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.

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

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

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

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

Realizations

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

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

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

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

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

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

April Thanks!

Dear blogging friend,

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



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

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

Objective realized!

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

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

And... wow, this is weird.

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

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