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.