Monsterboy's Blog

Fetlife Kinky Santa Giveaway!

2009-12-29T09:10:00.002-05:00

Fetlife's got a giveaway!

Hurry and Enjoy!

Death by Stereo

2007-08-03T12:17:00.000-05:00

The 5-year-old is driving me crazy. And she's doing it by sitting perfectly still in the other room.

She's listening to a book on CD. Several stories of the Junie B. Jones series, by Barbara Park. And Junie B. Jones IS my 5-year-old. In almost every detail except name. Listening to her extended first-person narratives is like listening to Grace's extended first-person narratives. They have exactly he same reactions, say exactly the same things, with the same intensely precocious intonation.

I swear, listening to it is like vicariously chasing Grace around as she does this stuff. I feel the Jones parents' pain. It's like she's discovered an automated double to do her Gracing for her while she rests. I don't know if I can make it through much more of this...

first date

2007-07-14T22:26:00.000-05:00

ecstatic dream of cosmic cool
cut into the flesh of the world
crazysexycool
(Yeah, TLC. Got a problem? Te futate.)
catching my hand,
matching my stride,
snatching my glance
smirklaughblush
strength to show weakness
without being weakened
jump the railing, jump the moon,
cast aweigh the luftballoon,
for now i know (the proper response)
twirlitytwirltwirltwirl
kisses that taste
of lips and teeth and a hint of tonic
talllongcurvysoft
emerald's sparkle, not its shade
(more along the lines of jade)
staresmilewink
don't say beautiful
don't say beautiful
don't say?
BEAUTIFUL.
eek! begetsbiliousblushes
good time had by all
short time had by all
heart? check! not lost, nor given;
too quick, too soon, heart has learned
patienceprudencepropriety
not lost, nor given -- too quick, too soon --
but stands ajar, and in accord: "again, and soon."

I wasn't actually yelling...

2007-07-07T12:59:00.001-05:00

Eve: Stop yelling at Gacie, Dah-dee!
Grace: Thank you, Eve.
Eve: I talking to Dah-dee, Gace!

Where do they learn it from. ::whistles::

Who's my Daemon?

2007-07-05T23:46:00.000-05:00

Happy 4th. My day.

2007-07-04T20:47:00.001-05:00

The ex and I gathered up the cubs and hit the beach today, as is
our usual 4th of July tradition. Low-stress this year, as we didn't
try to grill, but brought fried chicken and such. Soaked up the
haze. Which is not a complaint -- it was nice and cool for a
change; Mommy wore a hooded sweatshirt, though I found it
pleasantly balmy (I'm insanely warmblooded; until it gets near
freezing, I'm usually 10-15 degrees more comfy than everyone
else).

The 5-year-old looked for shells, but couldn't find anything but
fragments -- I explained that it was because Orchard Beach isn't a
natural beach, and the shells she was finding came from wherever
the sand was taken from, many years ago. She didn't mind, she
wanted them to make a buried treasure with, so it was all good.
Still, she was delighted when, as we were leaving, we found the
hollowed-out shell of a horseshoe crab, about 15" long; that came
home with us and is going on a shelf in the Projects Cabinet.

Afterwards, the ex and I had coffee at McDonalds while the kids
played in the playroom. We discussed gender, as usual, and gender
neutral names for him to try on. (Oh, I haven't mentioned, so, to
avoid confusion: he's transgendered, and prefers masculine pronouns
these days. Main reason we're no longer married.) There are
surprisingly few such names, and many of those there are -- Peyton,
Taylor, to a lesser degree Ashley -- seem to be the kind that might
get a kid (boy anyway) beaten up n the playground. Basically, we
listed Chris and Pat. There are others that sound okay, but don't
read correctly (e.g., Joe/Jo). Also some nicknames (e.g., Andy,
Alex).

Home again, home again, jiggity-jig. My night to take the
cubs, Mommy had to do laundry and grocery shopping., so dinner was
penne and veggies -- broccoli, carrots, young turnips, snap peas
and sautéed lettuce, with a little tomato paste and seasonings to
make it sauce-like.

A lot of people don't seem to know you can cook lettuce. It's quite
nice chopped and sautéed in butter. It cooks down something awful,
though, so you'll need multiple heads to make a side for a small
family. Fortunately, we had an overabundance form our food co-op
last week, which is also where I got the turnips.

The turnips are worth writing about, too. I'd only been familiar
with the rutabega -- large, hard, fibrous and pungent. These are
young, white, tender, crisp and mild and, while I've steamed a few,
most of them have been eaten raw, like apples (by me and the
2-year-old; the big one doesn't like them raw).

I set the 5-year-old in to bed with average resistance. She wanted
me to read from her Fairy Poems book. Since it was late, I told her
I'd read only two, but she wanted to read two, so I told her I'd
read two and she could read one, she wanted it the other way. The
book is mostly near-doggerel,s o i can't even remember which one
she had me read. It does have a few decent ones, though (by other
poets), so as usual I had her read Tennyson's "Elfland Horns" She
impresses me every time, getting the right intonation (even when
she doesn't recognize the word, as "cataract" or "cliff").

She's reading now; she doesn't have to sleep, usually, just be in
bed. She tends to read to herself for an hour or so. The 2-year-old
is up, but mercifully is busying herself drawing and cutting paper.
Half-mercy, anyway; she can really cover a room in sheets and
scraps of paper.

I realized tonight that we never talked about what the 4th of July
means. Well, we have, but not just recently. I'll remedy that
tomorrow; we've been concentrating on reading and
dinosaurs/evolution (and Disney's Beauty & the Beast) lately,
but she's pretty deficient on history (not her thing just now. I
expect she'll get into it in a big way in the next year or two,
just as she has with other subjects).

Lots more to do (so why am I spending time writing *this*? Aaaah!)
My writer's circle meets tomorrow, and I've got to finish an
illustration for my manuscript in time to send out tonight; then
I've got to read everyone else's pieces. Argh, damn, tomorrow is
food co-op day and I haven't started the newsletter, aargh.

Just another manic Thursday. 'Night, folks.

Night owl genes

2007-06-29T12:36:00.001-05:00

The girls are with Mommy tonight. Up late, as usual, the 5-year-old
overheard Mommy say to Godmother, "Grace is a night owl," and responded
indignantly:

"A) I'm not a night owl, and
B) I probably got it from Sean." (Sean = Me)

Mommy IMed to tell me. I thought it was blogworthy.

Anyone else find it ironic...

2007-06-21T19:34:00.001-05:00

... that you use a driver's license to prove you're old enough to drink?

From now on, I'm calling it a "drinking and driving license."

"That's very libertarian of you, Sweetie."

2007-06-19T06:42:00.000-05:00

As I may have indicated, the 5-year-old is very into Beauty and the Beast lately. Not really obsessed, but it's a favorite topic. She watches clips on YouTube. She likes me to read/tell her the story once in awhile. She asks about the characters and their motivations a lot.

So we're on our way to Garden Farm (our primary fruit & veggie store) the other say when she starts asking about the prelude -- the fairy/enchantress/whatever who cursed the Prince to be a Beast.

"First of all, who does she think she is, turning him into a Beast? Second, what business was it of hers, she could have just gotten away from him! C) [she gets that from me] Why did she care?"

To which I responded with the subject line, above. My voice held amusement, but no surprise; this is all par for the course with Grace.

Thirteen Bullets

2007-06-17T15:32:00.000-05:00

My favorite horror author, David Wellington, has his vampire novel, 13 Bullets, in print, and to celebrate they've made a video inspired by it. The dude in it is a (you should pardon the term) dead ringer for my vision of the the character Lares. Turn your volume up and watch 'til the end!

Great evening

2007-06-14T23:01:00.000-05:00

Tonight was my children's-book writer's circle meeting. Since there are only three of us, it's more of a triangle, really. It went well -- she was working on her adult novel, he had been busy working with publishers on stuff he'd already written, so I was the only one to bring a piece, a short story I'd written ten years ago. Probably more like 13 or 14, now that I think of it. Since there's not much market for kids' short stories, it was suggested I use it as the intro to a young-adult novel. Which I'm considering.

That's just background, though. What made it a great evening was the train. I had to drop the girls off with their mom in Manhattan on my way, and they sat on the train and split a slice of pizza for awhile, then both sat reading books. Great, no chasing around the train, I always hate that part. Then finally, the last 1/3 or 1/4 of the train, Eve started acting up. Then SHE intervened.

To quote Davey Jones, then I saw her face, now I'm a believer. She was a brunette. Looking like she was going somewhere special in a little black dress. Stunning in the literal sense -- it was all I could do to look back at the struggling Eve. Then SHE came to my rescue, turned to Eve and started talking to her and smiling at her (at her, not me, but it was still something to behold). She asked Eve's name, but got only shy smiles... until she warmed up and started chatting. They discussed why one shouldn't stand without holding on when the train is moving. Then she talked to Grace about the book Grace was reading. They talked about the party she was going to at Gotham Hall (she'd be riding 'til our stop. YAY!), and this, of course, led to talking of Batman.

When we got off the train, I asked her name. I used the desire to blog the experience as an excuse. I couldn't bring myself to ask anything else -- she was years too young, by my reckoning, early twenties the latest, and I was an unkempt mess in my sophisticated "got beer?" shirt. Anyway, I'm sure she could see my utter infatuation (the stars in my eyes were the size of quarters) -- but you know what, I don't care. I'm sure I'm in good company.

Her name was Stephanie. And you know, she looked like a Stephanie. She may well, from now on, be the Stephanie against whom I measure all other Stephanies.

She walked away to her party at Gotham Hall. We went to Manhattan Mall to meet Mommy. End of the ride.

But not quite the end of Stephanie, for me. I'm something of a lech, to be honest -- in the privacy of my own mind, at least. I look. I appraise. I ogle discretely. I am not particularly proud of these things, but it's what I do. But for the rest of the ride, every other woman faded before my vision of Stephanie.

And if it weren't for that middle-eastern woman in the print dress and calf-high boots on the F train, subtly but energetically bopping to the music on her iPod, I wouldn't have noticed anyone else at all.

::shrug::

I am what I am.

Overheard while IMing

2007-06-06T01:05:00.000-05:00

Me: I wonder if it's possible to get addicted to STD tests for the thrill of the uncertainty...
Me: Like gambling.
She: hahaha that sounds like Little Britain
She: or Monty Python
She: definitely British comedy, that is

Which naturally led to the following...

Eric Idle: "Good news, Mr. Davis, your tests have come back negative."

John Cleese: "Ah, wonderful! ... Are you sure?"

Eric Idle: "What?"

John Cleese: "Are you quite sure it's right?"

Eric Idle: "Do you have any reason to think it might not be?"

John Cleese: "Oh, no! No! I just thought... well.. you can't be too careful,now can you? Maybe you'd better run them again, what do you say?"

Eric Idle: "Mr. Davis, I assure you, our laborat'ry is very thorough--"

John Cleese: "DAMMIT, man, I this is my health and I insist you run them again!"

Eric Idle: "Very well, then, Mr. Davis, if you're that concerned I'll have to take another sample of your blood."

John Cleese: "Ah. Well. Thank you, Doctor.".

...

...

John Cleese: "Care to, ah... care to make a little wager this time?"

Eric Idle: "I beg your pardon?"

John Cleese: "Well, you know, just a little... little something to make it interesting? Say, five quid?"

Eric Idle: "Mr. Davis, in addition to being in very poor taste, that would be a gross conflict of interest!"

John Cleese: "Well, not if you bet they were going to come back negative! What are you going to do, cheat and make me healthy? It's your bloody job!"

Eric Idle: "Mr. Davis--"

John Cleese: "What exactly are you trying to hide? Why don't you want to pick up a quick five quid for saying I'm healthy? GET THAT NEEDLE AWAY FROM ME!"

(It actually kind of worries me that I can spin John Cleese scenarios off the top of my head like that.)

This relationship brought to you by .38 Special

2007-06-04T14:14:00.000-05:00

Had a realization today. (While sweeping up debris off the floor, but I can't see any connection there, so it's probably not significant.) It seems my model for all my relationships -- friends, my kids, any hypothetical romantic relationship -- is based on the words of Donnie Van Zant:

Just Hold On Loosely, but don't let go
If you cling to tightly,
you're gonna lose control.

My friends know I'm there if they need me. They're generally there when I need them, with the same provisos that apply to me (I do actually leave the apartment sometimes, to do laundry and such). They know I'm generally not going to judge them too harshly -- if I didn't generally approve of them, they wouldn't be my friends. I'm a little "tighter" with the kids, of course, but the principle is the same -- they can be themselves, as long as they're not destructive, or endangering -- or too hideously annoying...

Romance? Well, that's theoretical, of course. But I really think Donnie was on to something.

Your baby needs someone to believe in
And a whole lot of space to breathe in.

I don't need another half of me. I have two legs, and despite an occasionally trick knee, they hold me pretty well. I learned the hard way that when two people come together to make one person, they only get half the stuff done that two people would. And they spend the energy holding onto one another that they could be spending learning about themselves.

So, thank you, .38 Special. If the day comes that I never wanna get myself free, I'll surely think of you.

And I paid the download, so it's all legal.

(So. Anyone have any experience on the Rammstein model?)

Line of the day

2007-06-02T11:46:00.000-05:00

So as is my usual experience of Wikipedia, I'd long forgotten what I was originally looking up when many fascinated clicks had brought be to someplace of real interest. In this case, Animal Sexuality. Under "Animal necrophilia", I came across the case of a duck apparently having dies in the middle of sexual activity, and its partner continued, uncaring. Thus we got his little gem, which is, sadly, just slightly too long to make into a t-shirt and slightly too edgy for a Far Side caption.

After the live bird was shooed away, inspection of the dead mallard revealed that it was male, thus making this the first observed case of homosexual necrophilia in mallards.

DAH-dah-de-DA-da-dah... TEQUILA!

2007-06-01T21:58:00.000-05:00

Cue music.

So I bought a bottle of Cuervo tonight. It occurred to me as I did so that this was the first time I'd ever bought a bottle of actual liquor (as opposed to beer, wine, etc.) for myself. I'd bought them as gifts. I'd had them given to me as gifts. I'd bought it a shot at a time in bars. But this is my first honest-to-God purchase of a bottle of hard alcohol for my own gradual consumption.

I feel so worldly.

"Holy sh*t, it's fricking Friday?"

2007-06-01T15:22:00.000-05:00

I just said that a moment ago. I'd have sworn it was Thursday.

Oh, right. I didn't sleep Wednesday night. Funny how that screws up the flow of the week for me.

Morning showers 'fore noon glowers

2007-05-31T07:30:00.000-05:00

Oh, showers have powers of revivification,
and scour 'way hours' veget- and stagn-ation.
Mere minutes ago I was sad and all wilty,
tired and cranky, and feeling quite filty.
Now after showers both hot and quite schiv'ry
(washing off soil, and heat, respectiv'ry),
I'm feeling quite human, most civil and neat.
Now, how long will this last, in this bothersome heat?

(As one might tell, though I feel great, I am stil in fact suffering from my lack of sleep. It's just that suffering doesn't entail as much suffering anymore. Yay!)

I love coffee

2007-05-31T05:19:00.000-05:00

I do. I love it. If I could date it, I'd never have gone to matchdoctor. It's 5:18 a.m. and I haven't slept. I was sad. But now I've had a big mug of doubled-strength coffee and now I'm more happy. Another mug and I'll be truly happy.

Coffee is good. I love it.

Her side of the story

2007-05-30T19:09:00.000-05:00

I've been rambling on here about my parenting experiences for about six months now. But my perspective isn't the whole deal, is it? Well, now all who wish can learn how it looks from the other side; Grace has started her own blog.

What have I wrought? Ah, well. I may not always be the good guy, but I have no doubt it will get entertaining.

Going Postal*

2007-05-29T22:14:00.000-05:00

Came up with a line today that will become a parenting staple for me:

"Just take everything you know you're not supposed to do, and don't do it."

Come to think of it, I don't know why this should be limited to parenting.

Had a good day today. Got ahead on housework, got some stuff mailed, fed the kids very ripe/soft/sweet bananas while we waited for our pizza, and hit the park. They've both gained serious levels in playground skills over the spring; Grace can climb nearly to the top of the swing (by the "legs" that anchor the swingset to the ground) and Eve can climb almost anything, and can actually get out of the little-kid swings by herself through shear gripping power.

Post office was fun. Grace met a little boy about her age, and started telling him stories about her life. "One time, I was saying to Eve -- this is Eve -- 'Do you love Mommy?' And she said..." He responded to the amusing ending with guffaws that sounded a bit like he might have been sucking up to the pretty girl with the ponytail, but who knows; she's got a knack for delivery. She was telling another story when, in typical 5-year-old manner, the boy got distracted and started commenting on something else; she waited for a moment and broke in, "Excuse me... excuse me? Can I finish this?"

Eve did some more scary-genius-looking things again. They were watching Beauty and the Beast clips on YouTube (Netflix doesn't have it, for some reason) for awhile this morning. Well, while at the library, Eve goes into the stacks at the children's section -- with no help from anyone -- and comes back with... Beauty and the Beast. NOT the Disney version; the artwork was completely different (Mercer Meyer, in fact). She's always done these things, just rarely enough to be almost certainly coincidence, but just regularly enough to creep people out. (Like saying at two weeks old something that sounded exactly like "hellll-lo!" -- twice. Like at 7 months, after someone calls "Eve!" looking up with a grin and saying "What?!" -- only once. Freaky stuff.)

At home, leftover bananas, now too soft from travel to be enjoyed on their own, got mashed into banana-cornmeal pudding -- which did not go over well with Grace, unfortunately. Ah, well, I kinda liked it, and Eve will eat almost anything.

Got Terry Pratchett's The Wee Free Men out of the library; this seriously needs to be made into a movie. Grace is going to love it, I think -- and if she doesn't, hell with her, I will, and I know Erin will when I'm done.

* Going Postal was a recent Pratchett novel. And I went to the post office. So, it's like a double entendre, see? Yes, I thought you'd appreciate it.

Back from the Wedding, Part II

2007-05-29T00:17:00.000-05:00

So we got to the wedding pre-wedding dinner in the home of Marty, the groom (who, incidentally, I'd never met); he and the bride were not there -- presumably they were at the wedding rehearsal. Several of my in-laws (yes, for simplicity's sake I'll still call them that... more than simplicity, actually, wee below) and Marty's family. Marty wasn't the reproductive prodigy that Erin's mom had been (Erin and I are both the last of 8), but they all came with husbands, wives and kids. Slow and steady wins the genetic race, I guess.

Fortunately, Kate (one of Marty's) had printed out name labels, red for Darlene's side, blue for Marty's. Being a smart-ass, I immediately appropriated the one for my niece Caitlin and spent the rest of the evening as "Darlene's Favorite Granddaughter" (They were all "Marty's Favorite This" or "Darlene's Favorite That." In retrospect, I should have stayed "Darlene's Favorite Son-In-Law," as that was probably the only distinction of which there was only one).

It wasn't fortunate for me, because I didn't actually read anyone else's. For one thing, the women I didn't already know had a tendency to put them on their chests, and as the type was fairly tiny, I felt a little self-conscious about staring close and long enough to read them.

This leads me to my first realization. YMMV, but I found that, for me, just because you no longer think of the person you married as your wife, doesn't mean you don't still think of the family you married into as your in-laws. Yes, they are still the same people they were to me before, all the siblings and their spouses, all the nieces and nephews. Now, this actually doesn't mean much. Erin being the last of 8 with a good distance between him and 7 means that there's a wide age-bubble around me. Just about everyone was 40+ or 20-.

The food was mountainous. The kind of thing where the people responsible would afterward say "What are we gonna do with all this?" -- and they did, I was there for it). I went back to find tables of her family, and tables of his family; the only one regularly crossing the line was Grace, my 5-year-old, who was holding a table of Marty's teen-aged grandchildren spellbound with tales of her life ("I don't know how I'm ever going to get registered for school, since we keep getting there late..." Another blog, that).

Darlene and Marty ("Dar-Mar", as they'd become known) eventually showed up. Grace was very eager to meet her new grandpa, and presented him with a handful of dandelions she'd gathered on our way to the house. "I figured, since I'm a flowergirl, I might as well start now." she explained. By the end of the night, Marty was pretty impressed with Grace. I don't think he was prepared for her level of precocity. Most people aren't...

The evening went well. I unthinkingly left Erin in charge of the kids for the first hour or so, and I felt bad about that -- Eve was particularly difficult as, unused to the suburbs, she had a penchant for invading the neighbors' yards if not constantly watched. So I made a special point to be co-parent for the rest of the trip.

Well, mostly. I screwed up the morning of the wedding. See, the wedding coincided with the weekend of the Bayberry Community Garage Sale -- and annual event wherein the entire neighborhood has its yard/garage/rummage sales simultaneously. It's equivalent to the spawning of the grunion; hordes of garage-sailors clog the roads, looking for $40 couches, 25-cent travel mugs, $1 CDs, etc. And I love it. I was itching to get out there and look for homeschooling supplies. Maybe I could pick up some microscope slides! Ooh!

So, when Eve passed out for a nap, I moseyed over to the church sale -- only just across the street! Well, then I realized that most of the sale was in the parking lot behind the church... I wandered that... found nothing... back at the front, I was about to buy that 25-cent travel mug when Erin yelled my name from across the street.

Yeah, I flubbed up. See, I thought we were leaving at 1:30. Turns out, the wedding was across town and we were leaving at 1. It was 1. Erin had gotten home, Eve was not dressed, and no one knew where I was. Oh, yeah, I hadn't told anyone. Well, I was just going across the street, right? Of course, after the parking lot detour, I was gone a half-hour. Eek.

So Erin was pissed. Rightfully so. Well, I finally conveyed enough understanding of the gravity of my carelessness, and made damn sure the rest of the evening I was on top of things. For the rest of the evening, we were a parenting commando squad -- switching off to give one another breaks to eat, drink, socialize. People noticed how well we worked together.

In fact, they noticed so much that I think they started to forget we're not married anymore. At one point my brother-in-law looked at the inflatable mattress set up for Erin and the girls and asked casually, "So, who's this fr,t he whole family?" Erin answered, a little awkwardly, "Well... me and the kids."

(In another fun moment, at Mass the day after the wedding, Marty introduced us to someone as "Darlene's daughter Erin, and her daughter Eve, and her daughter Grace... and this is Sean, Erin's husband!" I smiled, and muttered, "Something like that, anyway.")

The wedding itself was mostly fun. Erin, after much agonizing and dread over what to wear, had settled on a pale green shirt, less-pale tie, and dark green jacket. It looked great; in fact, I'm going to want to borrow the tie next time I have reason to wear one. No one made any disturbing comments, though one person did seem to stare a bit.

The ceremony was odd. For one thing, the place was a bizarre cross between wedding chapel and funeral parlor; I realized soon after saying that that it probably was, in fact, used for both those purposed. For another thing, the wedding song was "Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee" -- set, as usual, to Beethoven's "Ode de Joye." It was the first time I'd ever heard someone manage to make Beethoven sound rinky-tink. I can't describe it, other than to say I had to fight the urge to bounce my hands back and forth with the music.

I also realized during the ceremony that there were far fewer people than I'd expected. I mentioned this to Erin and was told that the 400 figure had been exaggeration, intended as irony; "They've only invited immediate family and there are still like 400 people." I chastized Erin for this, of course -- when dealing with someone who takes things literally as often as I do, one should never do that sort of thing.

The Patriotism of Foodtown

2007-05-26T22:42:00.000-05:00

So I'm doing some shopping just before the store closes and I notice a full-length poster in Foodtown's window. "In Honor Of Those Who Have Served Out Country [or words to that effect]:" And then it gives the store's hours for Memorial Day. 8 am to 9 pm.

The EXACT SAME HOURS they have every other day of the week; I checked the sign on the door; 8 am to 9 pm for each day, Sunday through Saturday.

"In Honor Of Those Who Have Served Out Country, We Will Be Conducting Business As Usual, The Same Hours As Usual. God Bless America."

Now, I'm not a big fan of flag-waving patriotic grandstanding. I'm a firm believer that patriotism is the last refuge of scoundrels (actually, these days there are a few competitors, like The Children and The Environment, but the principle remains). But somehow advertising it as if you're doing something and then doing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING is even worse.

Bite me, Foodtown. This sort of thing is why I shop at the mom & pop fruit & vegetable stores.

I had sox today

2007-05-25T14:36:00.000-05:00

White athletic ones up to my mid-calf. Felt nice sliding into 'em.

Hey, I take what I can get these days.

Hummus and Broccoli Spreads, as requested

2007-05-24T05:36:00.000-05:00

Hummus

1 large can (30 oz? 28? Whatever) chickpeas
(or equivalent amount cooked yourself).
2 Tbsp tahini (peanut butter works just as well and is cheaper)
1 Tbsp ground cumin
1 tsp garlic powder
1/2 to 1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp ground black pepper
Juice of 1/2 lemon

Drain the chick peas, but reserve liquid. If using a food processor, just throw all ingredients in and blend until basically pureed (I like to leave some lumps); add reserved liquid a little at a time until a smooth but not gloppy consistency is acquired (this may vary to suit your taste).

If you're not using a food processor, put chick peas on a plate or other flat surface in a single layer, and crush with a fork. I don't mind leaving a few recognizable pieces in there for texture. When all are crushed, put it all in a bowl and mix together.

Traditionally, this is served with pitas (I like to make my own if I have time), but I've recently discovered the power of spreading them on sandwiches, either as a spread or as a main sandwich ingredient.

The seasonings are variable with taste, especially the cumin, garlic and lemon. For variety, try adding roasted red pepper, or curry instead of cumin (and perhaps double it).

Broccoli Spread (I have no better name for this. Serious load of vitamins in broccoli)

1 head broccoli florets
1/2 small onion
2 Tbsp. olive oil
1/4 to /2 cup pasta sauce
1 tsp oregano/Italian seasoning
1/2 tsp black pepper
1/4 tsp garlic powder

Steam the broccoli florets until soft.

Slice or mince onion, sauté in oil until tender. Add onions and oil to steamed florets in food processor or bowl of electric mixer. Start mixing/processing until broccoli is minced quite small; add sauce a few tablespoons at a time until a spreadlike consistency is achieved. Add other seasonings.

I sertve this next to the hummus, and it makes at least as good a spread or sandwich as the hummus.

Back from the wedding, Part I

2007-05-23T10:11:00.000-05:00

Been back fro awhile, actually. But Monday was recovery from the weekend, and Tuesday I was incapacitated with mystery illness.

The trip as great, starting with the trip itself. Erin rented the car and came to pick us up, a little late, at 11 a.m. I'd burned my Ultimate Road Trip Playlist to two CDs. Actually, it wasn't quite my URTP, since I'd accidentally deleted the first part, and had to quickly reassemble it from memory. Among other things, "Everybody Gets Laid Tonight" by the Hammerheads got left off. But I put some new ones on I'd not thought of before, so it was okay.

Apparently 5 and 2 are the magic ages for long car trips. We hypothesized that it's to do with language; once you can make sentences, it's easier to entertain yourself with your thoughts. Regardless of why, the interruptions from the rear were minimal, and it was the most relaxing trip to her mom's we'd had since... well, since Grace was born.

And we discussed. We discussed everything. We discuss anyway, of course, over McDonalds while the kids romp in the playground, over coffee after the kids are in bed, over hot wings and beer while the kids try frantically to wipe hot sauce off their tongues (joke). But nothing's quite like discussing things on the open road, for five hours, while the Allman Brothers sing about ramblin' and the box of the everyday is left another mile behind as each minute passes.

We talked about our marriage. It was a weird thing. All either of us can figure is, our kids really needed to be born.

Grace was conceived months after we were married, in what may have been her first ovulation after we'd gotten the sex thing worked out, and we had her name ready for her from the very beginning.

While Erin was pregnant with Eve, a friend of hers joked that, to complement "Grace", we should name her "Nature"... then weeks before she was born (and we still had no name for a girl), Erin's best friend walked up to our table at McDonalds and said, "I've got it! "Eve"!" And hearing it seemed more like remembering than realization.

Then after Eve was born, it seemed like it was done. For Erin especially, there was a feeling of doneness, even though it was a great pregnancy and easy, stress-free delivery. The feelings and realizations that led to the end of our marriage started flooding in after years of repression, as a direct consequence of the pregnancy and birth of Eve.

And then, when it came, the pain was over in days -- it was almost as if we felt it merely out of a sense of expectation, of obligation. As Erin put it on the trip, and I agreed, it was like something from a fairy tale, as if we'd been sucked into this weird little world for a few years, and then our stay was over and we were dumped back into the real world. We'd been left marked by our stay there, and of course we'd brought back the girls. But we're both just beginning to remember what we were like, as aspect of us from that life fall away -- I've been thinking for awhile now that the monster thing, which started a comment of Erin's long before we were married, has gotten old and doesn't really feel like who I am anymore.

So yeah, we discussed. And though this may sound bittersweet as I relate it here, it wasn't that way; it was simply fascinating. And liberating. And wonderful to talk with her like that.

I'd made lunch -- smoked turkey and American cheese on a roll, and I'd made hummus and my amazing broccoli spread (didn't get to make pita, so we ate these on wheat bread as sandwiches and it was terrific). Several apples and bananas. We still had to stop for some snacks on the way, that's how road trips are. With the pauses for Grace to tell stories, etc, the two CDs lasted almost the entire trip.

We pulled in at 4:45, when the night-before-the-wedding dinner at Marty's (the groom's) house was at 5:30. We had a quick clean-up and off we went, me in my snazzy Bruce Lee shirt and jeans, to meet the new in-laws.

to be continued...

My Mom's Wedding

2007-05-18T02:28:00.001-05:00

Not my mom, really. My mother-in-law (mother-ex-law?) is getting married Saturday. Heading up to Syracuse tomorrow with the kids and their mom. It's a pretty involved affair (says the guy who played mp3s at Knights of Columbus and baked his own wedding cake), but it sounds fun. For one thing, it will be the only second wedding I've ever attended where I'm not related to half the women there.

Also of note: the last wedding I attended (excluding a tiny, brief ceremony in the park) was mine. At which a number of the same people as at this one were, of course, in attendance.

I bought some new clothes for it. Just tried on the whole outfit for the first time tonight, and I think I look pretty good. I suppose someone will get a shot I can post here; convenient, since I just shaved the facial growth.

Note on that front: I'm immensely enjoying the stubble, Feels nice, growing your own sandpaper. I know it'll just get annoying soon, but I'm enjoying it for the moment.

Way tired. 'Night, all.

Shave the Males

2007-05-15T00:50:00.000-05:00

Shaved tonight. Goatee gone. First time in years. Feels weird, but kinda nice. I made faces in the mirror; I'm much more expressive this way. The 5-year-old cried a little bit, but she's okay with it now. I'm kinda dreading what happens when the 2-year-old sees it in the morning. Hadn't thought about them.

Can't quite get rid of the stubble. Maybe that's why I grew it in the first place?

Ah, well.

A Forest of Hydras

2007-05-14T15:43:00.000-05:00

I've mentioned before, I'm a bit of a geek. I say "a bit of" because I'm something of an underachiever as a geek. I can program a bit, enough to sort numbers, work with text, and pull web pages, but I can't do anything particularly cool. I like Star Wars, but can't name the actor who played Uncle Owen or any of the characters from the Jedi Academy books. It's not really even geeky anymore to like the Lord of the Rings, since it became a big SFX movie.

Where I'm really a geek is life sciences. I'm the guy who, when the rest of the neighborhood is moaning over the tent-caterpillar infestation, will say, "Cool, kids, you've gotta come and see this!!! They're building a silk tent!!!" At 35, I'll be late for a meeting because I was watching two ant colonies fight on the sidewalk. My main interest in computer programming is from a desire to create artificial life simulations.

So I have a fish tank.

Well, it's not really a fish tank, because there are no fish in it. It's got copepods. Copepods are little crustaceans, not much bigger than a good-sized comma in standard newspaper print. They came with a few liters of pondwater I picked up back in December, and have been eating algae in the tank ever since. Their numbers range from several dozen to several hundred depending on... well, I haven't figured that out yet.

A few months ago, I found something else in the tank. Didn't know what at first... little things a bit bigger than sesame seed that crawled around on the glass, like flocks of tiny sheep, munching the algae growing there. These turned out to be ostracods (called, appropriately enough, "seed shrimp"), another kind of crustacean. This was interesting, because I'd had the tank going for months when they showed up. I can only guess they'd finally gotten numerous enough to notice. Since then, they've multiplied into the hundreds, and that glass of my tank is free of algae except for little spots that don't get much bigger than 2 to 3mm before they're grazed down.

In fact, having no predators in the tank, I've been worried about overpopulation, of both the copepods and the ostracods. Then last week I noticed a third kind of crustacean in there, tiny black dots a little smaller than poppy seeds that swim (unlike the ostracods, which mostly crawl) with a smooth motion (unlike the jerky copepods). I still haven't identified them.

Today, looking in on the little things, I noticed something new on the glass. A thin strand of bright green, not more than 2mm long. I looked closer, certain it couldn't be what I thought it was, and yep... it was. A tiny green hydra. Now, the presence of a hydra was fine news to me -- they're predators, rather like a freshwater anemone. I'd had some when I first gotten the water samples with the copepods, but I'd thought they hadn't survived the transfer to the tank; I'd been hoping to get to the little pond and get some more now that it's warm out.

And then as I looked I counted at least a dozen, some of them just tiny green specks, against the glass. I saw a few more on the sides. WTF? Where the had they come from? I haven't added anything but treated tap water since December, at the latest.

Now, the interesting thing about green hydras is the reason they're green; they have symbiotic algae in their bodies, which photosynthesize for them, so they aren't entirely dependent on predation. Finally, I looked down into the tank, and I noticed, in the right corner, a forest of hydras. Hundreds of them, in an area no more than 5 inches long by about a 1/3-inch wide.

Of course: the spot closest to the sunlight, which was also farthest from the front of the tank. Hidden at the top of the water, where he light refracted funny from most angles I'd look at it, and lost in the green of the free-floating algae in the water, I never saw them. They'd been there for months, eating larval copepods now and again, but probably mostly living off the sunlight. Many have tiny hydras budding off of them even now; no telling how many generations they're into. Only now, I guess, is the population high enough that they've had to spread out.

So this is pretty cool. I'm thinking I'm going to put off that trip to the pond for awhile and see what else turns up in the tank. So far it's had a marvelous property of balancing itself out.

I'm not Cuban

2007-05-14T01:32:00.000-05:00

Not that there's anything wrong with that. I wouldn't mind being Cuban if I were. But I'm not.

I've just been made aware that some people have assumed from my photo that I'm dark-haired and complected. One MD personality specified a suspicion of Cuban ancestry.

In fact, I am of Irish, German and Swedish extraction. And a little French that I don't often admit to. In short, you don't get a lot whiter than me without having worn an an Aryan Youth badge, or living in Scandinavia. (Okay, that wasn't actually shorter than the sentence before it.)

I've uploaded new photos to show this, but they've not yet been approved. Stay tuned. Brace yourselves for disappointment; I actually look pretty geeky in these pics.

My family is so effin' cool.

2007-05-13T14:23:00.000-05:00

Before heading out today, the kids and their Mom dropped by and gave me this.

(Inside is here.)

She's always insisted on sharing Mother's Day with me, considering our general role-obfuscation. Now you know why I think she's so cool.

Calling All MILTs

2007-05-13T13:32:00.000-05:00

Mommies I'd Like to Thank.

Thank you, Mommies, for being who you are.

Hugs.

T-Shirts

2007-05-12T23:01:00.000-05:00

I've been seeing a lot of great tee shirts in my neighborhood lately. Recent winners include:

You've been a bad boy.
Now go to my room.

RELAX
BITCH

The "Schoolhouse Rock" logo

The Thundercats logo

On that score, my favorite webcomic, Questionable Content, regularly comes up with great ones for its characters; those that the readership goes nuts for end designed into shirts. My personal favorites include

She Blinded Me With Library Science

Evolution Kills

Math is Delicious!

Aerodynamically Curvaceous

Vegetable Helper

2007-05-11T22:13:00.000-05:00

So tonight I was at the 99 Super Store (Armani Girl wasn't in ) and didn't have enough cash for my purchase. They have a $10 minimum for cards. Fortunately, I'd noticed they had a shelf of Hamburger Helper -- not Nameless Brand Ground Beef helper, but the genuine Betty Crocker article. I'm not a fan, but I know the kids' mom uses it.

Due to an unlikely and inconvenient succession of naps, we did not get out to the park until after 7 p.m., which meant getting home about 9 pm. They'd not yet had dinner. So I have to come up with dinner. I realize I have the HH, but it's nutritionally crap and I don't have ground beef anyway.

Then it hits me. Why hamburger? I quickly chop up an apple, a pepper, some broccoli and some onion, start to sauté it, then follow th HH instructions (having selected Tomato Basil).

It worked! The veggies were not terribly overdone (I'll omit the sauté step next time around), were still nutritious, and colorful. The 5-year-old stated that it was better than the stuff with the beef. Yahoo.

Now, I'm still not going to make it a mainstay. It's still loaded with crap ingredients, and more expensive that just cooking pasta and throwing on some tomato sauce. But barring that, it's not a bad one-skillet emergency meal.

For any vampire fans: new novel out

2007-05-11T05:00:00.000-05:00

Disclaimer: This is about an author I like -- I blogged about him awhile back. Once again, I'm not affiliated as anything other than a fan, so though what follows may seem a bit like an advertisement, it's nothing I'm selling. If you don't like vampire fiction, don't bother reading further.
Thirteen Bullets, a vampire novel, is in print, and listed on Amazon.com.

I thought I'd take this occasion to issue a review. Note that this review is based on the online serialization of the book; I'd assume the print edition is a little more polished.

This is Wellington's best writing (in print, anyway) to date. Having previously authored the Monster Trilogy of zombie novels, his writing here is leaner, his characterization more vivid. His take on the nature and psychology of the undead was refreshing, seeming to take part equally in obscure legends and modern action-horror. Particularly for those who are tired of effete, tragic antihero vampires, this may be just what you've been waiting for.

It follows the story of Pennsylvania State Trooper Laura Caxton as she's pulled into the investigation of the first vampire activity in America in twenty years. Yes, that word was "investigation"; Wellington has apparently decided that having the protagonists spend the first half of the story trying to convince themselves and others that vampires even exist is a little boring. Instead, his setting -- otherwise like the real world -- is one where vampires and other supernatural entities are known but rare phenomena; people keep assuming vampires are extinct in the wild, until another one shows up after a few decades.

And yes, that was "in the wild." Part of the cleverness of the world where vampires are real is that it allows Wellington to explore the ramifications of the law. One of these is that the one known living vampire is kept alive (or whatever) under lock and key, but for legal reasons cannot simply be killed.

This is an interesting turnaround from recent literary tradition, wherein vampires are worldly, often sympathetic creatures who must fear wholesale violent reaction from human society. In 13B, vampires are pretty much irredeemable villains (if only because they've no interest in redemption). After the first new vampire shows up, we are allowed to hear (mercifully briefly) reporters' insinuations of its unfair treatment at the hands of the authorities (most of whom it had just gleefully slaughtered).

Thus, the protagonists are forced to fight not only the creatures of the night, but the restrictions of their offices. The worst foe, though, may be the plot twists and turns Wellington gleefully throws at them -- he seems to pull the rug out from under them so often -- while retaining believability -- that one has to respect them for not simply lying down, especially Caxton, who voices her temptation to do just that.

Throughout, Wellington seems to have enormous fun playing with clichés. Some are simply ignored -- Caxton, for example, is neither sultry sex-kitten, helpless femme nor superwoman, but nothing more nor less than a competently trained State Trooper. Others are more subtly played -- the quiet, badass figure of Special Deputy Arkeley is both second banana to Caxton from the story's perspective (despite his greater rank and expertise with vampires) and eventually revealed as no one to envy, however square his jaw.

The story ends with a clear opening to a sequel -- and in fact Wellington has admitted that the wonderfully-titled 99 Coffins is in the works -- but by this time the character of Caxton is so familiar that the reader experiences more anticipation than annoyance.

Note that Amazon.com has a special bundle offer with another of his books. Also, Wellington has a special offer if you order it.

The Curse of the Silent Bean...

2007-05-09T09:43:00.000-05:00

I do various research on press releases. I come across all sorts of companies, public and private, some more obscure or amusing than others. Today's most interesting entry so far is a company serving the liquefied petroleum gas (LPG) sector of the international shipping industry -- the amusingly named STEALTHGAS, INC.

It doesn't get much better than that.

Just heard on the internet...

2007-05-09T04:28:00.000-05:00

...that Snopes has started a self-referencing hoax that they've issues a self-referencing hoax.

Word is, they plan to eventually say its debunked, but as part o the joke -- because posting it on snopes.com will only validate it. So the denial will really be an admission!

Spread the word!

The Line

2007-05-07T01:24:00.000-05:00

I've heard people (usually, but not always, women) worry about the possibility of friends (usually, but not always, men) wanting some day to "step over the line" of friendship to... well, this is not usually specified, except in vague terms of "something else," or "more." I assume it means a romantic/sexual relationship.

I started considering myself. I've been friends with women in my time. Some quite attractive, physically and otherwise. Sometimes, I've wanted to "step over the line" -- when I was much younger. Much more confused about such things. And much more susceptible behaving in accord with social expectations.

I'm not likely to step over the line now. Because I have no lines. I don't feel the need to categorize my relationships that way -- you are here, she is there, this is the border between what we are and what she and I are. Each person is who and what he or she is to me, and that is all. With no borders, there is no tension.

If I find a woman I know attractive, I let her know. This doesn't mean anything will come of it -- once you remove possessiveness from a relationship, unreturned attraction is not a barrier. Why should it be, anyway? I am fully aware that Catherine Zeta Jones does not return my feelings, and I wish her well.

But I have had many objectively attractive female friends to whom I was not romantically attracted. (Often I have found them sexually attractive, but I'm a typical guy in that regard -- I can walk down a subway car and find a half-dozen women sexually attractive, twice that at rush hour. It doesn't signify.) Sometimes they cannot handle knowing that, and feel embarrassed, uncomfortable, or -- and this one is pretty loopy -- guilty (for having led me on, I suppose, or for not returning the feelings, as if their attractions has moral significance).

I guess they don't believe me when I say that it's not a problem for me. I'm sad when such friends go, but I'm not going to hide my feelings from them. Then I'd be doing just what they seem to be afraid of.

So if I tell a woman I am not seeking more than a platonic relationship (and I hesitate to use the word "more," as my platonic friendships with women have proven far more profound and lasting, on average, than my romantic ones), I mean just that. Maybe it's different for others, but for me it's not just a matter of degree -- I am not going to fall into romantic love as a natural outgrown of platonic friendship; something would have to happen to completely change the way I see her.

Which is not to say that that could not happen -- love is a strange and unpredictable thing, after all, and you don't get to be my friend unless you're someone pretty special to begin with. But it's not going to happen because a some particle decayed at the wrong time.

Once again...

2007-05-05T22:14:00.000-05:00

...now, this is the kinda woman I'm looking for.

Update: For those who are interested......

Whoa. Six and three-quarters very uncomfortable minutes.

2007-05-04T19:28:00.000-05:00

Two years without a TV, the girls' mom decided to introduce them to cartoons on YouTube. They're quite devoted now to both Tom & Jerry and The Family Guy. Normally I don't mind; a little surreal anthropomorphism on the former hand and non-PC, postironic, subversive humor on the latter, are good things. Today, though, they hyperlinked their way to this winner.

I wasnt' sure what to do. I resisted the urge to walk over and change it to something else, because I didn't want to signify that there was anything special about it. We're talking about kids who we've managed to raises with as close to zero distinction vis-a-vis "race" as it is possible to come. The 5-year-old doesn't know "black" and "white" signify anything but basic colors (she did once, at 4, refer to "people with brown faces and all-brown bodies," but that's the closest she's come).

So in the end I just let it play. She asked the usual questions, "Why is he chasin?" etc. And then it ended, and she did not ask to see it again. So I guess that;'s over.

Hopefully, she'll never quite understand why Daddy cringed.

Today's realization...

2007-05-03T19:12:00.000-05:00

ome days I'm an ass. No, I already knew that. The realization is, the days when I'm most likely to be an ass are the days I forget that some days I'm an ass. This might help.

Eggs in a Nest

2007-05-02T18:29:00.000-05:00

Tonight's dinner was an inspiration. Just came to me as I was preparing lunch. Simple, nutritious, yummy, fun (at least for the 5 year old, who knows what a nest it).

Cooked some rice (about 2 cups raw). Steamed some shredded cabbage and a handful of matchstick carrots over the rice in the rice cooler. Mashed up half a can of chick peas with some yellow food coloring (I would've used turmeric, but I was out) and a dash of cumin and garlic powder.

When cooked, make a nest of cabbage and carrots on each plate. Run hands under cold water (prevents sticking and lets you hold hotter rice -- work fast) and flatten out some rice in your palm, place a small dollop of yellow chickpea mash in the center, add some more rice on top and mold around chickpea "yolk" to shape an egg. (The smaller an egg you can make, the better, as they tend more to fall apart the larger they get.) Place eggs in nests.

Went over big. I'm pretty proud of this one.

UPDATE: For midnight snack (which she eats at 9 p.m.), the 5-year-old wanted some kind of dessert. I offered to do something with the bananas we'd just bought, intending to simply cut them into a fun pattern. Gripped suddenly by new inspiration, I threw together some cornmeal mush (we love cornmeal mush, though I make it with milk and throw in an egg at the end, so there's actual nutrition), with half a banana mashed into the milk, and extra sugar. Sliced the other half banana on top of it and voila, banana pudding. It was appreciated. Man, I gotta write a book...

Slump in Muslim Extremism Continues Through April

2007-05-02T11:36:00.000-05:00

May 2 -- WASHINGTON, D.C. -- The United States Task Force on Muslim Affairs today released its latest figures on Muslim Extremism. Once again, the figures of extremist Muslims are in the low double-digit percentages. Among young Muslims, in particular, fewer than ever are spending their days in memorization of the Koran, and show a marked preference for playing countless hours of Guitar Hero II.

Even more alarming, the percentage of Muslims actually engaged in activities aimed at the downfall of western civilization remain in the very low single-digits. This has remained true of nearly all demographics, with a decline among Pakistani-Americans owning small businesses.

"Time was when I was at the cell meetings every month," said Shaukat Bharwana, proprietor of A&J Family Grocery. "But now, the kid that use to help with the stocking and watching the register has gone off to college -- to study city planning, of all things! -- so I have no time. I get of lot of flak from the other guys, but what can I do? I can't just let my business go to hell. With this economy we;ve got now, I'm barely putting Nan on the table as it is."

Asked why he was letting down the extremist cause, Bharwana's former employee, Alfie Khan, said, "'Wana's an okay guy, but he's always going on about the Infidel Conspiracy. I guess he had a rough time comin' over here, but the way he talks, sometimes it would creep me the hell out. I ain't got time for that jihad shiznit."

Brief interviews of area Muslims received such responses of "Can I help you?" "Um, look, I don't work here," "I really don't want to get involved." and "Look, pal, I got 20 minutes left for lunch, find someone else, okay?"

Epiphany

2007-04-24T15:17:00.001-05:00

I've been wondering -- not for the first time -- why people have a hard time understanding my motivations, and vice-versa. I've just figured it out. It's emotions.

There is a connection between emotion and relationships, certainly. Emotions are indicators and initiators of relationships. If they are too painful, they can be a reason for ending a relationship. Emotions are at the core of our humanity, and they re best shared within the context of a relationship. But they are not the essence of a relationship.

I now think that people no idea how little my relationships are governed by emotion. Happiness, infatuation, sadness, anger and desire are all emotions. Love and friendship are not emotions; they are ways of relating to people.

After the end of my marriage, I was in emotional pain for all of three days, including the first day, which I spent mostly numb. Over the next two days it was on-and-off. Over these few days, my infatuation with my ex-wife died. That was an emotion which defined the context of my love for her; my love, however, did not die; freed of the constraints of miscategorization, it blossomed into its perfected for, deep friendship and profound spiritual connection that it should always have been. I then moved on to emotional confusion -- I had to reorient my relationships, my entire lifestyle -- but that's not the same thing.

Yet for months people kept asking me if I was sure I was alright, and reacted with confusion or disbelief when I informed them that I was the most happy and at peace I had been in years -- maybe ever. And they couldn't grasp that my ex and I were not merely on speaking terms, but best friends.

Why should we be anything else? I wondered. I knew it was the norm that exes should dislike one another, but why? Now I get it. Because the pain should have poisoned out relationship. Because love, to most people, is a feeling, and my pain should have become anger, which should have trumped my love. It helped, I suppose, that I found nothing for which to blame her, no betrayal of any kind, but I cannot help but think that my view of our relationship as more basic than emotion was in large part responsible for this.

This is why I could ever understand infidelity -- it was never a temptation for me; attraction, infatuation, these were emotions, easily ignored. They could no more have been tempted to act on them that anger could have been tempted me to hit her, or my children. Now I understand it. Many people confuse infatuation with love, as they do camaraderie with friendship.

On some level I've always known this. But I never realized the implications. I'm starting to see why people expect me to react to with jealousy, possessiveness and betrayal where I feel none. I'm not sure how this realization is going to change things for me, but it's nice to know I'm not just some kind of social mutant.

Zombies!

2007-04-24T09:45:00.000-05:00

[NOTE: This is a bit of a commercial, so feel free to skip it. I'm not affiliated with the author in question in any way other than as an avid member of his audience, and we've exchanged some email communication.]

A couple of years ago, I discovered David Wellington in a random Google search. Being a monster, I, bored, looked for "Monster Nation" and found among the results a novel entitled, Monster Nation, which the sequel to Monster Island, about a zombie plague in New York. Both novels were serialized online, blog-style.

I was leary as I started reading Monster Island online -- zombie fiction is a notoriously hard subgenre in which to find fresh angles, and I was not really a particular fan of it. But I gave it a try and was impressed, especially when I realized he was writing it pretty much as he went along. It was gory, and grim, and dark, everything zombie fiction should be, but he managed to find an interesting new angle that I will not go into here. I didn't get a lot of work done the next couple of days as I kept sneaking back to read another chapter.

That didn't get any better when I finished, because I then started devouring Monster Nation, set several months earlier than Island, on the other side of the country. The writing was much better. He'd learned a lot from Island, in terms of plotting and characterization; he outlined the story far more thoroughly before he started posting it, and so there were fewer of the plot holes that naturally came of writing something in what was basically a long first draft.

Then I was done, and started the third in the trilogy, Monster Planet (Island-Nation-Planet. Progression, see?), but that was not yet complete, so several chapters in I had to sit in anticipation with his other readers as it was doles out a chapter every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. It was great.

Several months after wrapping up the trilogy, he began a new serialization -- a vampire novel, Thirteen Bullets. The improvement in his style was very noticeable. Leaner, starker, with the best characterization yet. The take on vampires I found very refresh, free of the angst and glam of recent decades. He also around this time announced he'd been given a publishing contract for the Monster trilogy, based upon the strength of his online audience.

At the end of last year, he released a new serialization, the werewolf novel Frostbite. Again, the werewolves were like nothing I'd seen done before, ad the writing style was both very different from what he'd done before, and very involving.

Anwyay, yesterday I received notice that a new serialization had begun: Plague Zone, a zombie novel not connected with the Monster series. I wasn't blogging her back when I read the others, so this made me think maybe some of the horror fans I've noted here on MD might want to take a look.

And that's my blog. Thanks.

"They Live"

2007-04-23T15:14:00.000-05:00

Just saw it. Brilliant movie. As an antiestablishment geek, I'm biased, of course (still nursing a wound that I never did get my "Die, Yuppie Scum" tee shirt in college). But what is undeniable is that, though this is as far as he ever made it out of B movies, Roddy Piper is the greatest action hero of all time.

Okay, some might deny it, but they're just plain wrong.

(And the fight between Frank and Nada? Epic.)

On the Nature of the Male Slut

2007-04-18T10:46:00.000-05:00

This is dedicated to all the Goddesses

Many likely suppose that the common male, in his eagerness for frequent sex with multiple partners, is a natural slut. This is, IMO, a misunderstanding of the very nature of sluttery. For the male's interest -- indeed, obsession -- with sex is, in fact, frequently an attempt to live up to societal expectation. In this regard, it is as artificial and unseemly as the prude, who attempts to live up to the opposite standard. If anything, male prudishness -- while perhaps the less healthy disposition -- at least bucks the mainstream, and so has a certain rebelliousness of spirit to recommend it.

The male who sells out his sexual gratification to the whims of society has not the heroic figure of the slut -- he is simply a whore. For the slut, male or female, gratifies primarily the self, and those other individuals with whom the slut consciously chooses to share his or her sexuality. The slut is, in fact, a distinctly objectivist hero in this way.

In selling his sexuality cheaply, the common male, unlike the slut, enters as seller in a buyer's market. An indiscriminate lover, he is renowned for being always available at the convenience of any partner. He is thus a commodity, faceless and disposable.

The slut, by contrast, is discriminating. The slut does not seek ingress into the sexual world of another, but seeks to invite those others into his own. And the offer is by invitation only. Despite having -- indeed, reveling in -- the freedom of his sexuality, the slut is free as well to be a dedicated polygamist, with a harem of one. Thus bound by no expectation of any sort -- even the expectation of sluttiness -- the slut cannot be manipulated, but acts only at his choice and whim. The slut is therefore never a commodity, however his partner may think otherwise.

This is all to the advantage of the slut's partner(s); as the slut is not a commodity, there is no competition, as such, for his favors. The slut chooses his partners to suit himself, regardless of any "market forces" that may affect the less self-possessed; thus, the partner of the slut is ever free to be exactly herself, never enter the fray of cheapness or whorishness, for that does not motivate the slut (except perhaps as an aesthetic, and that can go either way).

While the male slut is not technically bound by consideration for others, this is almost universally shown. Due to the personal nature of the slut's relationships, he is not concerned with "return on investment"; he loves or not at his own pleasure and thus his lovers are no more commodities to him than he will deign to be to them. While perhaps not secure, the relationships of the slut are almost always honest. The true slut, because of his disdain for the easily manipulated, does not use his lovers, as his manipulation of them would ruin their appeal.

This, I hope, will serve as a primer to distinguish the dignified figure of the male slut from rabble of the more typical males. A greater purpose, however, will be served if, reading this, more males free themselves of the prison of societal expectation and embrace self-determination -- to become the slut that lies within us all.

Why it's hard for compulsive people to talk to their kids about sex.

2007-04-18T00:41:00.000-05:00

Or anything else for that matter.

See, the Ex and I are completely open with our kids about sex. Even when, because of my pretty mainstream upbringing (Q: "What's a hooker?" A: "A woman who tries to get men to buy her drinks."), I have to cringe inside while doing it. But the actual discussion goes like this:

"Daddy, why did they fire Lois for teaching about condoms?"

(This, incidentally, is a reference to an episode of The Family Guy, to which the girls are devoted.)

Okay. First start to explain that some people don't want their kids to learn about contraception. Then sop; she doesn't know what contraception is. Explain about pregnancy and STD as (respectively) being possibly and almost certainly undesired consequences of sex. Then that some people fear children learning about contraception will run out and use it.

"How do animals know how to have sex? How do they think, 'Oh, I'd like to try this?'"

Well, dear, animals mostly know by instinct. Pause. Backtrack; discussion of instinctive behavior. Hard to come up with human example... which leads to discussion of how humans have lost most obvious instincts... which leads to discussion of intelligent vs. instinctive behavior... Feel need to clarify it is not black/white, and therefore to enter brief further discussion of the many degrees along spectrum.of instinctive/intelligent behaviors.

What were we saying? Oh, yeah. So most animals know how to have sex instinctively. But, oh,wait, remember reading article yesterday on captive pandas' birth rate increasing due to showing them videos of pandas having sex. Therefore must backtrack again, qualify that some animals do somewhat learn sexual behavior, but it's still basically instinctive.

Yeah. So, like that.

Read bedtime story. Kiss goodnight.

And Daddy is left to wonder if she's really that curious about life sciences, or has simply found yet another way to get him to let her stay up hours past bedtime.

So he blogs about it. 'Cause he's too tired to think about it.

The end.

So what do I smell like normally?

2007-04-17T12:30:00.000-05:00

The five-year-old says to me over breakfast, "Did you take a second shower?"

"Not this morning," I respond.

"You smell a lot nicer than you do after only one shower."

Thanks, sweetie. Daddy feels much more secure now.

Things you'll need to know about me if we ever meet.

2007-04-15T13:50:00.000-05:00

1) I make fun of everyone and everything, and you are going to be no exception. If I don't make fun of you, that means I think you are boring.

2) I have several tracks going in my mind at any one time. You're welcome to join in as many as you wish, but don't expect me to turn the rest of them off in favor of the one you like. It's not just a matter of principle, either; I really can't.

3) I'm interested in your take on politics/religion/baseball, but I have my own, thank you, and I'll change it when I'm good and ready.

4) The bit about baseball was a lie. I really don't care.

5) Explosions in movies don't do anything for me. T&A or awesome fight scenes can save a bad movie, but the explosions... there must be a gene or two missing from my Y chromosome. Except of course exploding Death Stars; I'm not made of stone.

6) Yes, I am aware of the proper pronunciation of "guacamole," it's just more fun saying it so it rhymes with "Whack-A-Mole".

7) I'm a geek, but I make allowances for non-geeks; if you don't want to discuss Star Wars, or Peter Jackson's more egregious departures from the source material, just don't bring it up.

8) No, I shaved this morning, but this is as close a shave as I'm capable of attaining. I am naturally scruffy.

9) If I say I don't have a preference for where to eat, I'm not being considerate; I just don't have a preference for where to eat. Take a stand.

10) If you don't want to meet someone who is compulsive, don't overlook the fact that he blogs in numbered, self-referencing lists that he must pad out to a nice round 10 entries.

Us vs. Them Update

2007-04-15T03:49:00.000-05:00

Well, the good news is, we're winning. They've made some inroads recently, but we've countered well, and what ground we haven't won back yet, we no doubt will double in the next round.

I have to say, having Right on our side makes a big difference. Whatever they may have going for them, it's clear ours is the moral position. If it weren't for some of the divisive elements in our ranks detracting from our resolve, this would never have gone on for so long. Still, as long as we are us, those elements of us must still be protected. They are the big problem, and I think we all know it deep down.

So we're now taking the fight to them. Let them see how they like it; they're clever, but cowardly. They always are, when confronted with what's Right, and we have that in spades.

Alright, that was the update. Same time tomorrow? Great. Go, us!

Getting Crushed

2007-04-14T13:47:00.000-05:00

A crush can be great. I've said before, it's like caffeine; it can give you a real emotional boost when you need it. When your crush actually speaks nicely to you, it can send you to the moon.

Like caffeine, it can also get you really, really messed up if you overdo it.

The problem is, "crush" is seldom precisely defined. It's usually used to mean a state of infatuation, with a connotation that the feeling is one-sided. Hard to imagine two people with a crush on one another, isn't it? Because then they'd be in a relationship of some kind.

This begs the question, "Why can't you have a crush within the context of a relationship?" You can remain infatuated, certainly. So why is it not a crush? Two people could conceivably have a mutual crush and not know it -- it happens in half the romantic comedies out there -- so it's not simply having it returned that keeps it from being a crush, it's something to do with the nature of a relationship.

The answer, I posit, is that a crush is by its nature a fantasy. It is fueled entirely by infatuation, which is an emotion, rather than by love, which is a way of relating. A crush is therefore never something you have on a person, it is always something you have on your fantasy of that person. Once you enter a genuine relationship, you begin to abrade the shell of fantasy you've constructed and expose the genuine person within. This can go bad in various ways.

First, obviously, is a lack of functionality, through ignoring real-world issues and opportunities in your preoccupation of the fantasy. But this is a danger inherent in any fantasy, and is on that grounds only a minor point of mine right now. It's like pointing out that a danger of fishing is that you can get a hook in your hand. You just have to pay attention to things.

Moving on, there is the danger of simple disappointment when the person does not live up to the standard set by your fantasy. Because they almost never will. For a person who lives outside of his or her fantasy world, however, this can be overshadowed by the genuine merits of the person, which can be a delightful surprise.

Of course, the subject of the crush might not have merits the fantasist particularly values, but the person who knows fantasy from reality can accept this, with some disappointment.

The greater danger is with the person who allows the fantasy to take greater importance than the reality. When this happens, there can no longer be pretense that the crush is a feeling about someone; it has clearly become something you are feeling at someone. Such an insistence upon one's own fantasy is both objectifying of the subject of the infatuation, and aggrandizing of one own interests and desires -- to the point where one can become offended that the real person dares to be different from the vision.

This is compounded because, unless genuinely psychotic, the disillusioned person will on some level realize that he or she has created the problem, and will likely feel embarrassed. Depending on how public he or she has been about the fantasy, and how public the disillusionment, these feelings of embarrassment will vary. Given that the person in question has already exhibited an emotional disconnect with reality, it is then common of these feelings to be converted into and fused with the above feelings of bitterness and betrayal.

This is where it can get ugly.

You see, the rational thing to do when you make a mistake is of course to learn from it, accept any consequences you cannot amend, move on and grow. This is true of inappropriate infatuation, misplaced trust, failure to pay a credit card on time, or a bad stand-up routine. But this particular problem has arisen from irrationality. So it all too possible for the "wounded" person to want to get even, to repay hurt for hurt.

This stage is the critical one. This is an emotion deathtrap. Because, remember, the hurt already comes in part from feelings of self-recrimination. On some level, the person knows that any actions now taken to harm the subject of the once-infatuation, now-anger, are unjust. Thus, any further actions are simply going to feed into feelings of self-loathing, which can then be redirected back at the target. (And at this point, "target" is the right word.) There can therefore be no satisfaction or improvement derived from this course of action, only increasing bitterness and hostility. One becomes a scorpion stinging itself in anger, only the stinger passes through another on the way.

I'm not sure what I hope to do with this blog. Maybe just what they call "consciousness-raising." I'm not trying to reach any given demographic. I just have a feeling it would be best if we all remain conscious of he human talent for self-deception. And the need to know ourselves. And know when to tell ourselves to wake the hell up.

I've learned that if you starve a crush -- refuse to fuel the fantasy any longer -- it soon dies. Personally, I find a friend -- or lover, if it comes to that -- far more satisfying than a fantasy any day. But you can only do that if you remain the master of the fantasy, not the other way around.

Love, Dinosaurs and Other Monsters

2007-04-13T13:46:00.000-05:00

Been a good couple of days. Some moments of high stress, which I don't want to dwell upon, so I won't, but a lot of goodness.

I had the kids today. Well, I have them every weekday, but I had them tonight as well. Thing is, somehow it was 6 before we realized it, and we'd missed the library, but man the day flew. We had us some fun.

For one thing, the 5-year-old has been reading. I mean, she's been able to read, whenever she had confidence in it, for a long time. But now she's finally decided that she definitely can, and the past few nights we've been having Reading Parties.

This tradition started Wednesday night, when I'd started reading her The Subway Mouse (which check out, btw, especially if you live in a city with subways) and had to stop after several pages to check on the Toddler. When I came back, the big one was reading the book. Not just reciting memorized schtick, but clearly puzzling over unfamiliar words and sounding them out, at just about half normal reading-aloud speed! So now I read her half a book, and she reads the other half. I'm hugely excited every time I see her working though an word or something (tonight it was "someone"; she needed only to be told "it's two words put together," and she got it). A whole new world finally opening up to her now, and she lives in quite a few worlds already.

So there's that. And earlier this week, as I may have mentioned, we watched Walking With Monsters, which was kick-ass. Well, we finally sent that back, and today received Walking with Dinosaurs. So we're sitting in front of the monitor, one and the other on and off my lap, eating apples, grapes and popcorn while watching brilliantly lifelike Dinosaurs eat one another. Doesn't get much better than that.

I occasionally pause the video to explain something the documentary-makers left out (like about Utahraptor's switchblade claw, what the hell, it's a major feature of the entire family, dumbasses!)

Then it's 8:00 and the potato-broccoli soup we'd planned isn't started, but we're so full of apples, grapes and popcorn none of us cares. During a break, the toddler takes me into the bedroom and wants to play sleep with me. After awhile, I take a break to check the big one, and after a while ask, "Why's your sister so quiet?" (Instant panic/suspicion sets in, of course.) I look in on her and she's dragged a pillow over her and fallen asleep. (I check breathing to be sure, and all is well).

I shall amend my previous statement. It doesn't get any better than THAT.

So I sit down to check email, and I have some notices from MD. While on MD, I comment on a blog that I wish I had a cold beer. Some short time later, the Best Ex Ever calls, having just gotten home. SHE brings me cold beer. Then remembers she's just brought home pizza, and brings me that. Fresh basil, fresh tomatoes, kalamata olives and pepperoni. Man, she is gonna make someone one hell of a domestic partner some day.

Ah, and yesterday there was Armani Girl.

I've mentioned Armani Girl before. For those of you who didn't read or don't recall, she's my favorite cashier at the nearby 99 Super Store. I know her real name, but I started thinking of her as Armani Girl the day I first saw her, amid shelves of plastic 99-cent crap, wearing a shirt saying only "Armani." The irony of this was Turkish Delight to my soul, and I've had a crush on her ever since.

It was thus unusual luck for me that she's taken a huge shine to my children, especially the toddler. Every time we walk in the store, there is a cry of "Hi, Efe! Hi Krace!" (And yes, there is definitely something in that ESL pronunciation that does it for me though I die a little inside to admit it. As I've said before, I cherish the thought that I'm one of the few American males without an Asian fetish). My girls have come to expect this treatment, and know that some form of candy will always be offered.

Well, yesterday, Armani Girl decided to put a little hairband in the toddler's hair -- a process in which the toddler absolutely reveled. Well, to do this, Armani Girl basically had to climb on top of the counter... facing me... leeeean forward... um, yeah, like that.

I tried to keep my eyes on Eve. Really. I tried to gaze adoringly at my little moppet, bursting with cuteness and delight. I estimate I succeeded about half the time. Which was about a minute or so, though it somehow seemed both much more fleeting, yet a moment hung in eternity. Hmm. 50% is a failure in most grading systems, isn't it? Damn. Well, at least I didn't get caught.

Until now, I suppose. Armani Girl, if you're reading this... I love you.

So what am I?

2007-04-13T13:44:00.000-05:00

(Note: I don't really know the point of this blog. It's a ramble.)

The subject line is not a question of you to answer. It's just the subject of the blog, so I'm not sure if it's rhetorical or not, technically; one of you professional rhetoriticians let me know. I pretty much know what I am, it's the language I'm wondering about.

It should be clear to those who read my blogs and comments that, despite the opinion of my dyed-in-the-wool Democrat family (which does not read my blogs and comments), I'm not a conservative. The classical definition of "conservative" means one who thinks there's a perfectly serviceable established way of doing things and that they should pretty much stay that way. I think it's pretty clear that the established norms, social classes, and power structures are not suitable. A lot of the tried-and-true ways of doing things are, in my experience, tried-and-demonstrably-flawed.

Given this, many people might call me liberal. Most such people are conservatives. (The inverse of my family and their opinion of me. Funny how that works.) But no. Liberalism tends to believe in grand solutions, usually involving lots of committees meeting around platters of pita and hummus. While I'm fond of hummus, I don't like committees. The fact is, I don't like new, public power structures any more than I like old, private ones. Grand solutions developed by committees are like the great ideas you get at the bar at 2 a.m., and look much different when seen through the throb of society's hangover the next day -- except that because it's a collective action, everyone involved has the excuse that everyone else was doing it, too. Which, now that I think of it, is probably a major reason people prefer to go drinking with friends.

So I reject collectivism; that leaves libertarian, right? Not quite. Libertarianism often justifies itself with the notion that a society of true individuals left to their own devices will naturally regulate themselves into an efficient and healthy society. I find such faith in humanity, when genuine, admirable. But the fact is, I have no faith in individuals to do any such thing; quite the contrary. I want people to be individuals despite my faith in individuals; at least it's more honest when they're not hiding their misdeeds behind some social construct.

I could be an anarchist, which is sort of like a libertarian on meth. But no, while I'm naturally chaotic, I don't like living in chaos. And anarchy actually pretty easily works out to the worst of despotism.

I might want to try the meth, though; been meaning to lose a few pounds.

Aw, crap, it's an existential crisis.

2007-04-09T13:43:00.000-05:00

Yeah, the feelings of self-doubt I was suffering earlier have turned out to be symptomatic of an existential crisis: is it possible to achieve the balance I seek, of skepticism and trust, compassion and justice, open-mindedness and self-assuredness? You know how it goes.

Man, it was a relief to realize that. I've been through these before, and they're like a sore back -- the best thing to do is work right through 'em and let the kinks work themselves out. Thanks, all who expressed sympathy; I'm, listening to the Tribe 8 station on Pandora, and it's working wonders. A Type O Negative chaser and I should be fine.

Ever feel stupid?

2007-04-09T13:42:00.000-05:00

I often do. Well, not so much that I am, but that I may be. Uncertainty of whether I'm getting someone's irony -- sad, because I really like irony. I always feel I'm taking a gamble in taking something literally. But too many times I've assumed something was intended ironically and been wrong.

Paradox: I'm usually pretty sure about my judgments. But at other time I see this very self-assurance as a danger, that I might be marching into folly because I'm not questioning myself. Then I recognize that self-doubt is paralyzing me.

I hate days like this.

Weekend Part II: Parental Rewards.

2007-04-08T13:36:00.000-05:00

Today was pretty good. We forgot about Mass but it was because of cool stuff. . As usual, we watched Peter Pan, and discussed some fo the basics of neverland; why the pirates are grown-up if they're in Neverland (they were already grown when they came to Neverland); why the Indians are grown-up (presumably they do age, or by now they'd mostly be children; my guess is that the antiaging properties of the island do not affect Neverland natives -- the Lost Boys all fell out of their carriages before making it there).

Art and science were the topics of the day. The big one did some pictures, one of Cinderella, the other of a sleeping Easter Rabbit (she doesn't do "bunny") in his bed. She then spent about two hours on the computer doing a rather intricate picture of eggs in a basket, and learned a few new CorelDRAW tricks. Then we two movies came from Netflix; For me, the original Dawn the the Dead; for all of us, Before the Dinosaurs: Walking with Monsters.

The kids were enthralled by the trailer for the latter movie, watching it over and over, so I pushed it to the top of my queue. I recommend it most highly. It's from the same BBC bunch as Walking with Dinosaurs, and follows the same format; a standard nature documentary, but one set hundreds of millions of years ago, through CGI, animatronics and very realistic puppets. Of course, a lot of the stuff like behavior and coloration is conjecture, but it does a great job of making the things real. (One goof; the "giant spider" later turned out to be a type of sea scorpion, but it was too late to change the movie).

In the middle, we had to pause for a discussion of evolution, which we've discussed several times, but she doesn't quite get -- I think she finds it hard to get past the idea that specific animals change into something, rather than intergenerational change, but I think we made progress today. She made me very pleased by coming up herself with the problem of infinite regression: that you can't just say that people came from their mothers, who came from their mothers, who came from their mothers... ad infinitum.

I reached into my bag of analogies and a very brief description of genetic reproduction, and came up with a hypothetical example of some small, short-antennaed, short-tailed violet shrimp with uniform leg size, who gradually, one trait at a time, gave rise to a population of long-antennaed, long-tailed brown shrimp twice their size, with elongated front legs with hooks.

It was a simple matter to translate this principle to hominid evolution, which led to a brief talk of tool-use and its effects on human physiology. It rocked.

And it all made dinner late again tonight. They did not seem hungry, however (probably due to hominy-bean stew eaten during the Monsters video), and I got them off to sleep with some egg sandwiches and milk. Toddler was reluctant, but at some point a noise or something scared her, and she needed "hugs!" and fell asleep withing about three minutes on my shoulder.

I get lot of rewarding moments being Daddy, but some stand out. Some days, I say the big reward for good parenting is having your kids become productive, independent citizens who get emancipated early and move out at 15.

Actually, I say that most days.

Today, though, it was different. Today's reward came from the toddler, after some bit of mutual silliness. She stoppped laughing, looked at me sideways and said with a big smile:

"Yo' fun, Da-dee!"

I do my best.

Happy and Blessed Easter.

2007-04-08T13:24:00.000-05:00

To all who celebrate it. ATo all who do not... It's still Easter, and I still hope it's happy and blessed, so .

Weekend Part 1: A Battle of Epic Pooportions/The Power of Za

2007-04-08T01:38:00.000-05:00

Wow, I'm tired. It's been a long day in Daddyland. Daddyland is like Neverland, but the other way. In Neverland, children never age. In Daddyland, each day you age one extra day for each child you have.

Not that today was overly bad. It started out quite well. A guy showed up at my door this afternoon, with the paycheck I'd lost yesterday. His wife had found it, opened. The wonderful man refused any reward, which is good because I had like $6 on me. That set a pretty high standard for the rest of the day, I suppose.

The toddler, who never gets sick -- and, when she does, gets a death grip on the offending germ within 18 hours -- has just closed a week with this cold. It's getting better, which I base on her ability to sleep mostly through the night without coughing, but it's still been pretty awful hearing every squealing gigglefest turn into a cacophony of coughs (which phrase I'm glad I didn't intend as alliteration, because there's something unseemly about it). Not great having her face covered in snot half the day, either (oh, warning... do not read this while eating). To make matters worse, the big one now has it. Capping things off nicely, the little one has been constipated for two days. Which is strange, because she's the one who actually eats fibrous vegetables for pleasure. Oh, well, at least it's slowed her down some.

Still, the cold mostly comes at night, and the day went pretty well. The big one decided to make lunch. Having been down this road before, I demanded to know what (it's not that I don't want her to feel free to explore, and I myself hardly ever use a recipe, just throw stuff together... but the last time she tried that she ended up thinking raw, dried rice would be a good thing to add to pancake batter).

She ended up making chicken-fried steak with fried potatoes. Yes, regular readers may recall this as the last lunch I blogged about in any detail. She likes the tried & true sometimes. I helped minimally, but it was basically all her. She's been into presentation (or "making it look nice") since my recent foray into Japanese, and she arranged it very prettily on the plate.

We did a small bit of backup grocery shopping this evening. Got home and the toddler was up to her wrists n dried currants, one of her favorite forms of food. But by then we'd run out of time to make our planned dinner -- Moolicious Potato-Leek Soup -- so I threw together a pizza with a quickbread crust. No one wanted it.

The real trouble came before the pizza was done; the constipation issues of the toddler came to a head. Let's just say it was painful and scary for her, and not a lot I could do. At least by the end she was feeling better. Suddenly she wanted food. Snarfed down the pizza, which must have filled an important gap as, a short rock-a-bye later, was asleep. Yay!.

The whole thing kept them up pretty far past their bedtime. I tried to blog this at the tie, but zonked out. Ah, well, better late than never.

More to come.

Once there was a blog.

2007-04-07T13:22:00.000-05:00

But I can't finish it. I'm falling asleep at the keyboard. Looong day today. Night, all.

Back in the blog saddle.

2007-04-06T13:21:00.000-05:00

Sorry for the hiatus, folks. I've broken a promise to a friend with my absence from the blogging world. Tonight's is not gonna be my best because I am seriously tired and yawning as I write this, but here we go.

The girls stayed with me last night. Due to technical difficulties, they didn't get to sleep until 10:30 for the little one and 11 for the big one but I wanted them to sleep late this morning because I had a report to write, so that was okay.

The little one got up at 7 anyway. And then I found out the the report isn't until next week. Auspicious beginning, no?

The big one doesn't usually stay awake long after the other is up, because, if all else fails, the little one will attack the sister and bounce on her until she wakes. This doesn't sit well with said sister, but by then it's usually too late to do anything but whine.

When they were both awake, breakfast was first order; I hadn't done French toast in awhile, so I did this morning, with some trepidation. They've been pretty deficient n veggies lately, especially the big one; the other will happily chow down on raw veggies fairly often, so I'm not so worried about her. At least these were whole wheat.

The toddler today succeeded in giving herself a ponytail for the first time. It was too loose, being only the one loop, and consequently started falling apart immediately, but she was so immensely pleased with herself I couldn't really argue the point. It eventually fell out and the sister put it back in for her, with proper wrapping technique (and to admonitions of "Gently! Gently!")

They're remarkably different creatures. The little one turned two a couple of weeks ago. At that age, the big one was already speaking in pretty complex sentences, and has gotten remarks on her speech ever since. The little one, OTOH, still has a relatively simple grasp of grammar, and it's often hard to distinguish (partly because she now says almost everything, so there are lots of words that sound alike). Big sister could use a computer mouse handily and knew the basics of navigating hyperlinks.

At the same time, the big one, though a very enthusiastic singer, is, sad to say, completely unable to carry a tune. Ever see the I Love Lucy episodes where she tries to sing? And thinks she's doing a wonderful job? Well, it's a lot like that. The toddler, though, does a very passable impression of Ariel's aria from The Little Mermaid, and can convey almost everything she needs to through a few words and her amazingly expressive face.

The big one, while capable of bouts of intense silliness, is extremely sober and perceptive, always ready to jump on something that seems to defy her sensibilities. The little one is just a ball of silly cuteness, and seems to be completely unaware that anything she does could cause anyone harm -- because once she realizes she has, she is immediately overcome with grief and sympathy, and brings in every available family member to assist with hug and kiss therapy.

The big one,at this age, had zero ability to tell fantasy from reality. I could keep her out of anything by putting an invisible door in front of it an locking it; help her up the stairs by hauling an invisible rope; sate her sweet tooth with imaginary candy. On night I experimented when she said she was cold I gave her a "special" blanket (special, to her, meaning imaginary); she cuddled in it for a minute or so, then pointed to a real blanket and said, I need another one.")

The little one has little understanding of imaginary things, and those she does accept she clearly accepts only as make-believe. Instead she'll play the hiding game, or bit-your-nose for hours on end.

I had a short day with them; dropped them off with mom on my way to the the first meeting of my children's book writer's circle. Which went well. Hope to blog about that soon. But now I have to hit the sheets. Love ya all.

This is either the lamest or most brilliant Google ad yet.

2007-04-04T14:54:00.000-05:00

I had to click on it just to see what the hell.

Luxury Cruises to Mars
Visit the Red Planet in Style!
Low-gravity in a fun way.
www.example.com

I especially loved that the product is set up as "a special alternative product you can use on our sister site, Paid Survey Pro." (The link is gone now, not sure where.)

Realizations

2007-04-01T23:06:00.000-05:00

I'm at a very strange point in my life. I don't know if this is some end-state that I'll simply see further refinements of for the rest of my life, or if it's a serene pond along the rapids-ride of life; either way, I intend to appreciate it right now.

Love is strange thing for me right now. I have no pressing urge to love anyone new, but I'm entirely open to it. I think the nature of love has changed for me. It has lost not only much of its needfulness, but much of its neediness. It is not a quantum figure for me anymore; I do not feel a need to categorize and quantify my love for anyone, nor demand reciprocity.

Maybe this is a consequence of my discovering the end of my marriage was not the end of my love, and freedom from the structure of that marriage actually allowed my love to flourish in its new form. It's like a tree whose roots have finally broken through the barrier containing them, and can now spread out wherever they can find purchase, and not where they don't grow well.

I now love my ex in a much healthier way than I did when she was my wife; as my best friend, as the mother of my children, as a fellow misfit who fits well with me. I see her developing sexuality as something of hers, a private thing that she lets me in on as she shares her discoveries about herself -- a gift of insight into herself (and a request for my insights) rather than something she's bound to share with me.

My children are growing into this newly-opened space of our lives, running from one home to the other, one parent to the other, like children released into the outside for the first time in a long winter. They're creating their own rules and names in this space -- half the time, the little one calls me Mommy-Daddy, and her mom Daddy-Mommy, whatever that's about. And they're both happier than they've ever been.

Love is not a commodity to me, anymore. There is no shortage of it; the more I love, the more I feel I can love; the fewer constraints that love exerts, the fewer there are upon it. Attachment, I now understand, need not be possessive; divorced from possessiveness, attachment becomes connection, and the connection becomes incredibly less fragile than it otherwise was.

April Thanks!

2007-04-01T11:32:00.000-05:00

Dear blogging friend,

My new bride and I wish to thank you for all your wishes and congratulations. We will remember all of you most fondly every April First. We are helped in this by the total absence of any other significance for April First.

Yes, as many of you are no doubt aware, this was a gag. I left some clues; I hope no one would think I'd actually ditch my kids, for one.

With all of your well-wishes, I was actually feeling guilty a few hours back -- I almost gave it up then, but someone considerably more evil than I, who I will not name, encouraged me. I really was touched, especially to those of you thought I was crazy and tactfully refrained from saying so. I promise not to cry wolf (about this topic) a second time.

Objective realized!

2007-04-01T04:47:00.000-05:00

My apologies to the 2 dozen or so of you who can't get enough of hearing me prattle on about my kids. I haven;t posted anything the last 2 days; it's been kind of a whirlwhind here. It's probably not going to get any less whirly any time soon.

And I the title is something of a misnomer, since, as I've said, I've not been actively looking for anyone. Nevertheless, I've also said I wouldn't turn a relationship away if it showed up and, well, it has. We started talking on a dating site a few weeks ago and finally met Friday night. Spent about three hours apart that night after I went home before I was back for breakfast, and pretty much haven't left one another alone since.

And... wow, this is weird.

Well, I'm no longer single. I'll never know if it was divine guidance or just luck that the ex and I finally got the divorce completed last week -- actually, it wasn't even a week, six days later, and I'm married again. A short bachelorhood, but productive.

I'll still be blogging, but probably not any time soon. I've got to start moving first thing in the morning -- wait, it is first thing in the morning. I know nothing of Virginia, but I guess I'll learn; fortunately my work doesn't care where I am -- they must have internet in Virginia. Won't be blogging about the girls anymore, except when they visit, so I guess I'll use the time to figure out what else to write about.

Koimoumon labe (damn these are getting long)

2007-03-30T14:37:00.000-05:00

Woke up to a phone call from the ex again this morning. She wanted to know if I still had the gray tie in which we got married. I answered sleepily that I did not. I'm normally fully supportive of her right to wear masculine clothing, but not when it interrupts my sleep. Son of a butch.

Well, I never got back to sleep, partly because by then the 2-year-old had rolled to the back of the futon (as usual, she's woken in the middle of the night and I had to bring her out to sleep with me).

When they were both awake, not too too much later, it was breakfast time. I was pleased with myself; I'd thought ahead the previous night and made veggie broth, and cut the veggies and strips of beef for soup. I got that ready and put it on the table, whereupon the 5-year-old expressed dismay announced that she wanted to make breakfast. I said, okay, phyne. (Bitter? A little. What's it to ya?) While she did this, the other one nibbled at the soup, but mostly had fun separating the broth and solids into the two bowls. I ate my yummy, vitamin-rick soup alone; having no crackers, I ate it with grumbles.

With minimal help (oiling the pan, washing the spatula), the five-year-old made breakfast. She brought out three plates for us, each of scrambled eggs and frozen peas. No, not cooked or thawed frozen peas, but frozen peas. This has long been a favorite snack for both of them, you see, and they can't seem to understand why anyone would need them unfrozen. I ate half of mine before I pleaded being full of soup, and the toddler ate the rest.

There was little request for Family Guy clips today; the two did a lot of playing together, when not fighting over the doorway swing and rope ladder. The stuffed animals are a big thing for them.

See, ever since she was present for the other one's birth, the 5-year-old one has been regularly having babies of her own. She announces some days beforehand (usually; sometimes the same day) that she's going to have a new baby. then as the time nears she starts telling me it's going to happen, and she hopes Mommy will be home in time so she can be the midwife, and eventually stuffs a stuffed animal under her shirt/dress for several minutes. Then she lies down on the bed or gets in the tub (where the 2-year-old was born) and in the shortest labor ever the baby pops out.

That's never the end of it, either; they each get a name, and some time later there's a baptism (which gets more elaborate every time), and they have birthdays which she expects us to celebrate with a cake and candles, and, preferably, hats. They have these birthdays a lot, since she now has 6 or 7 "children" and the oldest one, born about a year and a half ago, is now somehow about 9.

Anyway, one of the oldest is Ressie, a huge and very cuddly cow that a passing stranger gave the older one at the State Fair last year (the younger one was asleep in the bottom of our rented wagon). She is the favorite, and gets dressed in their clothes and carried around and pushed on the swing. They bond around Ressie a lot.

The 5-year-old got dressed up to go to a party. It was to be in the hall. I told her to leave the door open, but that meant the 2-year-old would follow her, and she was insisting on a no-clothes day. So the 5-year-old hit on the idea of having the party in our apartment. I made a potato pizza (do not try this at home. I never will again. it was a disaster, but they didn't know it so they ate it anyway) and a bowl of apple wedges.

Once again, no nap form the toddler today. She decided to just have a meltdown around 5:30. Started crying, "Dah-deee!! ::sniff:: I wan' ::sniff:: go ooooutt!" and I said, "Great, let's do that!" Do discover that the sister had fallen asleep. Out cold; I tried for several minutes to wake her to no avail. Finally, I hit on an extreme solution; she was sure to wake up for McDonalds! So I tempted her with Micky D's, prodded her and poked her and tickled her until she sort of agreed to get up some time soon.

Then I was reminded that, in a home with small children, anything not used for a day is to be considered lost. (This varies, of course. With toothbrushes, it can be as little as three hours). The warm weather of the past two days meant we had not worn coats. Now it was 45, and the two-year-old's coat was missing. I searched all over. I went up to the ex's apartment.and searched that. Nothing.

I know I'm eventually going to find it in the vegetable crisper or something.

So, unable to leave the apartment, I did the next best thing and ordered Chinese. This was a disappointment to the 5-year-old, who offered her usual counter: "DADDY!!" It was as effective as ever. We had veggie lo-mein and sweet-and-sour chicken.

After dinner, I checked my email and read the new articles on MIT Tech Review. The other two wanted Peter Pan (again). I looked up and saw it was 7:54; bedtime is 9. Okay, they can have an hour to wind down. I tell the 5-year-old, "Okay, you an watch it in six minutes," but she haggled brilliantly: "SEVEN!" I blinked. "Okay!"

Seven minutes later, I started up Peter Pan... and the 2-year-old pushed the power button and shut it down. After repairing the bite wounds I left in her scalp (joke), I fired it up again, and decided to take a little doze on the futon while they were mesmerized. No danger of that; I was woken every 3-5 minutes by one or the other. As before, 15 or 20 minutes into it the 2-year-old needed rock-a-byes, and I fell asleep with her on the futon.

I woke to the 5-year-old saying, "Daddy, I'm bored." Which, at that time of night, and that tone of voice, means "Daddy, I'm tired." Then I had an intuition: "What time is it?" I asked.

She looked at the computer clock (our only clock, really). "Ten-Four-Four."

"Uh-huh. you restarted the movie."

"What?"

"You restarted the movie when it ended."

She justified this by saying she's tried to wake me and couldn't. Not quite sure how true this is in fact, but I'm sure it was true to her at that time, anyway, so I let it go. A toothbrushing and speed-read of The Subway Mouse later, and that was it. Here I am.

Ready to drop off, myself, which was not part of the plan.

[Oh, sorry, the title, I forgot: "Koimoumon" is (probably badly conjugated) Greek for "Having slept." It;s supposed to be a play on "molon labe". Referring to my just having woken up. It was funny when I started this. But then I'd just woken up.].

Bad mood tonight.

2007-03-28T14:35:00.000-05:00

I am unhappy with the state of certain things. I guess it started with this blog. It's not a new blog, but tonight I went back and read some of the comments left after I'd read it the first time. Not happy.

Why is it that we can tell people what they can and can't call themselves? That we our majority experience of gender is allowed to outweigh that of others with a different experience. I suppose we do that with everything; if we haven't felt true love, or the pressure of racism, or divine connection, we're quick to claim it doesn't exist. If I can't see what you do, then your eyes are bad, never mine. If we think differently, you are insane, never I.

Why do people feel they have a right to force people who don't accept their dress code that they have to risk violence in the men's restroom (or else pee in the street) because they don't want someone with a penis in their restroom? ("He could be a rapist"? Couldn't he be that in the elevator? In the garage? In the stairwell? They often are, you know. Maybe we should have women-only parking lots.)

Why is it acceptable to proudly proclaim you will "BEAT THE HELL OUT OF THE SOB" if a woman you kiss turns out to have been born male? Or even if he still is one, in drag? Why is it that seen as different from "I'D BEAT THE HELL OUT A NIGGER WHO KISSED MY SISTER"? What has been threatened that you have to defend with violence? Your manhood? Is it that fragile? Your honor? Can someone else taint your honor? To make sure he doesn't do it again? Couldn't you just not kiss him again?

No. I'm not happy with the world right now. Pity. It was a damn good day, too.

UPDATE several hours later:

Well, I got my answer.

I asked the one who said that, "And would you lynch the black guy who made a pass at your daughter?" and got this email today:

YES YES and I got a good friend that is black and he doesnt beleave in mixed relations

Strangely, it doesn't make me feel a lot better.

Vitamin D and Caffeine, that's what little girls are made of.

2007-03-27T23:03:00.000-05:00

The kids came down this morning and wanted pancakes. So I pretended I was awake and made them some. I feel funny about giving them pancakes. It always feels like I'm just feeding them starch and sugar. Now, I'm fully aware that more than half of it by weight is actually milk and eggs, and the flour is stone-ground whole wheat, and half the time I can trick them into using the lightest smear of syrup, but I still feel better when I make them vegetable soup.

Then we did some stuff until noon, but I honestly can't remember what it was. Which worries me a little, but it's been an active day and I'm a little tired, so I guess it's okay. Then, trying to get outside, I realized I'd have to either feed them first or g t some crap food out. So we made chicken-fried steak, fried potatoes and broccoli, with carrot flower garnishes (thanks, DZDiva, for the link on how to make those). [Damn, this memory lapse really makes it look like all I do all day is obsessively cook. Then again, maybe that;there's something to that.]

Finally got out, after the usual false starts (the 2-year-old has learned to stop at the door on our way out, say, "I f'got somefing!" and run back into the bedroom, pause just inside the doorway, then run back saying, "Okay, let's go!")

Today was 69 and mostly sunny here in the Bronx. The first time in a long time the kids were out in short-sleeves and no jackets. We went to the park a few blocks away, which boasts a number of playgrounds, and I informed the them, "Your job is now to go have fun!" Which they did. The climbed, swung, and slid. We collected moss and the 5-year-old read signs with remarkable ease.

And we played the Swing Game, which basically involves me getting annoyed at the 5-year-old and yelling at her to "Go away and STAY AWAY!" while pushing her away on the swing. (See, it's a swing. So of course she comes back. They find such absurdity hilarious.) I get angrier and angrier, eventually deciding to just "Go far, far away, so you'll NEVER SEE ME AGAIN!" -- which involves loudly and dramatically wandering out of the swing area, around it and in through the other entrance. Then I dramatically pace back and forth with my back to them, proclaiming how relieved I am to be so far away from those rotten children. I then wander close enough for one of them to touch me, whereupon I whirl around just as she swings back; this goes on or several minutes of hysterical laughter. Always the highlight of the park trip.

A glorious time. The kids and I are soaking up the sun and fun. Then a problem arises. See, we like the 2-year-old to nap around noon, noon-thirty, maybe 1 p.m, though even 1:30 p.m. is acceptable. If I'm pressed, I'll let it happen at 2 p.m. The thing is, see, the later she naps, the later she wakes up refreshed, the later she stays up at night. Today she did not nap at 11, at noon, or at 1. Then, at the park, around 4:00, she starts snuggling against my shoulder and burying her face in the crook of my neck in that maneuver I know so well. It's the sleepy-toddler's equivalent of the horny-dude's exaggerated yawn at the movies that results in an undone bra. Dah-dee says "No way, little stinkface."

This does not sit well with the stinkface in question. She begins to do the sort of crying I do when she gets me up at 3 a.m.; "NNnnnnnoooo... e-HEH! e-HEH!" Well, I was taking them to the corner store to get some water anyway, so maye that will wake her up. The stinkface, once there, demands soda. e-HEH! e-HEH!

Now, she LOVES soda, loves it like a bear loves bear-heroin, but normally she does not get soda. She gets water or milk. When it can't be avoided, as when someone else at the table has soda, we give her a tablespoonful in her water or milk and cheerfully say "There you go!" and she has not yet caught on. But now as I'm forming the words "Now, we're getting water," a change comes over me. A Decision is Made.

It was like on TV, when someone has a sudden epiphany at the last minute and completely changes the plan and everyone else freaks because It's Sheer Madness, but it turns out he suddenly realized it was The Only Way.

I say, "Okay, soda it is." And I buy a 20-oz. Pepsi. A non-diet, sugary, CAFFEINATED Pepsi. And a tiny box of raisins. (She loves raisins. Loves them like a bear loves... well, raisins, probably.) And as she spends the rest of the afternoon with the opening of that bottle vacuum-sealed to her mouth, I think, "This better work."

Well, it does. She makes it home. Makes it until Mommy gets home (late). Makes it through enough of dinner that when she finally passes out (in the crook of my neck), I am satisfied that she wouldn't wake up at 3 p.m. and moan, "Fooooood!"

I invite the ex over for dinner and to watch Run Ronnie Run (in brief: I love this movie). Having some shredded veggies on hand, I opt for beef stir-fry; a little cliché, so I liven it up with more carrot flower garnishes. Don't worry sir, the dead horses like it when you beat them.

And here I am. She took the kids tonight so she can go to a meeting tomorrow. And I have work to do. And emails. And cleaning up from dinner. And sleep.

I'll work it all out somehow.

Okonomiyaki

2007-03-27T14:25:00.000-05:00

Earning my Cliff Claven comparisons:

Been into Japanese food for a month or so now. Well, considering my cooking style is learned almost entirely from texts, and my local ingredients are not what one would gt in Tokyo, perhaps "Japanish" is a better term. Anyway.

The other day I discovered okonomiyaki, and find myself making it daily -- almost obsessively. "Okonomiyaki" means "as you like" or "cook a you like," and it's been described somewhat accurately as a cross between pancakes and pizza. Basically, you pour batter onto a hot skillet/griddle; while it's cooking, you throw in whatever toppings; cabbage seems universal, and I use onion, carrot, diakon, and usually strips of beef or chicken. After the batter side is done, flip it over and cook. the other side. Hiroshima style then puts a broken egg onto the skillet and transfers the whole thing on top (I prefer this, if only because it's neater; the batter seals one side, the egg the other). Then spread on mayonnaise and/or "okonomiyaki" sauce (basically ketchup, soy sauce and worstershire, seasoned and thickened).

Quick. Easy. Tasty. Nutritious (being mostly vegetables). Easily made vegan. While I'm sure my attempts would be recognized by anyone who's lived in Japan, I thought I'd mention it. I keep some shredded cabbage and carrots handy n the fridge now. Today, not having bread for my tuna sandwich, I did he same thing for that, using batter on both sides instead of the egg. It worked.

EDIT: Someone emailed me to ask about the batter. I didn't get specific because I'm not sure I'm using anything better than what anyone else is using. I've seen some that require egg, but I just use flour and water with a pinch of salt and a larger dash of sugar.

I've never used measurements, but I'd guess about a cup of flour, a pinch of salt, maybe a teaspoon of sugar and enough water to make a reasonably liquid batter (enough so to swirl around in the pan, but it doesn't have to be thin like a crepe or anything) Actually, I've been experimenting with various proportions of rice to wheat flour; the rice makes it crispier on the outside, but somehow... gummier(?) on the inside Which isn't necessarily a bad thing depends on your taste.

I also forgot to add that tonight I tried a version mixing the shredded cabbage into the batter before putting into the pan. I may like this better, not sure yet; it's certainly neater, though.

Monsting Report

2007-03-26T14:32:00.000-05:00

Monster (n.): One who monsts.

Today was alright. No sickies reporting for duty. I got some work done, did some grocery shopping, came home and received stewardship of the cubs circa 1 pm, just in time to get to Mass. That is, just in time to get to Mass late. We made Communion, anyway. We missed the homily; damn, we'll have to manage another week without hearing about the shortage of priests who (assures Father Stewart) are of vital importance, and why don't more people show up for Mass when it's not a Day of Obligation. (Wouldn't know, man, we're the ones who ARE FRICKIN' HERE!!!)

(Aside: I'm amused to imagine Fr. Stewart coming across this blog and being offended. Because what's he going to say about it that won't involve explaining what he was doing on this site in the first place? Heh-heh!)

The kids were basically great. The 5-yo drew a picture of "Mairy" from a painting on the wall (kick-ass job, too); while Eve alternated between singing along (you know that "A-aa-AAA, A-aa-AAA!" thing the little mermaid did? Like that, with less range), asking "Who's dat?" fifty times while pointing to a "Mairy" statue, and wandering around the church (quietly, at least) so I had to get up and follow her around.

Their Mom joined us for lunch at McDonalds. They have a playroom! So we'll be able to talk about stuff while they play! Why the hell do we always fall for that? I can't remember the last thing of any complexity we've been able to discuss in McDonalds since the 5-yo learned to walk.

So an hour and a half later, Mommy goes off to Mass. She now goes to a church in Manhattan that has a nice GLBT community. (I stick by St. Brendan's because... well, frankly, because it's a short block from our building.) I am left sole acting guardian, and after several more minutes of play, the 2-yo gets antsy and we have to leave.

Getting outside, the 2-yo -- The Best Toddler Ever, remember -- starts the second huge tantrum she's thrown in my presence. Screaming "NO DAAADDDDYY! NO DAAADDDDYY!", wriggling, fighting to get down on the dirty sidewalk. Which I finally let her do (I'm more concerned about bystanders than I am about actual germs), and she lies down sobbing and screaming. Five minutes of careful talking finally get her to tell me what she wants. (At least what she wants now.)

"Fries." Yes, we made it about a block and a half away before she told me that she wanted more fries.

So I tell her, fine, we can go get fries if that;'s what you wanted." and she gradually emerges from Toddler Hell. But McDonalds, when we get there, has suffered dinner rush! It's going to be a 5-minute or more wait, which is an hour in toddler time (two in holding-a-toddler time). So I convince her to help me make fries at home.

Now, the "fries" I discovered the other day are strips of fried tofu. Easy to make, lots of protein and they actually taste pretty okay with ketchup. Both kids like 'em. And I'd just bought a pound of tofu. I also make me a salad of baby spinach, apples, tomatoes, a slice of fried tofu cut in strips, and a strawberry-vinaigrette I threw together. Kick-ass.

While the 5-yo does some digital art and the toddler snarfs fried tofu and sliced raw veggies (she wants 'em, I'm not complaining), I call an MD friend for the first time. Fun conversation, though I realize in the middle of it I'm a little manic; I often am, the first time I talk to someone, and it's compounded by my tendency to talk very quickly.anyway (partly a New York thing, partly because my mind moves a lot faster than my mouth, and partly because I can be compulsive).

Much hilarity and horseplay ensues. It occurs to me as the toddler pushes me onto the bed (with my help) that the only women I can remember pushing me onto a bed are a now-out butch lesbian, and our 2-year-old daughter. Still, I do not cry.

Given the late lunch/snack, dinner is not served until almost 9, which is bedtime. Oh well. Dinner, btw, is salt-fish cakes with sautéed veggies, and is generally enjoyed (though the 5-year-old rejects the peppers, as promised). Then the 5-yo wants her midnight snack, a concept with which she's been obsessed for the past few weeks, and demands before bed, even if, as tonight, she's just eaten dinner. So she eats two small apples, cut in half.

She also wants to at least see Mommy before she goes to sleep. I (it turns out mistakenly) believe the mommy is almost home and say yes. And hour later (an hour and a half past bedtime), I realize my error, and say that's enough Family Guy clips on YouTube ("Funguy!" as the toddler calls it, is their favorite form of entertainment) for one night.

the 5-year-old then eschews the bed for the futon, on some 5-year-old principle, and the Best Toddler Ever serendipitously decides she wants me to "Rock-a-bye" her. She's out and in bed in less than 5 minutes, by which time the big sister is sawing logs as well. W00t.

Mommy shows up about 3 minutes after they're asleep. Turns out "I'm almost home now" was actually "I'm coming home now." Oops.

She's upstairs as I type this. Any minute, should be here to finally get to talk about stuff. The only beer she has is Guinness, however, and as I'm not in the mood for Guinness, that sucks just a bit.

The end.

Shortish cub-day today

2007-03-26T14:29:00.000-05:00

Shortish and pretty vanilla. No educational breakthroughs, no major traumas, no grand messes made that couldn't be undone with a dip in the tub (and that bottle of paint is empty now). The 5-year-old finished the background art for The Queen/Birds/Magic Pennies animation.

There was a lot of food prep today. They ate pretty ravenously, and severely dented my peanut butter supply. The 2-year-old made her first sandwich, and did a pretty spiffy job of it, so there was that milestone.

The 5-year-old wanted to make a midnight snack (which I suppose will be eaten as soon as they're done with dinner) herself, her sister and their mom. White rice molded into attractive domes with a teacup, sliced raw carrots and shot glasses of milk, on saucers. She's gotten the "making food look nice" bug from me and my attempts at Japanese-style presentation I gotta remember to go up later and get my shot glasses back.

I uploaded some new pics, enjoy. Also skimmed lacey's intriguing multi-part blog on HIV/AIDS; my instinctive antiestablishmentarianism is really into the possibility, but the I'm aware of the jerkiness of my knee in that regard, so I'm approaching my research with caution.

Watched a lot of Family Guy tonight. I'm a little conflicted on the Family Guy and the kids. On the one hand, the comedy is often crude and touches (in a hilarious way) on adult subjects. On the other, we've never shied from discussing adult subjects with them, and I can't imagine a good daily dose of post-modern subversive absurdity being anything but good for them. I guess I mainly dread them mulling it over and finally quoting or questioning inappropriately in public. "Why did a fish fall out when they did the cavity search on Quagmire?"

Now I'm going up because I just got a call that there's a bunch of food left, and the light in my kitchen is out anyway, so why should I cook? When I get back, it's work and laundry night. May God grant me the endurance for both.

Today: short & sweet.

2007-03-24T22:58:00.000-05:00

Today was not the greatest. I spend most of the day asleep. Normally, that might be great. But this morning I woke up sick. I'll spare you the details; suffice it to say that my head and stomach were competing to see which could cause me the greatest misery.

The kids' mom, the Best Ex Ever, came over and got them ahead of schedule, and I fell asleep. From 11:30 am or so to almost 6 pm, my sleep was broken only by brief intervals of hydration and email checking. After six, I was much improved, stomach settled and head no longer throbbing but reduced to a background ache. The Best Ex Ever showed up with some aspirin she'd bought me (any W4W in NYC, I heartily recommend her, she's a gem). Now feeling just about regular, except, oddly enough, a bit tired.

So I get an IM from upstairs; the 5-year-old is on her way down for a change of clothes. We talk about the animation for our story, and this leads to mention of dinner; mom made pizza. I realize I've eaten only a scrambled egg that the 2-year-old rejected for breakfast this morning, and ask if there's any left; there is, and I run up to chow down, and it's the Best Pizza Ever. Fresh basil. Yummy.

The 5-year-old has drawn a picture of a princess -- she names her Cirolla (see-ROL-la, often called si-ROL-la for short), and procedes to narrate the story of Cirolla while I transcribe.

Now, she's usually pretty great with stories. interesting characters, events and wordplay, with some unintentional but very post-modernly amusing anachronisms (in this one, for instance, Cirolla's mother, the Queen, builds a bathtub with some stone she picks up in the royal SUV). This story, though, was more of a fantasy trip, consisting mainly of descriptions of Princess Cirolla's wardrobe, pretty hair and cool bedroom decorations (the last of which matched some of the author's).

That went on for awhile, and I eventually took the opportunity to explain a bit about stories, and plotting, and denouements (nothing serious, and not for long). Eventually we had to say good night, and we'll theoretically get back to it tomorrow. But then we still haven't quite finished the story of The Queen the Birds and the Magic Pennies, so we'll see.

Now I'll probably watch Run, Ronnie, Run, which got some great reviews. I'll let you know about it tomorrow.

My day.

2007-03-24T01:02:00.000-05:00

Okay, last night I promised someone on this site that I would try to post my antics daily. I figure I should keep my word for at least a week, so here goes.

Today's interactions with the cubs was not as stellar as yesterday's. Yesterday's engaging discussion of electromagnetism was replaced by the more usual art projects. Not so bad, I suppose; we discovered the art of... um... whatayacall it when you cut out paper shapes and glue them together to make a picture? Not a collage, really, nor a mosaic... Sort of like colorforms with paper. Anyway, this resulted in a sailboat, with multimedia clouds (torn-up bits of white plastic bag).

More excitingly, we made progress on our animation of the story the 5-year-old wrote (well, dictated) about The Queen, the Birds and the Magic Pennies.Got the modeling most of the rigging done for the Queen and pennies.Yay!. Should be interesting watching her learn about camera work, close-ups, etc. And she illustrated a second Queen, presumably for another story.

The kids have been watching The Little Mermaid and Peter Pan lately. The 5-year-old has developed my tendency to nitpick, and I'm so proud:

"Why do Disney princesses almost never eat anything?"

"Why does she have shoes all of a sudden? [after a brief cutaway after climbing onto the ship barefoot]"

"How come she has no blanket on her here... [5-second cutaway to another character]..and here she has the blanket on her?"

"How come Wendy forgot she can fly?"

"How did she make that 'Mmm!' noise? Did they forget she doesn't have her voice? Why do they always get everything wrong?"

Tonight, after giving the kids their nightly dose of chloroform (joke), I watched a netflix movie, "Immortality" (alternate title, "The Wisdom of Crocodiles"), with Jude Law. Sort of a romantic vampire movie. Kinda. Overall, I liked it. Not sure how to characterize it. Main character sorta let me down at the end, but then I was also glad he didn't let me down with a cliché ending. Great performance by Law, regardless.

And then I wrote a blog. The end.

I think I'm done with romance.

2007-03-13T14:27:00.000-05:00

Oh, I don't mean romantic love. And I'll always be a romantic at heart, classically speaking. No, I mean the "formal" romance... the dozen roses, the courtship rituals, the sonnets ("Sonnets... I wrote a few. But then again, too bad to mention..."). I realized the other day that I can no longer view such trappings non-ironically. I might do them ironically, or as some sort of role-playing, but for any serious purpose they smack too much of a silly game. Love-by-numbers.

No, I'm interested in genuine thoughtfulness and intimacy, without the need for formulae. Considering her, not a romantic-comedy version of her. I don't mean not giving her flowers (if she likes that sort of thing), but if I do it'll be because I've decided that's an appropriate thing to do, and they'll be whatever flowers I think appropriate. Maybe I'll get her chocolate-covered cherries... or maybe peanut brittle... or a six-pack of Rolling Rock. Depends. I won't be slathering on what's effectively an industrial emotional lubricant; anyone who can't find romance in talking about what dreams you have in common while drinking a couple of beers isn't someone I can build a relationship with.

No. Here's the romance I offer from here on in: I'll be there. I'll listen. I'll let you know what I'm about, and I'll seek to know what you're about. I'll want to make you happy, with the things that genuinely make you happy, not the things that push your "awww" button. I'll often be sweet, but I won't be an endless dessert; I'm a lot of courses, and complexity is good for both the palate and nutrition (I'm sure there's a valid metaphor in there somewhere). I won't take you away from it all, because "it all" is everywhere you go. But I'll go there with you.

And one day, I'll learn to quit writing while I'm still making sense.

Sex & the Sea.

2007-03-12T14:26:00.000-05:00

(or Cliff Claven's Wild Kingdom: Anglerfish for her, Inkeeper Worms for him.)

I happened to mention this to the ex tonight, and she immediately thought of the way some friends talked about of their husbands. Thought some of you ladies with exes might have had similar experiences.

Certain species of Ceratioid anglerfish have an interesting reproductive pattern. Like many fish, the male is smaller than the female. Unlike other fish, he's much smaller. Courtship consists of him seeking out a female and biting her on the belly. Not a nibble, either; the two become permanently attached, and their circulatory systems eventually fuse. The male loses all powers of independent movement and feeding, and in essence becomes a permanently attached parasite on the female, existing only to fertilize her eggs. Carrying the comparison further, once fused he often grows to a much larger size than unattached males.

-------------

This flowed from a discussion on the Innkeeper Worm -- which I just learned about on a museum trip with the cubs last week. The Innkeeper Worm (so called because other creatures often share its burrow) is a little critter that lives off the coast of California. After hatching, larvae settle into the soft sand where, if left undisturbed, they develop into females. If, however, they are contacted by the questing snout of an adult female, they are taken into the adult's body, develop into a male, and travel to her uterus, where they spend the rest of their lives, fertilizing her eggs.

Reading this, I could not help but blurt out, "Many a human male's dream..."

(My daughter, being five, didn't get it.)

Just got my degree!

2007-03-11T14:24:00.000-05:00

Yup. It's been a hard row to hoe, but I've been putting in the grueling hours and I've finally done it... I've earned my diploma:

B.S. in General Studies at the University of Wikipedia.

I truly love Wikipedia. Time was when people had to go and learn something about particle physics. To know which fork to use for dessert and which for salad, you'd have to at least read a book. No longer. Information without study! Provided by: anyone who feels like it!

It's late. I should be asleep. I'm being weird and silly, and apologize.

But I seriously do love Wikipedia.

Seeking (Dom + Sub) / 2

2007-03-05T14:23:00.000-05:00

Here's the thing. I don't get off on gender roles. I just don't. Maybe being married to a feminist for 6 years will do that to you, but I have no desire to be the dominant -- or submissive -- one in a relationship. And there is a huge expectation that someone will, and that it will usually be the man. (There's even the expression, to be "The Man".)

During my marriage, a lot was said (usually behind my back) along the lines of "Well, I see who wears the pants in that family! ha-ha-ha!" The fact is, we both wore the pants; my ex was never one for dresses and skirts. Nether of us was dominant. Over the years, we both at various times brought in the majority of the income; we both worked, made decisions and changed diapers about equally (though she beat me out with breastfeeding). And it's not like we were being careful to be "equal partners" or something, it's just how we naturally interacted. But because I was contrasted with the presumed male role of dominance, I was taken as letting her make the rules.

Okay, so I'm not actively looking for a romantic relationship right now, but now that I'm single again, I find I do not want an alpha/beta relationship (if I ever did, which I don't really recall, it was entirely because of playing in to that cultural expectation). And I'm not sure how this is gonna fly in reality -- specifically, not to put too fine a point on it, with straight women. The expectation runs deep.in our society -- arguably, every society.

I've ranted about the Disney Princess (tm) phenomenon here before, but that's an extreme example. Almost every straight couple I know shows some degree of this, even the very we're-ethical-vegetarians-who-only-eat-organic-fair-trade-produce ones. A lot of profiles here and elsewhere specify they want someone who can "treat a woman right", or be "a real man" (and I suspect their examples, unlike mine, would not include Atticus Finch).

It's been suggested to me that bi women might be more likely to work for me. Idunno. I'm willing to entertain any offers.

Whatta you all think?

[EDIT: The blog title is supposed to refer to an average of Dom and Sub, meaning canceling out, meaning neither. Not, like, one of each, or a Switch. It's not my wittiest subject line, but hey, I needed something, and it got you to read this.]

Question for the night

2007-03-04T14:22:00.000-05:00

Is the sex still casual if the other person insists on being called Master/Mistress, or has it become formal?

Nice guy? Yes. Finishing last? No.

2007-02-28T14:18:00.000-05:00

Been reading a lot of blogs lately dealing with nice guys finishing last, etc. "Why is it?" people ask. Well, speaking as a nice guy, I see three factors in this perception.

First, The Darwin Excuse: Bad guys do what it takes to win. . This is the most commonly cited reason. It's a no-brainer; the guy who puts with the fewest limits on his behavior has the most options to get ahead.

Second (I hear this one talked about once in awhile), nice guys are often passive. Many equate "niceness" with "selflessness", which has some merit. Some. ( I would argue "empathy" is the more important characteristic, though there may be some connection between that and selflessness.) Many, "nice guys", however, seem to extrapolate from this that they should have as little will of their own as possible. The result of such thinking is a person with no sense of self, and no confidence in his own opinions and desires.

But I think there's another important and much less-discussed factor. It comes of nice guys letting others set the win conditions. Then, should they fail to achieve the results that the bad guys did, they think they are losers, because they ignore what they have achieved -- usually, the things that were more important to them.

Take me. I could make a lot more money if I had put my oldest in kindergarten and her sister in daycare and worked a full-time job. I'd have a bunch more stuff, a bigger bank account, I'd have time to go out to a bar more often and more time to blog. Hell, if I'd put off having kids entirely, I could have worked full time the last 6 years and saved up quite a wad by now -- and still has a bunch of stuff and taken some trips to Iceland, or whatever. Could have gotten my degree in Massage Therapy and started loosening muscles for a living. Maybe by now I'd be enjoying a no-strings sexual relationship with that 20-year-old hand model. But I'm not.

So have I come in last?

No. I don't want that. I mean, I someone handed most of that to me, I'd smile and say a hearty "Thanks!". But given the choice, what I have is the result I want. That's why I did it this way. Disregarding genuine mistakes, of course, but that's nothing to do with being nice or not.

This doesn't, by the way, mean that those who choose differently than I did are not nice people; I'm not trying to say that my way is better, just better for me. Some people do not particularly want have kids, or to work from home, or whatever. These people then typically go out and accomplish what they want more, which often (though of course not always) involves making more money, or having more time to pursue leisure, artistic or entrepreneurial dreams.

That's my point. Because, meanwhile, people who do the things necessary to achieve different things (the life they prefer) often look upon the former groups' achievements as things they "sacrificed" -- when the fact is, they were simply second-best, and therefore rejected.

It's the problem with "The American Dream"; We're all told what we "should" want, so when we "fail" we feel bad, even when we didn't really want it.

You may be a geek if...

2007-02-23T14:28:00.000-05:00

...you think this is anywhere near as cool as I do.

Questions

2007-02-16T14:18:00.000-05:00

Some questions has been brought to my mind.

Why is reliance on technology wheelchairs, crutches, dialysis and insulin seen as fundamentally different from reliance on technology such as cars, refrigerators and ovens?

Why do we classify restrooms as "Men's, "Women's and "Handicapped" as if they are simultaneously all-encompassing and mutually exclusive?

Why is there no assessment of general functionality on an IQ test? Isn't a significant part of the point of intelligence the managing of day-to-day survival?

I'm Going Insane

2007-02-09T14:17:00.000-05:00

[DISCLAIMER: The following is less than a rant. It may well be a simple whine. You don't have to read it.]

I love my daughters. And in recent months, my relationship with them has improved remarkably, especially the 5-year-old. They both spend more and more time down here with me, and even wants to sleep down at my place (at least the big one does; the toddler pretty much sleeps wherever she is when she finally runs out of steam). This is all wonderful.

Except that it's driving me crazy.

See, for the past week, various events have conspired to cause Mommy to stay out late, usually working, or shopping for some necessary item, or a social commitment. As the Best Ex-Wife Ever, she always checks with me to see if it's okay, and I've said yes. After all, things are going so well with the girls, why not? They want to sleep here anyway. But the result is, I've had them pretty near 24/7 for almost a week. On the rare occasions when I could leave them with Mom for a few hours, I haven't; last night's Star Wars party is an example.

They've been pretty much my only real-world social contact. I'm starting to mentally devolve. It's like I've been bitten by a radioactive toddler and gained its powers of mental focus, and that is NOT GOOD! I've started letting clutter gather, I've stopped my final edits of my manuscript (and thus I've stopped posting updates on my writing site). I find myself wanting to screech and throw legos across the room whenever one of them grabs something from me.

And now tomorrow, a two-and-a-half-hour subway trip each way to their doctor for routine visits, with a side-trip to their dentists' to pick up copes of their records. In sub-zero weather.

Thank God It Will Be Friday.

Star Wars first time

2007-02-08T14:16:00.000-05:00

Tonight was the first my 5-year-old has seen it. I'd realized suddenly that she never had, and immediately put it at the top of my Netflix queue. She, the Best Toddler Ever, their mom and me, with pizza, popcorn, soda and Dunkin Donuts (delicious and nutritious). She's the same age I was when it first came out.

She said as she went to bed [scare quotes hers], "Daddy... I didn't "love" it like you said."

Ah, well. She's not got the science fiction background I did. I don't think she even understands the concept of alien civilizations. (That'll be tomorrow's homeschooling lesson.) And I have no doubt she'll warm to it as she watches it several dozen times over the next two weeks.

Got in one great line, though. When the 5-year-old asked why Leia didn't like Han, I told her (referencing the ex finding me obnoxious the first time we met), "Sometimes people think they don't like someone at first then decide they want to marry them for a few years until the find out they're gay."

Ex: "We would love to claim Leia!"

Me: "You can have her when I'm done. (pause) Kinda like with you. SNAP!"

(Note: This was well within bounds for us. A hearty laugh was had by both. Didn't hurt that I delivered "SNAP!" in an incredibly uncool-thinking-it's-cool voice.)

Sextarian violence

2007-02-03T14:15:00.000-05:00

War, politics, Iraq,
fighting and biting,
her sluttiness, his piggishness
(can't make "pig" sound as bad
as "slut",
misogyny in the heart
of English)
all clogging the blogging
forcing me from prose
makes me want to ask,
"what gets you hot?"
happy commenting.Publish

Just realized...

2007-01-31T14:14:00.000-05:00

...the book I've been working on for 13+ years is done, basically. I've just gotten a bunch of criticism on it that I'm going over in redrafting. I have my Professional Author (though I'm not yet, I guess) website up, and I'm blogging my progress (not here, at the website). I've got some quite professional query letters. I've written a second story to start illustrating as soon as I'm done.

After 35 years, I seem to be starting to live my dream.

w00t!

Dreams

2007-01-29T14:13:00.000-05:00

Sorry for posting another webcomic link. I do like to write my own thoughts, but this guy put it far more succinctly than I ever would have.

http://www.xkcd.com/c137.html

The perfect hot chocolate.

2007-01-26T14:12:00.000-05:00

I've been working on my recipe for many years, and I think I finally have it. It's so simple, I don;t know how I could have taken so long. (You could probably get better results from raw organic milk and imported chocolate, but this works for me.)

First, forget the cocoa. Or use it as seasoning if you still want a nudge more cocoaish.

Whisk a scant two cups milk over medium heat until just before it bubbles. It should be nice and foamy by then. Add a pinch of salt Add one square of unsweetened baker's chocolate, chopped into bits, and 1/4 to 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon; still over heat, whisk until dissolved and heated back to steaming. Add sugar to taste. At the last minute, add 1/2 to 1 teaspoon vanilla, whisk again until frothy.

Then, if you're older than 10, live dangerously.and throw in 1/2 teaspoon of powdered cayenne (more next time, after it turns out you like it).

Frickin-a, just wrote a story.

2007-01-25T14:08:00.000-05:00

Inspired (by a webcomic, no less), I sat down tonight and wrote a story (circa 1500 words) for a children's picture book. First draft, anyway, but I think -- in all my 4 a.m. wisdom -- a pretty clean one. I call it The Little Troll Who Lived Under The Slide (guess what it's about).

Now I have rewrite it, decide whether I should illustrate it or let someone else, if yes then illustrate it, find an agent/publisher, blah blah blah, but this is the first time in many, many years I've just decided to sit down and write something like this from start to finish.

Go, me.

Now here's the kind of woman I'm looking for.

2007-01-24T14:07:00.000-05:00

http://www.xkcd.com/c201.html

Thoughts on Emily Dickinson

2007-01-24T00:26:00.001-05:00

She wrote thousands of poems,
it frightens me to ken,
we'd be denied these rhymes today
if we'd had Paxil then.

Coyotes

2007-01-23T01:22:00.000-05:00

As I mentioned in my Cinderella blog, I like coyotes. I like the biological animal and the mythological figure. I like that they're one of the only critters expanding their range in North America (well, not that they are one of the only ones, but I like that they're doing it). Granted, I've never raised sheep, but I've never had an infestation of field mice in my grain fields, either.

Anyway, this is not strictly about my interest in coyotes, but about something I learned because of it. Like I said, they're expanding their range. From the American southwest, they've spread north well into Canada, and, as some of you may have heard a couple of years back, they sometimes come knocking here in New York City.

What I did not realize is that eastern coyotes are not quite like their western forebears. The western coyote, so I understand, is a 20-30 lb. animal that subsists mainly on insects, small reptiles, rabbits and rodents. Plus whatever cats and chihuahuas they can get a hold of.

Well, the eastern coyote, it turns out, has been regularly turning up specimens upwards of 60 lbs., and a few of 70+. In some places, whitetail deer have become a significant part of the diet.
There was speculation for awhile of these being "coydogs" -- coyotes interbred with domestic dogs, potentially dangerous if they inherited from dogs a lack of fear of humans. But while recent genetic testing showed interbreeding had occurred in eastern coyote populations, it found almost no trace of dog.

What if found was wolf.

Apparently, coyotes have been interbreeding with Canadian gray wolves, and passing that DNA on down the line. The resulting animals look like coyotes, but are much larger. They still have much of the same social structure of coyotes, living in non-hierarchical groups rather than packs, but they are nevertheless starting to hunt larger game, and in places are essentially taking over the ecological niche left vacant by the near nation-wide extermination of wolves.

Neat, huh? Well, not to everyone. It has some ecologists worried. They don't like the idea that the animals are not "real wolves," and worry that they'll have to be removed before wolves can be reintroduced to the areas.

Here's my beef: nature is not a museum. These animals represent the reintroduction of wolves. An amazingly swift, holistic, low-impact, ecological reestablishment of a lost species. This is life doing what it does best; adapting and exploiting. That they do not match the previous wolves gene for gene is irrelevant; if they continue livin' la vida lobo*, the wolf phenotype will gradually become the dominant. Leave it the hell alone, nature is repairing itself better than Zoological Society programs can.

If there were ever evidence of the Gaia hypothesis (of which I'm skeptical, it was a very 70s/early-90s idea), this is it; the use of a highly adaptable, genetically compatible carrier species to, in a matter of a century or two, recreate a species that was lost, over a distance of hundreds (if not thousands) of miles. Hell, someone should write a book on this.

*Yes, I know this is probably grammatically wrong. If you require this disclaimer, get a life.

My Theoretical Haunting

2007-01-23T00:22:00.000-05:00

A number of people have blogged lately about hauntings, some talking about TV shows, some about RL experiences. So why not tell mine?

It was about two years ago. We'd moved into this apartment from three floors up just a few months before. Let me preface this by saying that the oldest daughter had been a bit freaky as a kid; we'd find her randomly sitting up in the dark of night, having a conversation with herself; she'd recognize religious objects for no apparent reason. Nothing like "THEY'RE HERE," just enough to occasionally shake the head and say, "Freaky."

So this day about a year back, then-wife, her best friend and the kid are at the table, I'm in the kitchen taking care of some dishes or something. We'd just had hot wings and beer (except the kid), had a great time, were just thinking, "this is a really great night." Then the kids comes in and doesn't say anything; I look up at her and she's looking next to me with this weird, puzzled half-smile. She says. "That's strange. I never had a dream while I was awake before!"

Que? "What do you mean?" I asked.

"I never had a dream while I was awake," she repeated.

"What dream?"

"I dreamed there was a person right there..." pointing a few feet behind me.

Blink. "What person?"

"I don't know. He was standing right there eating something."

At about this point I decided to walk the kid out to the table where the others were sitting, and have her tell them. "What did the person look like," I asked as nonchallantly as possible. We got a detailed description of a short, dark-skinned person with short brown hair and a blue shirt with buttons, eating from a plate.

Now, the kid has been a storyteller since shortly after she could talk. She could go on for an hour-long narration off the top of her head in any subject, with a significant cast. But she'd never done this kind of detail regarding physical appearance, especially without giving it any thought. It creeped us sufficiently to take a walk outside to discuss it.

Just so you know, I'm a skeptic. But I'm an equal-opportunity skeptic. So I don't believe in ghosts, but I don't believe people who say there are none, either. I am Mr. Open-Minded. I've seen some weird stuff over the years. And I've yelled "You idiot!" at enough horror movie characters making clichéed mistakes to decide then and there that I was going to do exactly the opposite of what was done in horror movies.

Step 1: Listen to the kid.

9 times out of 10, it starts the same. The little kid warns everyone there's something up, and everyone says, "Oh, what an active imagination! yuk yuk!" or "::sigh:: Timmy's not handling the move well, he'll say anything to get us to just go back home!" A week later they're crawling in undead flies. Not me.

So as we're walking around, we're casually pumping the kid for details on what she'd "dreamed." We're casual, but she's a bright kid, and starts to realize something's up, and soon doesn't want to talk about it anymore.

Wife's best friend by now is saying all the "logical explanation" things the best friend usually does at this point in the movies. For some balance, I call my best friend.

"Mike. I need your advice on a supernatural problem."

"I'm afraid of the supernatural."

"Exactly! So..." I explained. His advice is, find out about the history of the place, confirming my thoughts.

So we co home and all go in together, turning on lots of lights. Seems less spooky now. On the way in we passed Hamilton, our sort-of-super (He does the work since the actual super moved out). I figure, he'll know. I ask him if anyone ever died in our apartment. He doesn't know, he only moved in a two years before we did. So he asks why.

Step 2: Be open about what's going on.

When they finally realize in the second half that the kid was on to something, everyone tries to cover their interest as a "history project," "research for property value reasons", or "story for the newspaper," or some such.

I considered this, and hesitated only a moment before telling Hamilton in brief what the kid said she saw. he frowns, nods and says "Yeah. Same thing happened when we moved in."

I paused, somehow not entirely surprised. See what happens if you're honest? 15 minutes and we're further along than most movies are after an hour and a half. I ask, "Like what?"

::shrug:: "Oh, you know. You're watching TV and someone walks past..."

He might have been saying "Oh, you know. You forget to wash out the microwave and the stuff gets caked on..."

He continued, "This place was built in, what the 20s? That kinda stuff's that's bound to happen in all that time."

So what did he do? "My wife said a prayer. We told 'em, ::shrug:: this is our place now. You have to go."

I thanked Hamilton, went inside and related this story to the other adults. Wife's best friend couldn't seem to grasp what he'd said, kept saying, "WHAT???" Well, for theological reasons, I did not say a prayer (prayers aren't magical spells in my book, and to use them as such is disrespectful at the very least), but I did make a general announcement to whatever entities might be present that we meant no disrespect, but we were living there now and they were welcome to stay as long as they meant no harm.

Seemed like a fair arrangement to me.

No incidents since.

Well, a minor one. A few weeks later, we were rearranging the closets and the kid looks into the hall behind mom and me with a similar quizzical smile. I ask "What are you looking at?" as casually as possible.

This time, she looked warily at me, seemed to calculate for a second, and said "Oh. I just thought I saw a mouse over there."

Fine.

Except that she'd been looking about three feet off the ground.

I let it go.

Why people don't get it.

2007-01-22T11:34:00.000-05:00

This is another comment I wrote to someone else's blog, wherein he asked why people assume that because he's a liberal he hates God, is pro-abortion and supports terrorism. Someone wrote me with the suggestion that I post it on its own blog so, sheep that I am, I've complied:

I shouldn't say anything. It's only going to trigger a fight. So I shouldn't say anything.

::sigh::

It's a convention. Once a convention is imprinted on peoples' minds, people accept it as truth, and start to make their decisions to fit it. Entire political parties are constructed from semirandom components due to this phenomenon. One day when I'm suitably drunk and inspired (if I ever get drunk again, maybe when the kids are 15 and have their own apartments), I'm going to work out a formula for attraction and cohesion.

Once the convention attains critical mass, it becomes self-perpetuating. The conservative Christians arm themselves against their polar opposite, the godless secularists.

To make matters more interesting, history has already created a Godless Secularist faction -- Communists (stay with me on this).

Now, this does not mean, in and of itself, that Godless Secularists are Communists (example; Ayn Rand). But this has already become a convention, due to the fact that Communist governments have generally encouraged atheism/materialism (also, communists are better at organized political movements than are objectivists). Since Communism is generally considered to be Ultraviolet of the left end of the political spectrum (yeah, it should be "infrared", but this aesthetic works for me), all "left" oriented politics is considered to be a degree of Communism.

(Note: NONE of this need be consciously considered by the parties involved! It is all part of the mass consciousness of Western society. Possibly Eastern society, too, but that doesn't return my emails, so I wouldn't know. Also, it did not literally start with the conservative Christians; this is just an illustration. It's a whoooooooole lot more complicated and dynamic than that, as is just aout everything. It never starts at the beginning.)

Throw in Monsterboy's Principle of Autoinimidefinition, which states that when level of spite exceeds sense of identity, an entity or group will tend to adopt an exaggerated or otherwise modified version of the defining qualities attributed to it by its opposition*. You now have both sides altering themselves further along the extreme, just to (a) be as little like the other as they can possibly be and (b) show them! [emphasis theirs]

At this point, were these two groups of a dozen nuts yelling at one another across a city street, you could with either watch with amusement hoping a fight breaks out or call the cops to break it up. But we're talking about tens of thousands of nuts on each side, yelling at one another from halfway across the country (more or less from the middle to each coast). When that many people talk, other people, unfortunately, listen. So you end up with the extremist nuts defining themselves as the edges of the spectrum that includes everyone, and the rest of us are left trying to determine where along the spectrum we lie.

(A few decide to opt out of the spectrum altogether. I, personally, think it would be nice to be a sound instead. Or maybe a rosebush.)

So, you come along and call yourself a liberal. The world (which is now, cognizant or not, fully in league with the nuts) attempts to hand you your Liberal Kit: AIDS ribbon, Roe v Wade bumper sticker, "No Blood For Oil" sign, directory of organic foods markets, and condom to throw at St. Patrick's Cathedral), whether you asked for these things or not.

You have been Value Mealed. Over 300 million served.

*This leads to Gun-Toting Bible-Thumpers, Thug Life and much of the drag seen at Mardi Gras, among many, many other things. It is, arguably**, the single greatest force for sociopolitical change.

**I can say it, and others can argue about it

P.S.: I wrote a blog related to this. I don't normally like to refer to my own blogs, but hell, here it is.

Cinderella

2007-01-21T23:47:00.000-05:00

[WARNING: The following may contain spoilers. If you're that concerned about reading spoilers to a Disney Princess (tm) movie, you need a life even worse than someone who blogs reviews of Disney Princess (tm) movies.]

My loathing for the Disney Princess (tm) franchise, which I've mentioned on here a time or eight, has been largely based on the merchandising (it really is a merchandising gimmick, it wasn't around as an institution when the actual Princess movies came out). But now that the oldest is 5, I've been getting to see the original movies. Today (and I'm sure tomorrow and the next day and the next) it was Cinderella.

I've long considered Cinderella one of the lamest of the heroines, right up there with Sleeping Beauty. I mean, the fairy godmother does all the work. And I was not much enlightened; the thing struck me, in fact, as Sleeping Beauty Lite.

First off, consider the villain. Instead of an Evil Witch, we have an Evil Stepmother. I'm sorry, but as fairy-tale villains go, the stepmother is pretty much bottom of the barrel. At least Snow White's stepmother was also a witch. Cruella de Ville was both stylish and crazy -- with pet alligators! Here, the villain is basically a bitchy old lady. Instead of goblin hordes and a malicious (but competent) raven, her henchmen consist of two whiny daughters. Oh, eek.

[EDIT: It has been pointed out to me that I conflated two villains here! Cruella de Ville and the crazy evil lady form The Rescuers! I don't know how I managed that, but the reality makes my point even more strongly: two wonderful, crazy, evil women that were positivly scary!]

This is fortunate for our Cindy, because her Prince was pretty useless. I mean, Sleeping Beauty's Prince Philip, while a pretty-boy, kicked ass; he not only actually left the palace unlike Prince Whatever (you know you're a figurehead when you don't even have a name), but he actually took on the witch and slew a dragon. Had some help from the fairies at the end, but the point is the boy took come initiative! Prince Whatever didn't even leave the palace to look for his "beloved"; he sent the friggin' Arch-Duke! Nothing says "I love you" like a courier.

Which brings me to my next point: Hero support. (This is harder in this case, since we have a limited number of heroes... the Prince doesn't count for anything, which leaves us with only Cindy herself). Instead of three fairies, we have one fairy godmother, who shows up, sings a song and is not seen again. This leaves little room for character development, so the cute-bumbling-help factor of the three fairies is taken over by an assortment of mice.

Oh, the mice. Am I alone in thinking the mice are basically a minstrel show without the blackface? "I's a-comin', Cindarelly!" Cringe. And while they were more intellectually competent than the SB fairies, this was made up for by their physical limitations (i.e., they were mice). Well, with the exception of Gus, who is a bumbler, but that's endearing, in Disney movies.

And what the hell old lady (or daughter of same) names her cat Lucifer? Why not just stick a "Not Welcome, We're Villains" mat outside your door? That said, Lucifer was refreshingly his own feline. He wasn't cruel and vindictive because he was anyone's sycophant, he was cruel and vindictive because he was a cat! (Cat-lovers, simmer down. I have an affinity for coyotes and you don't see me jumping all over Barnyard.)

And the ending. You might think that the ending couldn't help but be anticlimactic, but they managed climax with other Disney Princesses (insert joke here); The Little Mermaid, Sleeping Beauty and Beauty and the Beast all managed some level of resolution. But this one was like "It fits!"/cut to bride and groom running down palace steps/The End.

Which brings us to the plot holes. First, of course, if she's got to run away (and those gongs sure seemed to go on for a long time), mightn't she at least let the charming guy she danced and talked with know her name? Where to find her for a second date? Second: The step-sisters have "a second chance" at snagging the Prince because he doesn't know who the girl he danced with was. Ignoring the fact that he knows what she looked like, they are perhaps the only two he can positively rule out, because they were standing right in front of him when he first saw Cinderella! They were the last to be introduced to him, remember?

Aright, I'm out. As you can probably tell, this one is pretty near the bottom of the princess-o-meter. I'll let ya know when I see the next one.

A-HA - "Take On Me"

2007-01-20T21:30:00.000-05:00

Best. Video. Ever.

Carl Shurz

2007-01-18T02:08:00.000-05:00

I don't usually post quotes. Well, not from anyone but me. But I've had occasion to read a little more into the semicolon in history that was Carl Shurz, and I wonder why more people haven't heard of him. Maybe because he wasn't a native son, having come to America from Germany. He was a statesman, general in the Union army, biographer and editor. He was instrumental in influencing U.S. policy in may issues. And he had a really cool beard. Surely he deserves more remembrance. than an elementary school in Texas and a park best known to New Yorkers as "that overhang you drive under along the East River".

Anyway, the following came from him:

What is the rule of honor to be observed by a power so strongly and so advantageously situated as this Republic is? Of course I do not expect it meekly to pocket real insults if they should be offered to it. But, surely, it should not, as our boyish jingoes wish it to do, swagger about among the nations of the world, with a chip on its shoulder, shaking its fist in everybody's face. Of course, it should not tamely submit to real encroachments upon its rights. But, surely, it should not, whenever its own notions of right or interest collide with the notions of others, fall into hysterics and act as if it really feared for its own security and its very independence.

As a true gentleman, conscious of his strength and his dignity, it should be slow to take offense. In its dealings with other nations it should have scrupulous regard, not only for their rights, but also for their self-respect. With all its latent resources for war, it should be the great peace power of the world. It should never forget what a proud privilege and what an inestimable blessing it is not to need and not to have big armies or navies to support. It should seek to influence mankind, not by heavy artillery, but by good example and wise counsel. It should see its highest glory, not in battles won, but in wars prevented. It should be so invariably just and fair, so trustworthy, so good tempered, so conciliatory, that other nations would instinctively turn to it as their mutual friend and the natural adjuster of their differences, thus making it the greatest preserver of the world's peace.

This is not a mere idealistic fancy. It is the natural position of this great republic among the nations of the earth. It is its noblest vocation, and it will be a glorious day for the United States when the good sense and the self-respect of the American people see in this their "manifest destiny." It all rests upon peace. Is not this peace with honor? There has, of late, been much loose speech about "Americanism." Is not this good Americanism? It is surely today the Americanism of those who love their country most. And I fervently hope that it will be and ever remain the Americanism of our children and our children's children.

- The True Americanism, April 18, 1859

And, on patriotism:

The man who in times of popular excitement boldly and unflinchingly resists hot-tempered clamor for an unnecessary war, and thus exposes himself to the opprobrious imputation of a lack of patriotism or of courage, to the end of saving his country from a great calamity, is, as to "loving and faithfully serving his country," at least as good a patriot as the hero of the most daring feat of arms, and a far better one than those who, with an ostentatious pretense of superior patriotism, cry for war before it is needed, especially if then they let others do the fighting.

Idunno, they just sound like good thoughts to me.

One starts with "f" and one starts with "n".

2007-01-15T02:18:00.001-05:00

Tonight I read a blog wherein someone asked why "fag" is an acceptable word, but "the n-word" as she put it, was not. She went on to say (correctly) that gays have suffered, and that she's had two friends seriously hurt in gay-bashing, and that she herself had been assaulted for being bisexual. She also mentioned Matthew Shepard. I commented on her blog, and I'm going to reproduce the comment, for the most part (edited to take advantage of the comparative freedom of Blogger), below.

This is a both a little complicated and rather nuanced. I truly don't know if I'm up to the task.

I suppose I should point out first that "fag" is not really that acceptable a word. It is quite politically incorrect, to say the least. It will get prominent public personalities in at least a lot of trouble, if not cost them their jobs.

That said, while gays have suffered (and not to in any way belittle that suffering, which is and has been significant) there is a difference. Where to begin is a very difficult thing to decide, but I'll try.

First off, being black starts at birth. (One may be gay from birth, but the world does not know it and immediately start in on one.) As such, a black person immediately inherits all of the institutional baggage that comes with being black -- and there is such baggage, even today, on several levels.

Actually, being black starts before birth, because your family was almost certainly black as well. In some cases, almost everyone you know growing up is black. This creates, from birth, a shared cultural identity. No, not universally shared, and not an homogeneous culture, but being black in America is definitely more culturally significant than being born in Queens or being Episcopalian.

So, "black" is not simply an identifier, it is effectively a social class. It has been, way back to the very dawn of America; the entire structure of the nation, its economy, its infrastructure, was built upon slave labor, and remained so, at least in in part, for over two centuries. The end of slavery, in 1865, was simply the end of that phase of socioeconomic oppression. Throughout almost the entirety of American history, blacks have been segregated into a separate social class by both law and custom; the effects of this still echo strongly.

This is not to say that there is no socioeconomic impact on some or even many gays. But that occurs, generally, on an individual basis; one is almost never born gay into a socially underprivileged gay family. Due to a number of factors -- mostly the fact that it cannot reliably be traced through families, partly the fact that it is not inherently recognizable -- homosexuality has ever been something of a social anomaly, whereas blacks are ingrained into the social structure. There is a reason why, when people in this country think race, they think "Black and White" much more often than "Asian and Hispanic." This is where the onus of the n-word really comes into its own.

First, let's look at what "fag" actually means. It is a way of saying "homosexual", but with a connotation that the person regards this negatively -- as perversion, effeminacy, or whatever. In essence, however, while it is saying, "you are this, and I think that's bad," it is not adding anything else to the person it describes. That is, while many may be offended at the mere intent to insult, or by the attitude that what they are is negative, it really comes down to a difference of whether homosexuality is bad, or not.

Compare with "nigger". Like "fag", its use is often found acceptable within the group to which it is applied; it is from people outside the group that it is usually considered insulting. Unlike "fag", however, it is not simply saying "You're black and I think that's bad." I daresay that -- other than in "acceptable" use within the group, or ironic/teasing/casual use between close friends -- the word has never been uttered except with the intent of putting someone in their place.

[Later Edit: I now realize that it is often used within the group to the same effect.]

This refers back to the previous point, that there is and always has been a definite place for black people in American society to be put. It has changed over the years, and some have, through various means, largely escaped it, but it has always loomed in the background. This is why racism is maintained despite the truly heartfelt desire of many people to not be racist; we cannot, in a few decades, rebuild a society with no trace of the flaws of its foundation. And the proof of its significance is that many white people today will not admit it.

This social divide can now be crossed, but not completely erased. This is why I could use the n-word comfortably, if I so chose, with my best friend, but not with his friend, with whom I'm more of a friendly acquaintance; even though the latter sees our mutual friend laugh, and clearly accept that it was intended ironically, it would still leave him at the very least uncomfortable with and uncertain of me.

"Nigger" = "You are less than I." Which casts echoes to "less than human" and, inevitably, somewhere in the darkness of the mind, "slave."

There is a resonance effect to this social divide that helps keep it in place. It discourages the groups from getting close enough to become more comfortable, which would bring them closer; at the same time, it magnifies slights that keep them apart.

On the other hand, once a gay (or other queer) person comes out to his or her (or hys or hir) straight family and friends, there are likely those who accept and, perhaps, those who do not. Of those who accept, the person is still as close as he or she was before. The social barrier between straight and gay is thus much, much more permeable than that between black and white.

(This whole scenario loops back upon itself, which is why it was hard for me to decide where to begin. I apologize for finding my thoughts hard to organize.)

(Note: I did not add (but now feel I should have) that the fact of difference between the two terms is obvious in that even she did not spell out "nigger"; she did also, in fact, write "the f-a-g word" (which is of course just "fag" spelled out, but with hyphens), but later started spelling "fag" and still using the term "the 'n'-word.")

The Rape of the Tickle

2007-01-14T20:30:00.001-05:00

Ever tickle a toddler? Almost always, the response is the same: sheer, unadulterated, squealing joy. The difference among given toddlers is only a matter of degree and laughter technique.

Try it with an adult, however, and you are at least as likely to have them freak out and become very angry with you, especially if you carry it on for more than 1.5 seconds. (meanwhile the Best Toddler Ever could, I swear, go on for hours.) Why this discrepancy? Is it like baths in cold water, your tastes just change as you get older?

I don't think so.

I think that the problem with most adults is, at some time in their childhood, someone -- usually an asshole older brother, or an uncle (which is only an asshole older brother of the previous generation) -- tickled them until they could not breathe, maybe even holding them down to do it. "For a joke." After all, "It's only tickling." So the natural feelings of happiness and joy at this insanely wonderful form of human social expression were replaced by fear and pain. Feelings of social bonding were replaced by feelings of overpowered helplessness.

I came to this realization when I tickled my first daughter (the Best Toddler Ever of her day), and was astounded at the profound reaction. When I realized what was going on, I immediately resolved to never tickle her (or anyone) beyond their enjoyment, EVER, nor to allow anyone else to do so.

To destroy the incredible gift of tickling in selfish exercise in power (and there is exactly what it is, regardless of what lies anyone may say to the contrary) is directly analogous to rape, which perverts and, for many, forever damages or destroys the beautiful gift that is sex. You may think this is an absurd analogy; if so, you need to witness the intensity of the joy tickling produces in a child who has not been so abused.

So do everyone a favor, keep tickling, and keep it friendly, keep it happy, and leave them while they're wanting more. Everyone will be glad.

Since I brought it up...

2007-01-14T18:20:00.000-05:00

(First thing: I believe I shall use the phrase "Since I brought it up," in conversation a lot now that I've thought of it.)

Since I started the whole copyright issue, I should probably say out in public here that Matchdoctor has quickly revised the whole thing to my satisfaction, for which I thank them. I also wish to say that I have fully believed there was no foul intent, as these agreements are usually legal boilerplate they get from their lawyers. My main concern was over what might happen in the future, if the company were acquired, etc.

AND... I have to extrapolate from the above that I really should have just emailed the staff with my concerns rather than making it a big issue for a bunch of people. But it was like 5 am and I wasn't thinking much beyond "Hmm. Thing. Put in blog."

Again, MD, thanks. And to all a good night.

I'm Number 1! I'm Number 1 (Tallest adult in kindergarten)

2007-01-12T06:20:00.000-05:00

Woot! My MD blog listing page is the first Google entry under "Monsterboy's blog"!

Okay, so that's a pretty specific search. There aren't a lot of other people calling themselves "Monsterboy" who have blogs. Still, it's not bad. I mean, it's gotten to be Hell trying to even get "Monsterboy" as a username anywhere -- it's taken half the time, so I'm not completely alone. I still come in at #6 for just "Monsterboy"; in the world of the blogging millions, it is a tiny mark of distinction.

Let's try this puppy out.

2007-01-12T02:47:00.000-05:00

Hi! I'm trying out the move of my blog here from matchdoctor.com, an online dating site.

Match Doctor is a great place. I've met a lot of really cool people there, and I'd really hate to lose touch with them. As a dating site, I highly recommend it. Match Doctor is providing people a lot of great service, and free to many, as well. I've tried blogging before, but it always withered, due in large part to an apparent lack of readership -- something that at Match Doctor, I actually got. I certainly won't take anything away from them on this. IT's cool enough that I stayed there, even after I was no longer really looking for a date.

However... I, personally, have grown uncomfortable with their policy vis-a-vis copyright: namely, that all content basically, by default, becomes property of "Online Singles, LLC or its partners". I do some creative work, and wish to feel free to post it in my blog without worry that, at some random future date, some corporation that bought the company that acquired the company that resulted from a merger with Online Singles, LLC will one day come around claiming that I'm infringing their rights to my work.

So I'm moving my blog here. I hope people will still read it; like I said, I'm trying it out.