It's like Tuesdays with Morrie without all the wisdom
Archive for March, 2008
She’s Grim(m), but She’s No Plagiarist
7March 28, 2008
We stole this story pocket idea from somebody we don’t even know. Maya had a lot of fun and I think her story gives you an idea of what goes on in her mind most of the time.
I told her to paint a story and then she could tell me the story and I would write her words on the bottom of each picture.
“The little bad wolf ate the kid.”
Yes, the little bad wolf ate the kid, not to be confused with the big bad wolf because somebody already wrote that story.
“Then he ate the grandma in the sun.”
The sun is a nice touch, don’t you think?
“Then the grandma and the kid ate the wolf.”
At least they got their revenge.
Maya cackled maniacally while she painted these pictures and she couldn’t wait to tell me the story. She has re-told it several times, adding details like, “the grandma and the kid cut off the wolf’s head before they ate him.” I’m sure it had something to do with presentation.
She’s been very proudly matching up the words to her morbid little story all afternoon.
Thank God we homeschool. If she had done this in pre-school, I’m sure we’d be getting a visit from CPS.
Some Good TV
6March 27, 2008
I like tv that gots killin’ in it and whatnot, and when I watch it on AMC, I can feel like a smarty.
AMC is showing re-runs of season 1 of Breaking Bad and it is the best show on tv right now. Maybe second best next to a show Dawn introduced us to: Randy Jackson’s America’s Best Dance Crew (careful with that link, depending on what ad MTV is running, it could be NSFW, unless you work at Hooters).
Don’t judge my tv tastes by the fact that I like a show on MTV. Breaking Bad is good, I swear. I’ve only seen 1.3 episodes, but it has the dad from Malcolm in the Middle in it playing a boring science teacher with inoperable lung cancer who decides to cook and sell meth (I don’t know why because I didn’t see the entire pilot. I’m sure he has a good reason.) It’s an excellent show all on its own, but I think picturing my own high school science teacher cooking meth and very clumsily handling a gun makes it that much more entertaining.
My science teacher was, like most nerds, a bit socially awkward. His face was expressionless. Always. His speaking voice was expressionless. Always. And his lectures were boring as the day is long. Always. There was no Bill Nye the Science Guy at CHS. Nerds are one thing, but boring nerds? Come on. Mr. Reer looked like Wolf Blitzer, only even uglier with a constant stream of halitosis-ized spittle on his lips and facial hair. Disgusting. His breath and slobber were so bad and made such an impression on me that I just gagged a little bit when I typed that. During one class, when a smart-ass kid thought he would be funny by offering him a Tic Tac, Mr. Reer said in the flattest affect you have ever heard, “Why would I want a Tic Tac? That would ruin my bad breath,” and then he stood there waiting for an answer. The kid was like, “uh, yeah, I guess you’re right,” and slinked away in shame, never to be heard from again. Somehow, Mr. Reer (what an unfortunate name for a teacher) tricked somebody into marrying him and they had a son who was around my age. I remember just looking at that kid and being absolutely fascinated by the fact that he had this dad with this terrible condition and wondering things like, do they talk about the halitosis at the dinner table? When Mr. Reer would read bedtime stories, would he wear a mask if the boy just couldn’t handle the smell? Does his wife just not care about the smell or do they never, ever kiss? Does Mr. Reer get sad about his breath? I mean, 5 feet away, in normal conversational tones, his breath was like a brick wall. I think I’m trying to say that he had bad breath. And he was boring. I don’t know why his home life still fascinates me to such a degree, but when I watch Breaking Bad I find myself hoping, really hoping that Mr. Reer had some sort of secret life like Bryan Cranston’s character. And maybe that secret life was so exhausting and all-consuming that he couldn’t bring himself to brush his teeth, let alone show a hint of emotion during the school day. Poor disgusting Mr. Reer. I hope he was the mastermind behind Saginaw County’s big gypsum weed scare in the 80s. (I couldn’t find any news clips about that, but I seem to remember our local anchors leading with, “Kids is gettin’ high from the weeds in the ditch!”)
Anyway, Breaking Bad on AMC. Good show. Some killing. Some recreational drug use. Some nerd stuff, but not the boring kind. Very educational.
Take Back the Morning!
9I don’t know. Maybe that’s what I get for running on my own. Maybe my stretchy pants were too tight (undoubtedly too tight; it’s been a long winter). Maybe I asked for it. All I know is I was running on the trail, enjoying an episode of Radio Lab when I heard the gentle rhythmic clink, clink, clink of dog tags coming up behind me on my right. Many runners who run with dogs will pass my slow ass on the right so they can keep their dog’s feet on the cushy grass instead of the paved trail. That is what I thought was happening, so I didn’t bother to look behind me. And then I felt a not-so-gentle pressure in my bottom area. While experiencing a mini heart attack, I looked back to see a leashless dog trying to get to know me in a very direct way. As his owner passed me on the left, she gave me a nice little, “Oh, he’s friendly.” Um, no shit? I can tell by the way he has his nose buried in my bum. That does not excuse him. I very rarely like to be surprised in that area. Very rarely. And I can’t think of a single scenario where I would like to be surprised in that area while running. He’s friendly? Well, that’s good to know. Then put your stupid friendly dog on a leash so that a not-so-friendly runner doesn’t have to kick him or, at the very least, blog about him. He might have caught me off guard this morning. All I could do was mutter a little under my breath, but I won’t be so vulnerable next time. I’m taking back the morning. It’s my body and I will run where I want without worrying about being victimized by random dogs. I don’t know what I’ll do next time because I’m too much of a pansy to actually abuse the abuser, but I might cuss at him or something. I swear to God I’ll cuss.
We All Go a Little Mad Sometimes
13March 23, 2008
Happy Easter.
I have many friends. Rum is not one of them.
My mom is here for one more night, but my brother and sister-in-law and their 3 boys left earlier today after a couple of nights of proving that none of us are mature enough to be entrusted with housepets, let alone children. Bryan and I have so much fun with these people and we just lose our heads with the loveliness of it all and we can’t be trusted to just play cards and sip some wine like regular grown-ups. Here is a good rule to live by: When the wine is gone, you’ve had enough. Don’t go get your mom’s rum and decide that you think you can drink like a real drinker. You can’t. It will end badly. Sure, there will be lots of fun before it all goes badly (and during the part where it is going badly for you, your houseguests and husband might act like it’s the best part of the night. For they will still be laughing. And taking pictures of you going badly.)
Before it all started to go badly, though, I’m pretty sure that the 4 of us solved most, if not all, of the world’s problems. Pretty sure. We were so frickin’ smart last night! You don’t even know.
And the daylight hours were precious. The 6 kids (7 if you count my mom, which I do) played together well. We ate good food. We talked good talks. We drank good drinks. And as a bonus, we remembered to put the Easter baskets out. It was a happy Easter
To prepare for next year, I’m going Catholic and I’m giving up rum for Lent. I’m also going to start working on my dodge ball dodging because whenever my brother gets a ball in his hands, he insists on acting like he’s 13 and I’m 7 again. Yes, I took a soccer ball to the back of the head while we were at the park and then I had to listen to Mike cackle maniacally. Just a warning, old man, laughing that hard at your age is unattractive and unhealthy, so stop it.
Busy, Busy, Dreadfully Busy
13March 20, 2008
I don’t know if any of the godless heathens who read this blog are familiar with Veggie Tales or not, but they are animated vegetables that teach kids about values and whatnot. Christian-lite values. I met them back in 1995 when I was working in a Christian bookstore and you should’ve heard the people bitch about how they were too mainstream and not Christian enough. Their premiere video had a song in it called “God is Bigger than the Boogeyman,” which was deemed demonic by some of the customers. “I don’t want my kid listening to songs about demons!” *sigh* Those were fun times. I have lots of stories about how those customers chipped away at my soul and turned me into the cynic that I am today. Of course, those same customers would blame my current soul condition on the fact that I let Satan get hold of me by doing yoga. (That is most definitely *not* an exagerration. Those are real words spoken by a real customer.) Anyway, in the Veggie Tales show about the Good Samaritan, the veggies keep passing the guy that needs help and they’re all singing this song, “Busy, busy, dreadfully busy! You’ve no idea all I have to do. Busy, busy shockingly busy. Much, much too busy for you.” It has been years since I’ve heard that song in real life, but it is one of those stick-in-your-head-until-you-want-to-stab-yourself-in-the-eye songs. I still get it stuck in my head whenever I have a ton of crap to do, like today. We have dentist appointments, a hair cut, grocery shopping, house cleaning, and all manner of preparation for when my mom and my brother and his family come to stay with us this weekend for Easter. Our Easter celebration is all about food, booze and euchre. Who wouldn’t be excited about that? But before the fun, the busyness.
So this song is stuck in my head. I tried to find it on Youtube, but I could only find it with some moron lip-synching it. I don’t like to give morons any blog-time, but I’m linking to it anyway. Turn your monitor off and get infected by the melody, please. I don’t want to be alone in my suffering. And keep in mind that the vegetable who is singing it is Archibald Asparagus. He wears a monocle. You’re welcome.
