch in the driveway and my bin starts to tip.
I've got it, but just barely. Slowly I can feel it tipping away from me, so I call out, "Hey! I need some help here please. PLEASE! I NEED SOME HELP HERE!"No one moves. They just stare."ANY...TIME...NOW!"Again, no one moves. Hell, two doors down, they get up...and watch. That's right. They watched. They never left their lawn.I lost it. In slow motion before my eyes, the whole can tipped, and a large chunk of my recycling spilled out into my garden and the street. "Dammit!" I shout. I now hear laughter coming from a few different people."Would anyone mind helping me please?" I ask.Again, I am surprised when no one comes to help me. No one!They again watch as I pick up every piece that has fallen out. It takes me about five minutes. I even hear the guy across the street commenting to his friend about the items in my stuff. Are you kidding me? Where is the supposed Minnesota Nice? Oh, that's right...it's passive/aggressive behavior...not common courtesy. These are all people that I have helped in the past. The guy commenting to his wife? I helped him clean out his gutters. The people on the lawn? I showed them how to fix their mower. Yet when I ask for help? Forget it.I grew up in places where houses weren't so close or where there were apartments. I had always seen these places in movies, or heard stories about neighbors being friends. It seemed so nice, but in reality, Bob and Jim don't really barbeque together. My neighborhood still won't accept my wife and I after three years because we're too young. Hell, one of the people on the block recently put their house up for sale because of the, "young people...they're annoying." Young people? There's my wife and I, and one other couple under 35. That's it. The reason they wouldn't help me? Because I'm young. That's harsh. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------1 am: My son is asleep next to me as I write. Shortly before he passed out, he smiled at me. Whether it was a real smile or gas, he still smiled. It made the world better, at least for a little while.In my family, we talk about how my father has become anti-social in some ways, but on days like today, I'm not sure he's wrong. Do I want my son to be angry at the world? No, but I won't protect him completely from it. That's the problem I have with people who don't inform their children about reality: They truly believe ignorance is bliss, but it just leads to more trouble. I hope my son learns from me without becoming me. I also hope that my son one day looks back and understands that no matter what kind of person I become, I love him, and he is a huge part of my sanity now. I don't know. I'm tired and rambling. He's a month old today (according to me. My wife says it's by the day he was born, so four tuesdays later, which means he's one month and two days old today). In some ways it's funny. If my 19 year old self saw me now, he'd kick my ass. I got married (swore I wouldn't), had a child (been told I shouldn't), and I work a "normal" job (Had an offer to work for Momix, but turned it down...he would have REALLY been pissed by that one). When the hell did I become a person?
Namaste.
Wow, so The Minnesota Wild apparently listened when their fans complained this off-season.
Several million dollars later (and one trade that is a wait-and-see), the team is completely different.
Suddenly there is an offensive-defenseman in the form of Kim Johnsson.
There is a "Banger" in the form of Keith Carney.
Down and dirty forward? They signed Mark Parrish.
All of the youngsters are back as well.
If there is a questionable move, it is the Pavol Demitra trade. I understand that this was done in order to make Marion Gaborik re-sign, but Patrick O'Sullivan was considered one of the best prospects in the NHL. Not in the system, but in the entire league. Demitra, though very talented, is 31 years old, and he has been getting injured more frequently (a concussion, a leg injury, and an eye injury most recently).
If O'Sullivan goes on to be like Ovechkin, and the Wild miss the playoffs again, then the system will have to be completely overhauled. However, if Demitra returns to the form he showed in St. Louis, and the Wild beat up on the Northwest division, then all is right as rain...except for one thing:
Guys....Unless you make the playoffs, do NOT raise ticket prices again. I'm not sure the fans will respond to that very well.
Maybe I should start a blog a la Batgirl about the Wild...what do you think?
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Other strange news in Hockey.
Neil Smith.
You've probably never heard of him, but he was the general manager of the New York Rangers when they won the Stanley Cup in 1994.
He was fired and replaced, so he went on to be an announcer.
Recently the New York Islanders (a team I really dislike) hired him. When I say recently, I mean 40 days ago.
So how odd is it that after the draft and the free agent signing he has helped complete, he was fired today and replaced by a goalie on the team. Garth Snow, the back up goalie, retired and took his place.Now this is strange for several reasons. 1. Many Islander fans are now wondering what the hell is going on. The team made several positive moves in the last month and seemed to be heading in a good direction.2. Snow is one year older than my sister (He's in his 30's). I wonder if the owner of the Islanders (Mr. Charles Wang) is hoping for the same miracle that happened to the Boston Red Sox (Theo Epstein is a very young man as well). 3. Neil Smith has won a Stanley Cup. Don't overlook that. Yet, here is a guy who has never done been a general manager, and he is expected to help a team return to greatness (in the mid 80's, the Islanders won four Stanley Cups in a row). Now I look at it this way:Think of the staff of a typical office (let's use a paper company like on The Office). You have the executives, the middle management, and the "grunts" or workers. The "grunts" take care of the warehouse, the middle management balances all the numbers, and the executives oversee the whole operation.This is the same thing in hockey. The "grunts" are the players, the middle management are the coaches, and the executives are the GMs and the owners. Got it?Now, imagine this business. One day, the president hires a new VP and says, "I have complete confidence in you."After one month, the president looks at what the VP has been doing and talks to the workers. The workers say, "We like him, but he was out of management for a long time...seems strange. Still...he's really good."The president says, "Interesting." Then, he fires the VP after only a month.Instead of promoting from middle management (who might know the job or understand exactly what to do), the president takes one of the "grunts" and says, "You have the job now. Good luck." The "grunt" the president picked is younger than all of the middle management, has only been with the company for a few years, and has never done the job expected of him (has no training). Looking at this company, do you have confidence?This is why most Islander fans are now wondering what happened? My take? Wang is a VERY controlling owner. It's possible that Smith was not doing what he wanted and so he was fired. Plus Mike Milbury is still with the Islanders, and he is a control freak. This bares watching. If the Islanders make more moves and are terrible then Snow will be roasted. If, however, they do nothing else and play amazingly, the fans will probably say, "Hey Smith did a great job."In the end I feel bad for Snow (who, by the way, lost his last five decisions in goal). He may be hit harder than Isiah Thomas in New York.------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The last two Stanley Cup Champions have been in the Southeast part of the country (Tampa Bay and Carolina).That's troubling.No wonder the Canadians are angry. It would be like the Toronto Blue Jays winning the World Series every year. I guess this means that Phoenix has to win this year. A hockey team in the desert....Go figure.Namaste.
Is this baby really asleep, or is he contemplating the destruction of the Earth?
Isn't it amazing how much he looks like Winston Churchill?
That being said, here is the reason why, though I am losing sleep, I am quite content.It's Poozer at his best.
Before he was born, my wife and I called our soon Roo.
It was born out of two ideas:
1. We both like the world of the Hundred Acre Woods, and
2. Every freaking time someone in my family creates a plan for us to go to Australia together, someone either gets pregnant or has health issues.
I had made a killer plan to go to the land down under, but it was not to happen. Thus, Poozer was called Roo in the womb because he was the child to Kanga (my wife) and kangaroos are found in Australia. Pretty simple.
Now, I don't plan on going through all the details (I think we can skip conception, right?), but many funny things happened over the course of the nine months leading up to and including my son's birth. Let's start in the beginning (but after conception, sheesh).
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My wife and two of her friends went to New York in October of 2005. It was the first weekend of October, and my wife wasn't feeling well. This was supposed to be a girls' weekend in the NYC, but Mrs. Leab really wasn't in the partying mood.
I was here alone. It was me, my cats, and a deck of cards (they're quite good blackjack players, really).
When I first spoke to the gang of girls, I thought something was up. One of her friends said, "Yeah, she's not really feeling well. Threw up her dinner."
"Well, did she drink?" I asked.
"No, she only had water."
That set off the alarm bell in my head. I immediately assumed she was pregnant.
For the two months since they had set up the trip, all my wife had talked about was going to Babbo. My wife and I had been to another of Mario Batali's restaurants (Esca) where we were told that, while the food there was good, Babbo's food and wine were better.
As the story was related to me, my wife had such bad morning sickness (that would be the worst it was for her. The rest of the time she wasn't too bad) that she could only look at the food she ordered. She couldn't eat it. (On a side note, she ended up boxing up the food and giving it to my father. I have no idea if he ever ate it.)
Again, having talked to her friend, I am already suspicious. My wife calls me and says, "I think I just had some bad food," but I hear something in the background that sounds like laughing.
Fast forward two days. My wife returns home and gives me a gift. From Tiffany's no less (which is horrible, because my first thought was "Dammit! She spent money on me...and too much to boot."
I open the box.
It's a spoon with animals on it. I remark:
"It's a spoon. A very small spoon." My wife is smiling. "Seems like a baby spoon."
"It is," she says.
"You're pregnant...." I say.
"Yes!" she screams.
"I knew it. I knew you didn't have food poisoning," I say.
Now some people say that upon hearing they are going to be adding to their family that their mind races with possibilities. I have to tell you: It's true.
In my mind I started flashing through every room in my house trying to figure out what I would need to do to baby proof.
That led to me thinking about all of the things I would need to pay for:
Day Care
Doctors
Crib
Clothes
College
Prom
Books
And on and on it went.
My final thought I said aloud. In my best Roy Scheider voice, I say, "We're gonna need a bigger house...."
My wife laughed and told me to breathe.
But the images and thoughts kept running through my head:
What about my cats?
Am I going to have to get a more family-friendly car?
How is this going to work with the school year?
Private or public school for the kid?
I tried very hard to keep myself calm in front of my wife. I was excited, but there was a dark undercurrent to it.
If I was to become a parent, then my parents would be moving into the grandparent phase...which meant they were closing to leaving this Earth.
I know, I know. Strange thought, but it still wormed its way into my head. As I celebrated the beginning of my wife's pregnancy, I started worrying over what would happen to my parents. How much longer would I have them to help me? How soon before I, like my parents, became an orphan?
Of course these were not rational thoughts, but the first few minutes after being told you're going to be a parent rarely are.
I ended up getting a storage space out in Plymouth in order to clean out my house. (This was required as I had, according to my wife, "Too many books for one house.")
The pregnancy would be normal with some very interesting times ahead.
This is the last I'm going to say about this topic.
I finished reading a Colorado woman's account of how their meeting with Katie Couric went.
It sounded a great deal like our meeting save for less contradicting.
There was a P.C. crowd, though it seems that their crowd ran the entire gamut of the monetary spectrum (ours did not).
All in all nothing in their gathering that was said was really different than ours.
That's unfortunate. It seems then that this verifies what I thought about the tour: It was never about getting our ideas, but rather validating what they knew already.
We want technology used.
We want our news to be objective.
We want stories we care about or are relevant.
We want to have less sensationalism...or do we?
Coming out of the Minneapolis meeting, it seems that the only thing anyone cares about is Matt Bartel's Pen.
Sadly this is why no one will ever care about the news again, and why we will always have news stations or pundits in charge.
I'm sorry that his pen was taken, but look how he has benefited from it...and look how the story has taken off.
We say we don't want sensationalized news, but then we eagerly await and cheer as a pen being taken away makes it on to the national news circuit.
Don't get me wrong, it's great for MN Speak, but I'm sorry that the main thing anyone will remember is that moment. Not the fact that the whole thing was really a PR stunt, not the fact that it made the news, however short a time, relevant again. No, people will only remember that a guy's pen got taken away.This does, as my sister pointed out, mean one other thing: Whereas "blogs" were thought of as only a passing fad, this incident does give them more power and credibility. In essence, the era of the trusted journalist only being from a newspaper or TV has had the coffin lid nailed shut. If the story is true (and I hate saying it, but in someways it sounds too ridiculous to be true), then the producers of the TV news felt that a guy who writes online can be considered a journalist, which means that his pen was taken away (in compromise) to keep him from writing about the event (which is funny, because they knew I was a blogger as well and never said anything). Nevermind that Matt could have, oh I don't know, borrowed a pen from someone else. It's the principle of the matter.Bloggers and online news journalists (sometimes called civilian journalists) have been given credibility from this single action. It's just too bad that all we care about is not the fact that someone, as much of a public relations stunt as it was, actually cared about our opinions, but that a writing instrument was taken away.And yes, I know I'm just as guilty for mentioning it. I guess my problem is that we want controversy. We are so desperate for schadenfreude that we look for it anywhere and pimp it hard.Welcome to the 21st century. That's the last I'm going to say about the whole Katie Couric affair. I wish her good luck, because she will need it if she wants to compete with other news programs or the internet. As for the whole pen incident...It was two days ago. Time to move on and get on with our lives.Namaste.
The town hall meeting was today. While most people are currently talking about Matt's pen being taken, I can tell you the little guy's story.
Let me make it clear: I am not Lee-Ann Stephens, the Minnesota Teacher of the year, nor am I a member of the press (as apparently Matt Bartell is considered), nor am I a well-known priest, rich business person, or a minority.
I am just some schmuck, who was invited because Jason DeRusha reads my blog. Imagine being developmentally challenged and being invited to a MENSA meeting. That's how I felt this morning. So here's my story.------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------I woke up early this morning, which I haven't really done in a while. The baby usually sleeps between 4 and 8, so getting up and moving at 6 was kind of hard, to be honest. Moving on.Since it has been re-opened, I have not been to the Minneapolis Library. I know many people really like it, but I can't help it: I don't. It's really cold. Not in a temperature way, but in a design way. It doesn't feel inviting to me. It's narrow. Instead of saying, "Please...get a book, sit, and read for a while," it says, "You! Get a book and get out!"The event was on the second floor. There was a nice continental breakfast, yada, yada, yada.After checking in, I right away felt out of place. First of all, the woman to man ratio ended up being 8 to 1 in favor of women. I have no problem with that, but I somehow knew it would be that way.Every man I saw was in a suit. I was not. Let me make this clear: I'm a teacher, a new parent, and on break. I wore a polo and khakis. This made me an outsider which was clear by the fact that NO ONE would come near me at my table. At one point a group of people (and I was shocked how many people knew each other) chose to sit on the floor (in really nice clothing) rather than stand at my table. I stood alone for a long time...until a priest named Dale joined me. Very nice and articulate man. I put aside all of my feelings about religion and the Church while talking to him. So let's get to the good stuff: the actual meeting.I sat dead center. The meeting itself? Pointless. Nothing was really accomplished. While Katie Couric and Rome Hartman were well spoken (and sometimes humorous), there was nothing to really be gained. For every single thing one person said, someone else said the exact opposite. At one point it was mentioned that the news needs to be more objective. Thirty seconds later: the next person said the news needs to be "personal."It was a shame. I promised DeRusha I would not pull any punches, so here we go:1. The entire event was amazingly political. I'm sorry, the make-up of the room was a P.C wet dream. I was easily one of the youngest people in the room, but there were African-Americans (I already mentioned Ms. Stephens), Hmong, Hispanic, old, young, intellectual, working man, Native American, etc. At one point, toward the end of the meeting, a young black man had been holding his hand up for awhile (most people at the meeting forgot the whole "let's hold our hand up" thing and just stood up and talked). A woman walked down the aisle, caught Hartman's eye and pointed at the young man, mouthing, "You MUST call on him." The young man mentioned Africa, and the crowd murmured its approval. The whole event, though intending to get out "real opinions" didn't, which leads to my next point:2. Minnesota Nice creates too many damn problems. Almost EVERY SINGLE PERSON, except for myself and one other guy, prefaced their thoughts or speeches with, "Welcome to Minnesota, Katie," or "I loved the Today Show." Sigh. Beyond that, they were unwilling to stir it up, yet afterward people were complaining. You had your chance to say something and you didn't. You're not allowed to bitch when you had the opportunity to talk. One guy, beyond myself, was willing to actually comment on what people were saying and say something controversial. No one wanted to debate (which both Couric and Hartman said they wanted as part of their introduction). It was too bad.3. Their questions weren't answered. They said, "We want to talk about the news, not ideas for what we should talk about," yet the group spent more time talking about what should be talked about. ("We're a fly-over state," one woman commented. "You should do stories that would make us interested...not just what's important on the coasts.")What saddened me was that most people there didn't hear the "WORLD" part. They said the world should be talked about, but their ideas were Minnesota-centric.So I know what you're thinking at this point: "Leab, you can't shut up, so what did you say?"Well:4. I did speak. I waited patiently and then said the following:"My name is Leab, and I'm a high school English teacher. (This immediately had people coughing or talking. I'm not the Minnesota Teacher of the Year, so what does it matter what I say? To continue....)First of all, you mentioned Murrow. Well, he let the beast out, and it's time to put it back in. The news needs to return to being objective, which it has not been in a long time. It's obviously slanted which is why certain people watch only certain channels. Most people nowadays might say that being objective is being wishy-washy, but they're wrong. This is a chance for you to prove that. (I heard no murmurs at this point, so either they agreed with me or thought I was nuts.) I teach a lesson on propaganda, and my students, more often than not, brought me one of two things: either a political speech, predominantly Bush, or news casts. Many were actually from the Today Show as well. They see it this way, because the news creates fear or tells us who to vote for instead of just reporting the facts. Now if you ask my students where they get their news, they will tell you blogs, the web, or The Daily Show. Our own WCCO here has people like Jason DeRusha who have blogs, which leads me to ask (and here I turned around to Don Shelby) when are you going to have your own blog, Mr. Shelby?"Shelby responded with, "Sssssh. Don't give them any ideas!"I turned back and continued, "You need to embrace technology. Either through a blog, Ipods, or making the website work with the news. We don't really have the time to sit down and watch the news when it's on, so give us the chance to see it when we can." I didn't get much of a response. The woman sitting next to me made a comment about how, "I shouldn't have said that."Couric's response to what I said was a frown. She then talked about how blogs really cannot have journalistic integrity and how they are usually emotional and full of anger and hate. She ignored that there are some that aren't that way (again, see WCCO's), but whatever. I wasn't wearing a business suit, I wasn't a minority, and I didn't have a position like Hennepin County Coordinator. I was a nobody, so who cares what I think?At the end, we were allowed to have pictures taken with Ms. Couric. I was in the final group and was allowed to talk to her. Here is how the conversation went."Are you a Mets fan?" She asked me. It was obvious she noticed my hat I had with me."Yes. I know you like the Yankees. Both teams are having great seasons.""That's true, but the Mets are leading their division.""But you can't count out Steinbrenner's cash and drive. Well, good luck with the rest of your day," I said to her."Thanks. May I ask you something?" "Yes you may," I replied."Your students really brought in the Today Show?""Yes. One even brought in the Colonoscopy episode.""Can I ask you another question?""Of course.""Who invited you to this meeting today?""A local reporter put in my name. Wanted the 'Everyman' perspective. I'm the 'Everyman' apparently.""I see." LONG PAUSE. "Well thanks for coming out M." (she used my name here, which was disarming as I said it only once."I next talked to Rome Hartman. "Did you really show your class Good Night and Good Luck?" He asked me."Yes. They understood it, though they found it slow."We chatted for a while about news, websites, and blogs (he was surprisingly for them), then he asked me:"So how did you end up here today?"It was at this point I realized that I really did look out of place. I didn't kiss anyone's ass, which meant I was not exactly what they were looking for.I told him the same thing I told Ms. Couric. "Interesting." LONG PAUSE. "So how long have you been teaching?"I talked to him for five more minutes or roughly until my bladder started screaming at me. We talked about teachers, how people don't really understand what it's like to be a teacher, and, of course, how everyone compares our education system to Japan's or another country's (and here's a tip folks: Stop doing that. Our system is not like anyone else's, so shut up with the whole, "Why aren't we like Japan?" crap.)------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the end, there were an amazing amount of Katie fans there. DeRusha had mentioned, at one point, that they wanted serious thinkers, not fans, at this meeting, but so many people fawned over her. Still, I didn't have my pen taken, so I guess that's something...right?Thanks to DeRusha for getting me invited, but I just don't feel that ANYTHING was really accomplished. They listened...and then decided they were going to do whatever they were going to do. The bottom line is this: As one person said, "Until you decide who your target audience is, it's impossible to decide how your show will work."That's really it. If you aim for older people, you'll need feel good stories. Aim for the younger crowd, and you'll have to explain EVERYTHING.That's it. Still, I'll email ideas to you, CBS News. I have a lot of them.Courage.Namaste.
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.
