I got B2 a little keyboard. It's cute watching him play on it. He said "I wanted a PIANO, Daddy." but I told him this was a start for him.
Gonna take B1 out and play frisbee.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
What a dick!
First I thought this headline in the Chicago READER was about me, but then I realized it was about performance artists... This Guy's Penis Is a Work of Art. Ah, performance artists. *eyeroll* I think he needs to petition patrons for a bigger endowment. ; )
Piano Man?
B2 came over with two handfuls of Lincoln Logs and asked me "Daddy, can you make a piano out of THESE?"
Worst Word Ever
Want to know one of the absolute worst words in the realm of fantasy fiction?
Try saying it and NOT laughing. The writer, R.A. Salvatore, is a NYT bestselling writer, and he coined that term as a Drow (dark elf) word for "cloak." The Drow are supposed to be super badasses -- and anybody who was an AD&D gamer geek like I was as a boy can't mention the Drow without thinking "Badass." So, along comes Salvatore, looking to make some money writing throwaway fantasy fiction, and does quite well with it. But he created the word piwafwi.
And for that, in truth, he should live in infamy. Just try sound like a badass while saying "Piwafwi." You invariably turn into Elmer Fudd. "Where's my piwafwi? Where is it, you wascally wabbit?!" Tone-deaf writer.
"Piwafwi."
Try saying it and NOT laughing. The writer, R.A. Salvatore, is a NYT bestselling writer, and he coined that term as a Drow (dark elf) word for "cloak." The Drow are supposed to be super badasses -- and anybody who was an AD&D gamer geek like I was as a boy can't mention the Drow without thinking "Badass." So, along comes Salvatore, looking to make some money writing throwaway fantasy fiction, and does quite well with it. But he created the word piwafwi.
And for that, in truth, he should live in infamy. Just try sound like a badass while saying "Piwafwi." You invariably turn into Elmer Fudd. "Where's my piwafwi? Where is it, you wascally wabbit?!" Tone-deaf writer.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Coming Storm
Another seriously heavy storm is passing through Chicago tonight. Incredibly gusty winds. I love storms, and these have been pretty damned fierce. On top of that, somewhere in one of the units in this building, I can hear a woman getting it on somewhere -- could hear her crying out, borne on the wind; no idea where, plenty of people have their windows open. I just love that sound. It's so beautiful! Now I just hear thunder, wind, and downpouring rain, drowning everything out; that's beautiful, too.
Guess I should sign off before my computer gets fragged by the lightning and hail and whatever else is coming down from above!
Guess I should sign off before my computer gets fragged by the lightning and hail and whatever else is coming down from above!
*SNIFF*
B1 and I were talking earlier, and I was mentioning what a good memory he has, and he said "I wish I could forget things, too." and I said "Like what?" and he said "Sad things." and I said "Like...?" and he said "Like Newt dying." And I could see him fighting back tears, asking me about why his kidneys failed, etc. I held him and told him that he needed to just remember all of the good things about Newt as a way of keeping Newt alive in his heart. It was so heart-breaking to see B1 fighting back tears. He's a crier, like I am, but this is the first time I've seen him shed any tears over Newt -- and, uncharacteristically, he was fighting them back a bit. I just tried to comfort him. Sweet lil' guy. He's such a good kid. He's got a big heart like I do. I'm glad for that.
I've had a couple of "ghost cat" dreams, like seeing Newt watching me from the hallway and such. B2 keeps asking every now and then where Newt's gone. B2 was trying out a new face today -- his "statue face" -- he did some amazing acting! He stood there with a neutral expression and then, without breaking character one bit, he let his eyes go blank -- it was a marvelous metamorphosis, and I'm impressed that he already could do that. Also, he was being loud at one point and I pretended to turn the volume down on him, turning an imaginary knob on his shoulder -- I said "Let's get this down to 3, howsabout?" and he whispered to me. Then I said "Well, maybe 5." and then he talked in a softer voice, but louder than the whisper. I was impressed that my four-year-old could understand that and, on the first try, get that just right.
I've had a couple of "ghost cat" dreams, like seeing Newt watching me from the hallway and such. B2 keeps asking every now and then where Newt's gone. B2 was trying out a new face today -- his "statue face" -- he did some amazing acting! He stood there with a neutral expression and then, without breaking character one bit, he let his eyes go blank -- it was a marvelous metamorphosis, and I'm impressed that he already could do that. Also, he was being loud at one point and I pretended to turn the volume down on him, turning an imaginary knob on his shoulder -- I said "Let's get this down to 3, howsabout?" and he whispered to me. Then I said "Well, maybe 5." and then he talked in a softer voice, but louder than the whisper. I was impressed that my four-year-old could understand that and, on the first try, get that just right.
*KOFF*
I took a day off of work, as B2 was sick, I took him to the doctor's. He's got pneumonia, the poor lil' chap! He got prescribed amoxicillin for it, and is already rebounding nicely, but I'll be sure he takes the 10-day course prescribed. Definitely not one of those antibiotic short-shrifters.
We had a serious-ass storm blast through Chicago around 4ish. Really powerful. Amazing.
This weekend: writing and World Cup!
*BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT* <-- vuvuzela impression
We had a serious-ass storm blast through Chicago around 4ish. Really powerful. Amazing.
This weekend: writing and World Cup!
*BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT* <-- vuvuzela impression
Thursday, June 17, 2010
The face in the window
For some reason, the worthless iPhoto program on my Apple, despite rotating the file in iPhoto (and it showing it as having been rotated), apparently hasn't rotated it for real. I'm confused. Anyway, that's the image I was alluding to the other day. Feel free to flip it at your leisure.
@#$% iPhoto.
Viagrette?
This new "female Viagra" out on the market, I dunno. Are there really lots of straight women who just don't have strong sex drives? Or is it other things, like, hmmm, I dunno, maybe them being gay and not admitting to that? Or perhaps being clinically depressed? Or perhaps not loving and/or finding their spouses attractive and/or sexually compatible? Or maybe that their spouses are inept lovers? Or maybe they experienced some kind of trauma that has short-circuited their sexual response? Or they have some pathetic religious hang-up that brainfucks them?
Rather than pathologizing the female sexual response, I'd be tempted to look into other factors first, because having actually seen straight woman sexuality in action, I will say that it's a wonderful and marvelous thing to behold. If a woman is into you, you know. It's abundantly clear when she's turned on and excited (heh, "sexcited") by you. It just is. I honor and cherish it!
And when that's not there, then *something* else is at work, there. Either something they're not admitting to, or something. It feels too pat to chalk it up to some kind of hormonal condition, too convenient.
I'm not saying that there may be a small percentage of women who may have some kind of hormonal situation where they simply aren't very sexually driven, have low libidos, but I doubt the majority of women in the prospective market for this drug qualify. It's like the overuse of antidepressants, in my view -- there are, clinically, some people who absolutely do require them, but they're not the majority. And the industry works hard to create that need to sell the product. Take this to feel "normal" -- and make a tidy buck in the process.
I imagine some women taking this drug in lieu of addressing whatever the REAL issue is, and thinking they can somehow fake it till they make it, without getting at whatever the actual problem is. I'm just always wary about the whole "take a pill, make everything right" ethos of our country. We're not a very introspective culture as it is, and the magic pill is just such an American thing.
I mean, even the original Viagra bugged the hell out of me -- what, a guy's so fat and out of shape that he can't get it up? No problem! Take a fucking blue pill and get a stiffy! Yay! What a country! Never mind that the guy should trim down and get in shape so then he'll be able to get hard again. Now he won't have to! He can be just as slovenly and fat as before and still walk around with a boner. *gak* Do some more pushups, fellas. Get fit.
Our culture is very good at pathologizing whole sectors in "need" of a drug. Kid too active? No problem, put'em on antidepressants! Feeling blue? Why not give yourself some, too? I worked with a boss who had serious, serious mental issues -- she should have been institutionalized, I swear. She was on three different antidepressants at the same time, and she was STILL incredibly fucked up (her primo loony-line was saying she wanted to have a child one day, and if it was a boy, she'd abort it, because she only wanted a girl. Mother of the fucking year, there. How fucking creepy is that? Thankfully, there was zero risk of her ever finding some guy blind enough and/or insane enough to impregnate her, although she did adroitly maneuver her way through the adoption system to snag a Third World kid -- horrifying to anybody who knows her, who worked with her. I saw her and the kid on a park bench one day. Apparently, the poor kid is deaf, which might be a boon, since it would mean not having to listen to her psycho bullshit, but on the sad side, the kid's probably thinking "Lord, please deliver me from this insane fucking woman." Her insanity was bad enough for people with hearing; I can't imagine it seen through the eyes of a deaf child.)
Anyway, the point is, there has to be some reason why somebody's got low libido, because our survival as a species depends on libido, for fuck's sake! And we've done alright by it for a very, very long time. I refuse to believe suddenly something's gone wrong and Big Pharma has a pink pill to make it alllll better.
Rather than pathologizing the female sexual response, I'd be tempted to look into other factors first, because having actually seen straight woman sexuality in action, I will say that it's a wonderful and marvelous thing to behold. If a woman is into you, you know. It's abundantly clear when she's turned on and excited (heh, "sexcited") by you. It just is. I honor and cherish it!
And when that's not there, then *something* else is at work, there. Either something they're not admitting to, or something. It feels too pat to chalk it up to some kind of hormonal condition, too convenient.
I'm not saying that there may be a small percentage of women who may have some kind of hormonal situation where they simply aren't very sexually driven, have low libidos, but I doubt the majority of women in the prospective market for this drug qualify. It's like the overuse of antidepressants, in my view -- there are, clinically, some people who absolutely do require them, but they're not the majority. And the industry works hard to create that need to sell the product. Take this to feel "normal" -- and make a tidy buck in the process.
I imagine some women taking this drug in lieu of addressing whatever the REAL issue is, and thinking they can somehow fake it till they make it, without getting at whatever the actual problem is. I'm just always wary about the whole "take a pill, make everything right" ethos of our country. We're not a very introspective culture as it is, and the magic pill is just such an American thing.
I mean, even the original Viagra bugged the hell out of me -- what, a guy's so fat and out of shape that he can't get it up? No problem! Take a fucking blue pill and get a stiffy! Yay! What a country! Never mind that the guy should trim down and get in shape so then he'll be able to get hard again. Now he won't have to! He can be just as slovenly and fat as before and still walk around with a boner. *gak* Do some more pushups, fellas. Get fit.
Our culture is very good at pathologizing whole sectors in "need" of a drug. Kid too active? No problem, put'em on antidepressants! Feeling blue? Why not give yourself some, too? I worked with a boss who had serious, serious mental issues -- she should have been institutionalized, I swear. She was on three different antidepressants at the same time, and she was STILL incredibly fucked up (her primo loony-line was saying she wanted to have a child one day, and if it was a boy, she'd abort it, because she only wanted a girl. Mother of the fucking year, there. How fucking creepy is that? Thankfully, there was zero risk of her ever finding some guy blind enough and/or insane enough to impregnate her, although she did adroitly maneuver her way through the adoption system to snag a Third World kid -- horrifying to anybody who knows her, who worked with her. I saw her and the kid on a park bench one day. Apparently, the poor kid is deaf, which might be a boon, since it would mean not having to listen to her psycho bullshit, but on the sad side, the kid's probably thinking "Lord, please deliver me from this insane fucking woman." Her insanity was bad enough for people with hearing; I can't imagine it seen through the eyes of a deaf child.)
Anyway, the point is, there has to be some reason why somebody's got low libido, because our survival as a species depends on libido, for fuck's sake! And we've done alright by it for a very, very long time. I refuse to believe suddenly something's gone wrong and Big Pharma has a pink pill to make it alllll better.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
This and that
B2 was asking around for Newt this evening. I'd told the boys about Newt going away, and B1 had accepted it, but B2 hadn't really processed it, little kid-style. He was asking around for him, keeps putting food in his bowl (we haven't packed that away, yet). He got sad when I told him Newt was gone, said "But I LOVE Newt." and got all sad. Then B1 suggested we get a new cat and call him "Newt." That's very B1 -- sweet-yet-practical.
While on the bus, I was in a quiet, thoughtful state. Halfway sleepy, but my mind was spinning, and I saw this woman texting the seat ahead of me -- just a little detail -- she was texting about her mom, and was wrestling with "biopsy," how to spell it. That's what caught my eye, like her writing "byopsy" and then pausing over that, then correcting it to "biopsy," and then writing some more, backtracking, changing it to "byopsy" again, and writing some more, and then running a spellcheck (at last) and getting "biopsy," before hitting SEND.
I watched "So You Think You Can Dance?" tonight. It was nice seeing some of the past contestants filling in as dance partners for the new contestants. The field looks pretty strong, although I'm surprised how quickly they whittled it down to 11 dancers. I missed a couple of episodes or something.
B1 is nearly done with school -- hard to believe he'll be a 3d-grader next year. My lord. He's growing up so fast. I remember being able to pick him up with one hand, when he was a baby. Now he's a big boy. Man, oh man.
B2 gets one more year of preschool, just because of where his birthday falls. He'll be lil' Mister Badass when he's finally in school, more than ready for it. B2 loves music. He has corralled all of the instruments we have in the apartment -- a recorder, a harmonica or two, drums; even my guitar (he tries to get it, anyway). He really wants a little piano, which is very cute. We have a keyboard in storage, which I might bring up, if I can find the damned plug-in cord for it. I'm tempted to get him a vuvuzela, although lord knows what he'd do with that.
While on the bus, I was in a quiet, thoughtful state. Halfway sleepy, but my mind was spinning, and I saw this woman texting the seat ahead of me -- just a little detail -- she was texting about her mom, and was wrestling with "biopsy," how to spell it. That's what caught my eye, like her writing "byopsy" and then pausing over that, then correcting it to "biopsy," and then writing some more, backtracking, changing it to "byopsy" again, and writing some more, and then running a spellcheck (at last) and getting "biopsy," before hitting SEND.
I watched "So You Think You Can Dance?" tonight. It was nice seeing some of the past contestants filling in as dance partners for the new contestants. The field looks pretty strong, although I'm surprised how quickly they whittled it down to 11 dancers. I missed a couple of episodes or something.
B1 is nearly done with school -- hard to believe he'll be a 3d-grader next year. My lord. He's growing up so fast. I remember being able to pick him up with one hand, when he was a baby. Now he's a big boy. Man, oh man.
B2 gets one more year of preschool, just because of where his birthday falls. He'll be lil' Mister Badass when he's finally in school, more than ready for it. B2 loves music. He has corralled all of the instruments we have in the apartment -- a recorder, a harmonica or two, drums; even my guitar (he tries to get it, anyway). He really wants a little piano, which is very cute. We have a keyboard in storage, which I might bring up, if I can find the damned plug-in cord for it. I'm tempted to get him a vuvuzela, although lord knows what he'd do with that.
*BRRRRRRRRRZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT*
Gabby Crabby
Today's a lovely, properly summery day. I went to Subway (again -- two days in a row!) to snag some lunch, and walked across campus, soaking up the silence and the sound of the breeze, and city summer sounds in general. Just a pretty day. A good hand-holding day, although I didn't see anybody doing that; it's what I'd have done -- held hands and wolfen glances.
There are a LOT of pregnant women in the city, I've noticed. And it's not my doing, in case you wondered! But I swear, there are just tons of them. I haven't kept track, but I must've seen nearly 50 very pregnant women in the last month. Almost bums me out, because it means those kids are going to be what, Cancers? The world definitely doesn't need more Cancerians. At the Asylum, where I work, I've worked with more Cancerians than any other sign -- like at least 10 -- I guess editing appeals to Cancerian natures, somehow.
An abortive date-n-dalliance with a Cancerian when I was 19 is what led me to Exene. I could go on a total screed about Cancerians -- the pretensions and affectations, the phoniness, the self-righteousness, the superficiality, the endless whining about abso-fucking-lutely everything -- but I won't. I remember being bummed out to find that Mary Stuart Masterson, my adolescent celebrity crush (who, goddamn her, also paved the road to Exene because Exene superficially resembled Watts back in the day -- anyway, SHE is a Cancerian, too. I'm way past my crush on Masterson, but I look back on her and think "Huh. I thought you were alright, Mary Stuart Masterson, but you're a Cancer. So, you're likely NOT alright."). My older stepsister's a Cancer, too. Don't get me started on her.
Anyway, this baby boom I'm observing around the city, I keep thinking "Great. A whole crop of Cancerians. Just what this world needs." And if you're a Cancerian and you're reading this, and are put off by it, well, so much the better -- I've given you something to whine about for today. Just because it would annoy a Cancerian, I'll put this below in honor of them...
I will give you one prop to feed your vanity: you photograph well. I've yet to see a Cancerian who isn't reasonably photogenic. I suspect their innate tendency to pose their way through life makes them natural photographic subjects. They have the Art of the Pose down. Artifice is like breathing for them.
Well, I finished my sandwich (Tuscan Chicken Melt with provolone, on Italian, with lettuce, green peppers, black olives, cucumber slices, red onions, black pepper, oregano, and their Tuscan chicken dressing. I got it toasted), so I guess I'll go back to work.
There are a LOT of pregnant women in the city, I've noticed. And it's not my doing, in case you wondered! But I swear, there are just tons of them. I haven't kept track, but I must've seen nearly 50 very pregnant women in the last month. Almost bums me out, because it means those kids are going to be what, Cancers? The world definitely doesn't need more Cancerians. At the Asylum, where I work, I've worked with more Cancerians than any other sign -- like at least 10 -- I guess editing appeals to Cancerian natures, somehow.
An abortive date-n-dalliance with a Cancerian when I was 19 is what led me to Exene. I could go on a total screed about Cancerians -- the pretensions and affectations, the phoniness, the self-righteousness, the superficiality, the endless whining about abso-fucking-lutely everything -- but I won't. I remember being bummed out to find that Mary Stuart Masterson, my adolescent celebrity crush (who, goddamn her, also paved the road to Exene because Exene superficially resembled Watts back in the day -- anyway, SHE is a Cancerian, too. I'm way past my crush on Masterson, but I look back on her and think "Huh. I thought you were alright, Mary Stuart Masterson, but you're a Cancer. So, you're likely NOT alright."). My older stepsister's a Cancer, too. Don't get me started on her.
Anyway, this baby boom I'm observing around the city, I keep thinking "Great. A whole crop of Cancerians. Just what this world needs." And if you're a Cancerian and you're reading this, and are put off by it, well, so much the better -- I've given you something to whine about for today. Just because it would annoy a Cancerian, I'll put this below in honor of them...
Well, I finished my sandwich (Tuscan Chicken Melt with provolone, on Italian, with lettuce, green peppers, black olives, cucumber slices, red onions, black pepper, oregano, and their Tuscan chicken dressing. I got it toasted), so I guess I'll go back to work.
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