Death by Stereo

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

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*...

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?

Happy 4th. My day.

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

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...

... 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."

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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?"

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

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

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

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*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

Mommies I'd Like to Thank.

Thank you, Mommies, for being who you are.

Hugs.

T-Shirts

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

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

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...

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...

...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

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...

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



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

Whoa. Six and three-quarters very uncomfortable minutes.

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...

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

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

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

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!

[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"

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

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.

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?

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.

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

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

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

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?

(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.

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?

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.

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.

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

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.

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

Back in the blog saddle.

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.