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When I was in college at Berkeley, there used to be this woman who sold knit caps. She usually wore a hard hat that said "I love Brad Pitt" and danced to music that wasn't there. Isla reminds me of her, sometimes - mostly when she chooses her own outfits that consist of rainbow pants, a flower purse, a hobo beanie, and moon boots. I wish I could bottle that awesome sometimes and sprinkle it on every indie scenester I pass wearing skinny jeans, slip on vans, and a too-short-sleeved jacket. Then they'd hightail it to the nearest TJ Maxx and go nuts. (I seriously can't believe that TJ Maxx is the first store I thought of. I don't think I've ever even seen one).

Steven King

Have you ever read "It"?

This picture freaks me out.
I imagine a half-rotten clown monster down below offering her balloons... Isla can't really understand what the creature is garbling about, so she leans in closer... "choo?" she asks, which could mean any variety of things - from shoes to juice to poop...




No answer....

she gets even closer.

"hey..." the clown monster thing sneers.

"bop bop?" she counters, full of youthful innocence and braggadocio.

Beneath the grate, the beast scowls in contempt. "Come down here! I've got balloons for you..."


Smelling a ruse, Isla balks. "Baoon?"

At this instant - she realizes her mistake - those aren't real balloons - that's a murderous clown down there, not some new plaything!

Even now, she cringes as she recounts her harrowing encounter:

UBC (Ultimate Baby Championship) 100

Ladies and Gentlemen - tonight we have a great card for you all in the...uh... living room. The Island of Isla, the explosive pooper, miss Bop Bop herself takes on 3 adversaries in Gut Wrenching action. Watch on and be amazed at the skill, ferocity, and pure wrestling talent exhibited by this 2 foot terror!

Battle 1: Isla vs. Beru

The round started off with a surprise side roll by Beru, attempting to use Isla's lack of stability against her. This proved to be a mistake, however, as Isla quickly reversed the sloppy judo move and executed a perfect haunch-grab/tail twister. After this, the pin was just a few taps away. Isla won this match handily by means of submission in the first round.





Battle 2: Isla vs. Sophie

This looked to be a much more even match, as Sophie makes up for her lack of bipedalism with an intensity only found in Jack Russel-Pit Bull mixes. Even so, Isla was too quick at the start, and attempted a rear baby mount to begin the round.






Sophie then retaliated by spinning on the unwitting baby and nearly landing the dreaded "kiss of death" on her nose.



Isla quickly put an end to this threat with the collar-lock, a move she learned from her recent travels to a shaolin temple in Hunan, where she spent many hours training under a monk with no toes and a penchant for rootbeer swilling and buffoonery. But I digress... she quickly remembered her lessons - "brush the forehead of the beast with your palm, as the lotus brushes the morning air,"

"then crush the windpipe as the boa constrictor crushes rootbeer cans!" The old master's words rang in her head as she performed this next move. The fight went to a controversial decision in which the panel of judges (which consisted of a stuffed lamb and two pillows) declared Isla the winner by a score of 10 to 8. Many of the spectators involved, including Charlie, the other dog, believed that the match was won at this point, however - due to the utter defeat showing in Sophie's eyes.

Battle 3: Isla vs. Daddy

This match was a travesty, and a disgrace to the UBC organization as a whole. Somehow Isla convinced Sophie to tag team against the favored combatant in the first round and this match was over before it even started - with Isla pinning Daddy, then adding insult to injury by laughing at him as he writhed in agony...or just kind of giggled. Results: Isla 3, Everybody else 0.

Things that Suck, Part 1.

Number one thing that sucks right now: Dogs that enjoy disemboweling stuffed animals on a daily basis - this one was taken from the toy box, after the lid was jimmied off by a small black chihuahua mix.





Number 2 thing that sucks: Not cutting Isla's fingernails, and having her grab my face, taking a piece of my nose with her.

Baby Crack

These are the things I have found to be irresistible to my baby, creating high pitched squealing, intense crying and whining when removed, and general symptoms exhibited by most crack fiends:

1) Puppies and Kitties

2) Target brand fruit snacks - holy shit, when these are busted out I'm like the king of the babies.

3) Jamba Juice - I have seen half of a small banana berry jamba juice last a good hour and a half.

4) This one disgusting doll at goodwill that has straggly, thinning blond hair, is naked on rollerblades, is made of hard plastic, about her size, and is supposed to be electronic, but all the wires have been pulled out and are hanging from a hole in her left leg. WTF?


5) Blueberries. Once she had purple poop for three days.

Lake Merrit

Isla went with me to the lake today to feed the "ducks." The ducks are in quotation marks not because somebody screamed "ducks" at me in a high falsetto - although that would be cool - but because there were no ducks present at this junction. That's not to say that there were no birds - Oh, there were birds. Upon walking toward the play structure, one notices that the normally springy grass underfoot has a slightly crunchy texture at this time of year, that is one would notice this if one could see the grass under all the freaking geese. There were at least forty-five thousand Candadian Geese at the lake this fine afternoon - and Isla went bonkers - screaming Bop Bop! at every single one of them. At first I was hesitant to let her down from my protective grasp, but curiosity got the best of me (plus she was squirming in my arms and now scream-crying "bop bop, bop bop!" between gasps) so down she went. At first she simply hid behind my leg while the geese, by now old hands at getting food from toddlers and their fathers, yet cautious that we might be carpetbaggers all the same, gathered around us from all sides. It was eerie - I imagined I was in Jurassic Park, and they were velociraptors as they circled us. Then they got bored and resumed doing whatever it is that geese do in the grass. This was Isla's cue to chase. She went after the one that was closest to triple her size and yelled at it - like most things that get yelled at - the goose left in a huff and a ruffling of feathers. One of said feathers was dislodged as it huffed and ruffled, and Isla pointed at it with wonder, then grasped it in her hand, holding it aloft as if it were the holy grail. She proceeded to spend the next 25 minutes chasing that same goose with the feather held out, with every intention of giving it back to the poor beast. This is why I know she's going to be the president of the world. That is so awesome.

I'll leave you with this one last anecdote about geese. They have teeth ON THEIR TONGUES! find this out like I did by trying to feed one Pepperidge Farm Goldfish by hand and having it hiss at you in frustration because you fed its kinfolk rather tham him - and you'll poop bricks too. I promise.

Fourth of July Weekend Highlight Reel

I'm exhausted - Hawaii merged into the weekend of the fourth so fast I'm still confused about where I am right now.

Highlights

1) Meeting my brother Phil and his family for the first time and instantly connecting on all kinds of levels. Seeing the Del Nagro clan come together for real for the first time in a while.

2) Isla getting 4 days of pool time to play and play and play and...

3) Watching babies dance to Michael Jackson at the family "after party"

4) Bullshitting with cousin Jessica - dude, Lucas isn't a chambermaid - chill out.

5) Feeling like a real parent, with all the kids at the house playing together.

6) Citrus ribs & pomegranate BBQ chicken

7) Getting to finish a Ruben's Burrito from Summer, who could sense my angst at not getting one this trip.

8) Fire dancing by Elizabeth and Tawny ( i feel like i spelled that wrong)

9) Finding out my sister Elizabeth is engaged to somebody I actually don't want to decapitate with a rusty spoon.

10) Talking cameras with my father in law and picking up a few tips

11) Borrowing two fishing poles to do some serious damage with this summer on the Berkeley Pier - I'm talking at least 24 beers and maybe a dogfish.

12) going stupid with Claire like we were 13 and 8

Back Home

Nothing says "welcome home" from your vacation like a disemboweled Hello Kitty backpack on the carpet surrounded by thousands of bits of fluffy white kitty stuffing.
Thanks dogs.

Day 7 Kauai -

The trip is winding down, and so are we. Amber Smith said in a comment that vacations aren't called vacations when you have kids, they're called adventures. I second that wholeheartedly. This has been one hell of an adventure. Today we woke up LATE (like 7 o'clock!) and leisurely made our way to our favorite beach so I could snorkel along the reef that forms the cove. When it gets to this portion of a trip I always get kind of melancholy and nostalgic for the days that have just passed, and I sat in the passenger seat, watching the rainforest pass by, the huge vines overtaking many of the trees. It's an almost perfect drive, crossing one lane bridges – smelling the new rain, seeing taro fields alongside a meandering river, all flanked by huge mountains on one side, the pristine blue ocean on the other. This place is absolutely ridiculous. The picture is just one snapped from the side of the car going 50 – I happened to catch this waterfall that we didn't even see going up...

At the beach, I was assaulted by blue – the sky meets the ocean and there are so many different shades of blue that hit you – it's pretty amazing. We met another chick and her mom, and Isla splashed around with Tegan while I swam around – staying pretty shallow, because I forgot to get flippers, and um, I'm not the strongest swimmer around. Still, I got to see a ton of colorful fish flitting about among the coral and rocks – even some eels and what looked like seahorses – although they were probably just another type of fish. Whatever, they were cool. What is not cool is a 12 dollar snorkel mask that lets water in the nose area and snorting salt water while in about 16 feet of water, then forgetting one is in said water and inhaling without the snorkel in one's mouth, then sputtering one's way back to the shallow area where two redheaded girls aged about 7 giggle at one's antics. That's dumb.

Near-drownings aside, the snorkel trip was beautiful – Isla even fell asleep in the car on the way home, so we got to listen to songs without her wailing soundtrack in the background, just the phenomenal scenery to keep us company. Then we relaxed and ate safeway sandwiches on the lawn of the hotel, while Isla chased chickens and “beep bops” (the name she has dubbed the little black birds with yellow beaks and eye coloring that scare her with their loud blue-jay like cries). After a walk around the coconut marketplace laughing at the stuff they try and sell tourists like us, I somehow convinced Tegan to let me go out and swim and chill by the ocean by myself while Isla took her second nap. Our beach by the hotel is a little more “extreme” than the one we swam at today – but it was fun nonetheless.

O.K. Reality check. Tegan and I are in denial about taking toddlers to restaurants. We still think that we'll be able to enjoy a nice dinner at a sit down place sometime – that Isla will magically relax and hang out quietly in one of those wooden high chairs while we laugh and chat about our day, then eat a child's portion of whatever delicious morsels we have ordered for our meal. Dude. Get a grip. We went to a nice italian restaurant called “Kauai Pasta” and the minute she was placed in the high chair the outing went to crap. She began screaming, then reaching for the knives on the table, banging them as hard as she could against a plate. Once we wrestled the plate and knives from her, she wailed again – now the tourists in the restaurant, trying to enjoy themselves, started to glower over their sunburnt noses at us. Damn. OK- we've done this before – we'll just take turns. I eat half the salad, then Tegan hands Isla off to me, and I go outside with her until the food arrives. We hurriedly stuff our faces while blowing on some pasta bits to cool them down for Isla as she throws whatever piece of food she can get as far as she can in every direction – the tradeoff happens anew, and we shovel pasta and steak in our face in record time. I think the food was good – but I don't know – it was all a blur. When we will get it in our thick heads that we can't do this anymore for awhile, I don't know. Maybe never – I mean, she might be able to handle our favorite restaurant when we get back to the bay, right?


As I write this, I'm watching my baby, beautiful for all of her outrageousness, just in diapers, eating goldfish off of the carpet, and I'm thinking how happy I am to be a dad, in this place... anywhere.
Happy end of the vacation everybody. Goodnight.

Day 6 Kauai

Day 6 Kauai -

Today was recuperation day for the Gardner clan. We had reached the point of saturation, so spent the day close by our hotel room – venturing out only for food and a lens cap for the camera after the last one was mysteriously misplaced. The rest was welcomed heartily by all – even Isla was mellow today (unless she was placed into the car seat, which now creates an instantaneous ear splitting yowl – that strangely enough can only be countered by making meow sounds at her, to which she can't help but reply in her own meow). I finished yet another vampire book – The Strain by Guillermo del Toro and some other dude... I highly recommend this as well. It was scary and Blade-like. All this while lounging at the beach or by the pool. I love days like this.

We did go for a little walk, if for nothing else than to actually use the stroller we purchased at wal-mart on an earlier excursion. This walk was a test of my manhood in its purest form - anyone who can push a tiny pink stroller with Dora the explorer all over it around without batting an eyelash is a real man - let me tell you. Right?

For dinner I finally got my sushi, at a little restaurant that was perfect for Isla – it had this courtyard garden with a koi pond that either Tegan or I could whisk Isla away to whenever she freaked out – which nowadays is frequent at any sit down dinner. On one of these excursions to the pond Isla spotted a gecko on the side of the pond, and excitedly started to meow at it. I, being the heroic and brave dad that I am, decided I was going to catch this wild beast and present it to my young princess. Too bad that the gecko was hella dead, and when I touched it it sort of fell apart and it's body fell into the pond, where it was, I'm sure – promptly eaten by one of the koi inside. I hope Isla isn't traumatized, because I think I am.

We sugared up with our 5th of 7 shave ices – while the sun went down no less - and as I write this, Isla has turned on the hotel radio to “American Boy” and is demonstrating some new dance moves she invented for the trip. One consists of her left leg raising and lowering, much like a sumo wrestler's stomp – only infinitely more cute. The other is a rip-off of Jennifer Beals' running in place from flashdance. They both are going to last until 11, I'm sure, because of the sugar... We're such good parents. Tomorrow is our snorkeling day – So I need to get my rest...

Kauai Day 5

Day 5 Kauai


Today was a long, long day. We broke the 6:00 barrier by three minutes, and lounged around the hotel room for an hour or so – eating the apple-bananas (yes, you heard right – bananas that taste of apples) and pineapple I bought yesterday at a farmer's market from a lady who was a bonafide hustla of fruit, and drinking coffee. And showing Isla how to put stuff into drawers when she takes things out – an endless supply of fun for her and work for us.

We decided to go on a hike today – the book said it was 1.8 miles into waimea canyon each way. No problem, we thought, we go 1.8 miles in our sleep. Possibly, Aaron and Tegan, but not likely. Anyway – we drove to the south of the island, up through the brick-red mountains until we got to the top of Waimea canyon. There we packed up Isla into her armored humvee of a baby carrier and were off. Now, the hike began wonderously, with the fog still in on the Na Pali coast, and the canyon obscured by this eerie white cloud so high up. The walk was easy enough, with some slippery slopes in places, but overall no problem. Then things got a little hairy. Over one of the hills, we noticed that the trail seemed to just sort of drop off. Upon closer inspection, it was revealed that the trail was this washed out mudplain, where there were small grooved footholds carved in among the various roots that stuck out. The vertical drop-off was about 10 feet. Ok if you're a dude with amazing balance and agility – not OK if you have a baby strapped to your chest or back. And this wasn't the first of these drop offs – they continued for a good ¾ of a mile or so – Isla beginning to sense our state of mind and starting to howl like a banshee after the first one. We were determined to get to wherever the hell this trail was supposed to go, I had forgotten by now, consumed completely with not letting my wife and only daughter fall to their deaths in the Valley thousands of feet below us with sheer cliffs on our right and left. Whose idea was this hike anyway?

Fortunately, after about an hour of agonizingly slow foot-placement along the paths, we found our way to where the book said our hike BEGINS! WTF? We've been killing ourselves to get here and this is where it begins? OK, fine. I get it, this is a test to see if we are truly adventurous parents or just really stupid. It turns out, we're not completely stupid – because the rest of the hike is “paved” with a boardwalk of 2X10 boards with chicken wire over the top, since we are now hiking through what is apparently the highest swamp in the world, and would sink up to our knees if it weren't for the boards. Maybe we should have thought twice about hiking in flip flops.

When we got to the end of our hike, I came to a realization. 1 mile for people with no small children = 10 miles for people with them. Why doesn't anybody write this anywhere? So it took us roughly 2 hours to hike two miles. That's an average hiking speed of 1 MPH... easy tiger. Slow or not, there were several things that made this hike awesome. 1 – Isla was in a good mood for most of it, she slept in the carrier for a good 45 minutes of the hike back out. (although the times she was not so happy completely sucked). 2 – the scenery was otherworldly – with fog in places, mist, ferns, and echoing birdcalls the whole way, not to mention breath taking vistas every time we came to a clearing. And finally – reason # 1, 345 why I love my wife: when we were going through a particularly dense section of the forest, I overheard her talking to Isla, saying: “this is where the Ewoks live...” completely unprompted from me. Hell Yeah that's where the Ewoks live! I thought, and commenced acting out a scene from Return of the Jedi in my mind.

The hike ended up being exhausting but well worth it, and we drug our tired butts to a pizza place for ridiculously expensive pizza and geckos on the wall. Day 5 ended with rum & cokes at the pool and a zombie movie on the computer at night while Isla slept soundly. Sweet.

Kauai Day 4 "RIP Mike"

Day 4 Kuaui

Morning was 5:56, 11 minutes later than yesterday! Good morning sunshine.



Today we decided to head north to Hanalei, which is this idyllic little town in the rainforest of the Na Pali coast. It was a favorite place to go during our honeymoon – so we thought we'd share the experience with a 15 month old... In order to get there, we had to go through this place called Princeville. Princeville is tantamount to the “hills” vs. the flatland in Oakland – hella ritzy, with 6 million dollar homes dotting the landscape with their priceless views. We stopped at a Chevron station for some food at 7:30 or so, because they supposedly had some good food there. Tell that to Isla, who threw up some bacon and cheese breakfast burrito all over the front steps of the realtor office across the street. She's either a very political little kid, or the burrito sucked. I personally think it was both. Since we were in Princeville, we decided to see what it had to offer in terms of free stuff to do – and it turns out that there is a short trail to a lava tidepool called “Queen's Bath” here that is pretty amazing, according to the books. Off we went.

The path to this place started off of a golf course – not too promising. Throw in the fact that there was a parking lot for the trailhead, and a ton of people piling out of another rental car to our right, and we have the recipe for a retarded venture. Oh well, we aren't ones to back down from a fiasco, so we hopped out of the car and began the iditarod that is trying to put her into the ergo-baby baby carrier. We had finally latched the penultimate latch on this behemoth when the skies opened up and it began to pour, to pour like a true monsoon. Of course, right. We ducked back inside our PT Cruiser to see if we could wait out the downpour – after a little while we started to feel stupid, I mean it wasn't ACID rain or anything, what the hell... so we went out... no problem, the rain even quit as we made our way down the first set of stairs cut into the rock of this hill. However, the red clay stuff that is everywhere gets really, really slippery when it's wet, and I, who have the aforementioned reflexes of a cat, fell first thing I could, probably pulling every muscle in my back on the way down. Whatever, though, I'm still a trooper, so we carried on down the path, past a beautiful waterfall that I filed away for a place to swim on the way back up, and onto the lava rock beach below. There were several signs on the beach saying how extremely dangerous an undertaking it was to swim in the tidepools because of rip currents and large waves and sharks and dinosaurs and stuff, but we were determined to do this... onward we went. Finally approaching the pool itself required a bit of rock climbing with baby – which should be a new sport for parents, in my opinion – but we made it down, and it was pretty awesome. There were about ten people milling around or snorkeling, but everyone was nice, and a kid even brought over a box of peas for Isla. I thought they were for her to eat, and I was thinking that this kid was weird to bring a box of frozen peas anyway – but his mom told us to have her throw them in the water – she did, and a myriad of colorful fish immediately made their way over to us, enthralling Isla, and even nibbling my toes when I jumped in myself – it's a pretty phenomenal experience to be swimming in a calm lava pool with fishes while waves crash all around you and your daughter watches. On the way back up, I couldn't resist trekking through the mud to the waterfall and standing under it for a few minutes – if for no other reason than to wash off the salt water. This adventure turned out to be far from retarded.

Driving further to finally get to Hanalei, we realized that it was only 10:00, and none of the food places would be open – so we decided to hot foot it to the northernmost beach on the island, Ke'e beach (another calm beach, since it is protected by reefs all around it), and get some beach time in for Isla. I can't stress how beautiful this drive is... if you haven't come to Kauai before it's not like anything else in Hawaii – it's ridiculous. Anyway – we got to the beach and found out that about 75 million other people had the same idea today – or at least there were that many cars there. The beach is also the trailhead for a famous overnight hike, so a lot of people park there for that too. We had to park HELLA far from the beach itself and walk to it, past this creepy cave where every thing is silent except for a drip, drip, drip sound from the ceiling into its deep pool below. Last time we were here, I actually swam in this pool, feeling like Gollum from the Hobbit – but this time Tegan specifically forbade it – citing the various nefarious diseases I would and probably had contracted from such a foray. At the mouth of the cave there were these chickens that weren't afraid of anything at all – Isla finally got to catch her chicken, as they ate goldfish crackers from my hand. Then she promptly got scared and gave up chicken hunting for good.

At the beach it was gorgeous. For about 20 minutes. Then the rain started again, hard. We kind of laughed for a second, but it started to get ridiculous – everyone on the beach was running for cover under trees, umbrellas, towels, chickens, whatever they could grab. Isla and I just stood in the rain, enjoying ourselves with a couple of spearfishermen who were washing off their gear... I don't know, maybe it's because I come from a place with such little rain – but if I can be outside in it, I will – and this rain was warm...in all, not so Hawaii-like this time, but fun nonetheless.

After the beach, in Hanalei itself, we got what are called plate lunches at this little deli we had been to before, inside the place, the TV was on with no sound, and all there was on the screen was a huge picture of Michael Jackson – I thought: “Damn, Hawaiians sure love them some Michael,” and then we went to eat blissfully on the lawn outside. It wasn't until a couple hours later that we got back to the hotel and I heard that he had died. Now, I know Michael Jackson was a big deal to a lot of people – he sold gajillions of copies of Thriller, so it must have been many other kid's first real album too – but damn. He's dead. No more weird stories, no more possibility for redemption – good thing that music is recorded, though – because we'll always have stuff like this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4_hz2am90Hk

Ok, back to vacation – maybe it was this unexpected news, or maybe fate – but the day took a real nose dive after that. We came back to the hotel, where Tegan wanted a rest, so I took Isla to the pool by myself to swim. She was cool for a few minutes, either in her little starfish floaty, or jumping off the ledge into my arms – but then neither of those were good enough – she wanted to do everything RIGHT NOW!!! and I couldn't keep up with her changing whims... was it jumping NO! Splashing? NO! Running around the grass? NO! Jesus, it was like trying to calm a hurricane. It got to the point that she was so frustrated with my lack of entertainment quality that she just lay down on the pool patio and screamed. This was disconcerting to say the least, and I don't think the cute little honeymooners or the old ass couple in the hot tub when it was 80 degrees out liked it either – so back up we went to the room. Then, I wanted to get sushi for dinner, I had been craving sushi – I love sushi dammit... so we decided to go to a place close by that was really good. We forgot that we had a baby, however – as we arrived with her screaming in her carseat, saw the line out the door, remembered it was a sit-down place, we realized that there was no way this was going to happen. So we got back in the car, drove back to the hotel and went to the little cafe next door. It was in this cafe that I met my arch-nemesis – the beef teryaki from hell. It tasted like shoes and socks with a little bit of ass thrown in for good measure. WTF? This is Hawaii – everything is supposed to be good. Not only that, but Isla thought it would be hilarious to A. throw ketchup, mayonnaise, and relish packets around like they were dollars and she was Lil Wayne at a strip club, B. pick up a piece of bird poop and give it to me, and C. scream like we were kidnapping her all the way back to the hotel room. We finally got her to sleep right now, after tricking her by turning off all the lights, and fake sleeping next to her... she finally just got tired of being awake, I guess. At least we got to eat another shave ice (#4 of 7) -------------------------------------------->

Moral of this story is: don't try and have fun when Michael Jackson dies. It doesn't work.

Day 3 Kauai The Shotgun

Day 3 - Kauai

We got up at 5:45 this morning – a good 15 minutes after our waking time yesterday – woo! After a leisurely coffee intervention in the hotel room, watching a ton of tourists watching the sun rise, we went out for some, umm, more coffee. Fully caffeinated, we decided to go on a hike to a waterfall we hadn't seen – so it was off into the hills of Kauai – past the Kapa'a Elementary school and high school – up into a neighborhood that I would kill to live in. We parked next to somebody's house and walked across the street to this little dirt road that went alongside a pasture with a few curious cows and a bunch of herons. After a little bit of walking with Isla on Tegan's back, we came to the stream itself – then a few more yards brought the waterfall – complete with Passionfruit, ferns, vines and moss... lovely. Isla played and posed a bit for the camera, then we decided to continue on the path – which was now pretty slick from last night's rain – to try and find another waterfall. Bad idea. The second waterfall was supposedly down this steep ravine – one which I, with my catlike agility, was able to maneuver with ease... however, Tegan stumbled at the beginning, handed Isla to me, then proceeded to slide the entire way down on her butt. Keep in mind, Kauai's natural soil is red clay, that people use to die clothing, because it stains. A lot. When she had finally scootched her way down the ravine, I gave Tegan the bad news – the trail had washed out. Oops. Back up we went – Tegan muttering things under her breath... I pretended she was whispering how much she loved me... It didn't really work.

Back to the hotel for swimming and sleeping it was. Isla was in a marathon sleep mood – so during probably the most beautiful part of the day, from about 10:00 – 1:00 PM, we watched her sleep from the balcony, enjoying the sun and beach, about 10 yards away from our hotel room prison. She looked peaceful though...even if I did want to wake her up about 50 times. I find I struggle with this as a dad... do you wake the baby up and deal with cranky mood, or do you let her sleep 3 hours so she'll be happy – but then never go to sleep at night? It's a mystery for the ages. This time we let her sleep.

Since I have been relating this trip in terms of our meals for the most part, let's move on to lunch. We went to a sandwich place in a mall. A mall. I hate malls. I get automatic headaches just thinking about malls. But that's where we went, and I have to admit I am glad we did. The sandwich place uses this bread that is softer than marshmallows. They call it sourdough, but it wasn't – it was ungodly. We ate our little pieces of anti-diety, then made for the south of Kauai – to a place called Poipu...there were supposed to be tidepools there – but once we arrived, through a tunnel of Eucalyptus that covered the entire roadway, we found the tide really high, and all there was to do was hang out at the beach again in the beautiful weather with crystal waters and gorgeous skies overhead. Damn. Isla occupied her self for at least an hour in the surf with a little cup that she repeatedly filled and emptied onto her head, each time smiling like she just told the best joke in the entire world. I have come to find that Isla can be coaxed out of a tantrum with a couple of things- bodies of water to submerge in, and fruit snacks from Target. Both were on hand, which made for a phenomenal time. As we left this place, I overheard some teenage boys – probably on a summer break staying in parent's timeshare before college or something, discussing in detail what they would like to have happen with the teenage girls who were standing by the rocks. I looked at Isla, and vowed to invest in a double barrel shotgun upon our return, as insurance against teenage boys. I feel sorry for the first one who tries to pick her up for a date. Seriously.

By now it was getting late (Jesus, late now means 7 PM... what has happened to me?), so we just headed next door to the coconut marketplace for some grilled ono and shave ice # 3 of 7. Isla dressed for the part with a plumeria flower behind her ear, and wooed all the shopowners with hugs and kisses as she ran from us giggling. She is such a flirt. Anybody know a good shotgun store?

Day 2 Kauai

Day 2.

The night was tough. Isla is sicker than we thought, and coughed and cried through the night. It stopped around 3, when we gave her some Motrin – but still, we woke up around 530, due to jet lag and light from the balcony overlooking the ocean. The ocean is beautiful sleeping music, by the way. We woke up with some papaya and banana with our coffee, hung around the hotel room for awhile, then went to this cafe in Kapa'a that was supposed to have really good coffee and breakfast bagels – it was true – mine had sundried tomatoes, fresh basil, melted provolone, and pesto. Everything has its price, however, upon grabbing the coffee and attempting to garnish it with half and half, in itself a complicated dance between two people and their drinks, Isla grabbed the pile of napkins, which in turn caused Tegan to jostle her full to the brim with boiling hot coffee cup, and thus spilling said hot coffee onto the crook of my arm, where it pooled, cooking the sensitive flesh with aromatic liquid. This entire exchange was completely silent, save for a slight, sudden intake of air coming from my mouth. Ouch.


We walked across to the beach, after I sloughed off the burned skin from my inner elbow, and watched Isla play with the chickens (which are everywhere on this island – it is rumored that they were let loose from coops during a hurricane in the early nineties, and have flourished where there are no natural predators). At some point while sitting on this beach, drinking coffee and watching Isla, at 6 in the morning with shorts and flip flops, we both came to the conclusion that we have to live here on Kauai at some point. There is a Kaiser Hospital and plenty of schools. Shit, it just might happen. Seriously.


After this burning excursion complete with life altering revelations, we returned to the hotel to force Isla into a nap. This was successful on the seventh try of alternating between daddy and mommy as the sleep procurers. Mommy was the victor in this battle. Finally she slept, and I got to read a few more chapters of “Let the Right One In” because when I'm not baby herding, I like to catch up on my pre-teen vampires (no – not like Twilight jerkface, like Swedish horror – done really well). It's all beside the point, however, as Isla woke up all smiles and bubbles again, so we decided to go out to that most famous of Kauai landmarks, renown for its beauty and sheer encapsulation of what it is to be Hawaii: Wal-Mart.

The Wal Mart in Lehui is pretty much like a Wal Mart anywhere, minus the chickens in the parking lot. We needed a cheap stroller – so we got that and some grown folk snacks too. I was thwarted in my attempt to buy the Back to the Future trilogy for 10 dollars by a disapproving Tegan, who told me like it was: no movies Aaron. Whatever – I chose wasabi potato chips and she doesn't even like wasabi – so ha. Somehow I still don't feel like I won in that situation. Oh well.

It was now time for lunch, and since Isla's mood swings have made dining in a sit-down place virtually impossible – our options have been severely limited. I turned to a recommendation from a co-worker who has family here in Kauai and own a restaurant called the Barbecue Inn. So – we went down a street we hadn't gone before – and lo and behold there was the Inn itself, with nary a parking place, it was so popular. In we go, as the crowd began to thin, and ordered from the diner menu. I got a mahi mahi burger, Tegan had a teryaki chicken sandwich – both were awesome! Served with french fries, rice, coffee, salad, soup, and desert all for 20 bucks for the two of us. Even Isla was impressed with the fish – so all in all, a pretty outstanding lunch.

1:30 and it was beach time. We surveyed our trusty Kauai guidebook for good baby beaches, and found that the Lydgate Park beach was surrounded by boulders, and thus had no waves... sounds perfect – it was, almost. When we first arrived, the clouds had rolled in and the wind was blowing mercilessly. I was tempted to say “hey, it's cold” until I realized that we were in Hawaii, and would probably be beaten with pineapples. However, soon after the sun appeared again, and we were frolicking in the waveless pool like pros. Isla especially enjoyed drinking ocean water for the first time and shortly thereafter, vomiting ocean water for the first time. It was a thoroughly enjoyable 30 minutes or so in the water... but then, as they say – shit happens. Literally. As I was swimming to attack Isla “Jaws” style as she was playing in her mom's arms, Tegan pointed out something that was rapidly approaching my mock-roaring jaws. “I think that's poop.” She said nonchalantly, as if this foreign feces making a beeline for my mouth was not something to panic about. It was, and I did panic... apparently the downside of a beach for babies, is the tootsie roll surprises that find themselves moving with the tides. Needless to say – we left the beach and went to the playground nearby.

The playground was a majestic dark wood structure built by the community who thought that the kids deserved a obstacle course. I was pretty impressed. Isla was not. She spent about 4 minutes looking at the tire swing, and touching some of the wood – then was off across the field to chase the rooster (which she now makes a high pitched crowing sound whenever she sees them). I think rooster chasing is her new favorite thing of all time, besides defying her mother and father's wishes. In any case – we chased those roosters until her thirst for the hunt was quenched. Then back to the hotel, dunked in the pool – and dressed for dinner.

Isla's chosen dress was slightly inappropriate. It was too big for her, and the straps fell down more often than not, so she walked around like a hussy with her bosom showing most of the night. We need to raise our standards for her. We chose a vegetarian/seafood restaurant nearby – based on some reviews in the guide book again, although after the poop incident I was admittedly a little dubious. The restaurant was beautiful, to my relief – we ate outside surrounded by flowers and passionfruit, and the food was pretty good too – the vegetarian stuff was great, tofu pot stickers and silver noodle salad with peanut sauce, but the fish was kinda wack – a little overcooked and tough for ahi. Isla ate her noodles like a champ, and that was a welcome change from her finicky ways lately. After dinner, we went for shave ice and ice cream number 2 of 7, this time the flavors being lychee, mango and strawberry – Why they don't have this stuff in california is beyond me. It is so stupidly good. In a span of about ten seconds while eating this concoction with Isla, my shorts went from being clean and unsullied to extremely sullied after I was bombarded by one of the black birds with yellow beaks that are everywhere here – and who, judging by the look and consistency of it's missile, eat mostly hummus and black licorice (anyone guess what the theme of this post is?). Ah well, poop and all, I still have to admit that today was a good day. May tomorrow bring more. We'll see when I'm sure we all greet the dawn thanks to our new rooster loving daughter.

Hawaii, part 1

Day One Hawaii

Started off ridiculously early. We woke up at 3:30 AM and threw a very sleepy girl into the car with our stuff at 4... neither Tegan nor I getting more than a couple hours of sleep. Our flight to Arizona was at 6 – so we thought with all the rules and regulations we needed to get to the Oakland airport by 4:30. At around 4:45 we were waiting for our plane by the gate. So much for that. I waited with Isla running around for the coffee to steep into my bloodstream until 6 – so far, so good... as long as we wrangle the child, she seems content to run around looking at people. As an aside that will come into play later, I will mention one of said people – a woman in front of us in line at the airport Starbucks. I noticed her because in her basketball shorts, jordans, and fauxhauk, she looked astonishingly fashionable. It was weird to notice this, but I did. Anyway, the plane came – we got on FIRST (I guess there are a couple of perks to traveling with a toddler), sat down – ready to go! Plane took off – no whimpers or cries, excellent. About 15 minutes into the flight, she's asleep on Tegan and we look golden... then over the intercom on the plane: “Good morning, if there is a doctor or a nurse aboard the plane, please press your call light.” Shit. Wait 15 seconds, no call lights – Tegan I know is silently hoping a doctor, some senior nurse, maybe a vetrinarian will step up... no such luck. The call light is pressed, and the steward comes over to collect Tegan and bring her to the front, for what, I have no idea – I just get Isla transferred to me, who instantly wakes up and is offended that I am holding her and not her mama, and proceeds to let me know by wailing and forcing bubbles of snot out of her nose in protest. Rad. After about 40 minutes or so, a man saunters back toward my seat in the rear of the plane. He is well dressed, urban style, and has a brown hat with a tilted brim along with two noticeable diamond earrings. He sits down next to me and says that he was with the girl that Tegan is helping (remember the fashionable one from before? She turns out to be a dancer for The Dream on tour) had low blood pressure and possibly a seizure, and that Tegan is wonderful and helping her as we spoke. I replied: “cool. Now help me make her stop crying.” This, I believe, he took to mean “proceed to tell me about how you have the coolest job in the world and stuff.” I believe this because he began a monologue lasting a good 15 minutes about his job as a sound engineer and backlight expert for various R&B divas in the business on tour. He described in detail, and with accompanying cellphone pictures as evidence, the lavish tour busses with two living rooms and bunks in them, the trips to Jamiaca – where one would stay, paid, for two weeks while there was only one night to perform, the Keisha Cole incident where she gifted him an eleven thousand dollar low-rider bicycle because she had forgotten that she had it, and how R. Kelly is the worst diva of all of the divas. After being thoroughly bested by his stories – I made a feeble attempt at entertaining him by describing being a junior high teacher in East Oakland when Too Short and Keak da Sneak came to school for a talk – and he gave me the “that's nice” look and pursed-lipped “mmm hmmm.” But I think inside, he was dying of boredom.
At any rate, the man who now I wish I was kept Isla entertained with pictures of his own kids, and basically with animated speech for the rest of the flight. We arrived in Phoenix to a host of paramedics, and I finally got to see Tegan again, who upped me on the dancer's condition, which was scared, and uninsured, but she thought basically OK. The layover was two and a half horrendous hours of waiting where we realized that with the new independence and new cold Isla got before we left, that she had turned into a really loud toddler who screams when things aren't exactly her way... which in itself wouldn't be so bad, if we knew what her way meant.
I will refrain from going into details about the flight from Phoenix to Lehui, but I will just say that apparently we went backwards, because going to Phoenix added an hour to a normally five hour flight. And even though Isla slept for three of the six, the other three made the flight one that I would rather not repeat – oh wait, we have to go back.
So – we arrived in Lehui around 2 PM, Hawaii time – by now both of us are exhausted from no sleep and constant baby wrangling. The first thing Isla does on her own in Hawaii is sprint from my grasp at the car rental place – spin a nice pirhouette into the glass door, fall down and get bruise number 3 on her forehead. Awesome. We drive post-haste in our rented silver PT cruiser to the hotel and hot-foot it to a barbecue place because we are both starving. By the way – did anybody else know that they stopped giving out even snacks on flights? Ridiculous. OK. Now, food in stomach, headache receding, shave ice with macadamia nut icecream number one consumed, we feel halfway decent. Isla is of course, her usual outgoing self, and has made friends with a number of locals and tourists alike – one of whom, a tattooed grungy looking man with missing teeth, stopped to serenade her with a surprisingly well-intoned version of a Jack Johnson song, which she listened to with great interest.
Now refreshed, but still tired, we slung bathing suits on and hit the pool, while Hawaii tried its best to be the bay area for us with grey skies and wind – but we would not be dissuaded. Isla loved the pool, as is to be expected now – and with her blow up starfish floatee thingy. She was a swimming fool.
After the pool – bedtime the first night. I fell asleep at 8 – the girls had been asleep for two hours already.

March!

Wow. I really suck at this whole updating thing. I also simultaneously just wrote that and realized that there are probably a crapzillion people who say the same thing every day on their blogs - and not only do I truly suck at updating, and thus writing, but I am overwhelmingly sheep-like in my admittance of such. What a twerp. Which is now my newest favorite word.

So I am sitting here listening to The Knife and contemplating things. I just talked to my brother, who reminded me of two of these contemplative things.
1 - I have a blog. Shit. So now I'm writing in it again.
2 - Oblivion for Xbox360 is the coolest, most ridiculously awesome piece of technology invented since the four player Golden Axe video game at the bowling alley that gave you two plays for one quarter if you hit it on the side while you deposited said quarter.

I think I logged over 170 hours playing this game. What is way better than that, however, is that after beating the actual game, all the side quests, and every other nerdy thing I could do to be 100% complete, I still have played over 50 hours. Here's how: I am a packrat. Literally. I collect things no matter what they are. In the virtual awesomeness that is Oblivion, I have degenerated into a psychotic collector. Keep in mind as I relate to you what I have been spending my time doing, that I DO NOT HAVE ANY REASON TO CONTINUE PLAYING THIS GAME.

Ok. So I have this castle, right. It's a pretty cool castle and everything, with awesome curtains and my own little herb garden so that I can heal my various ailments as I go galavanting off into the wilds of Oblivion with NOTHING to do. There are also many rooms, including a store-room in the basement of this castle, where my dirty little secret lives. In this room, I have amassed a collection of mindbogglingly boring proportions. I have chests, and drawers, and armoirs, and desks, and barrels and many other containers down here so that I can fill them with the random crap that I have been collecting. You see, in this game there are various items you can pick up - from weapons to clothes to food and drink. I have collected it all. In copious amounts. Disgustingly copious. Just one example I will share so as not to embarrass myself further: In one barrel (of the close to 35 or 40 BARRELS - not to mention all the other crap there is to store stuff in ) in the northeastern corner of the basement in my idyllic abode there rests 324 wheels of cheese. Every one of those wheels of cheese was placed into the barrel by me on one of my cheese expeditions. which happened right after the pot pie expedition or the brown suede shoes expedition - I can't exactly remember. The point is, I should be banned from playing games where you can collect things and put them in containers. That, and I am insane.

February

Oh man, it's time for updates. The next few updates will be organized, because of course, nothing else in my life is. The categories will be: Family, School, Music, and Miscellany.

Family

This will be sub-categorized into sections for your viewing ease and pleasure. Think of it like notes for a test.
I Baby
A. Walking: Most important of all, Ms. Thang, AKA my little pooter face is now
ambulating with the best of them (if the best of them take teetery steps
before faceplanting into the carpet). I received the phone call in the
middle of class, upon hearing which I jumped up and down and told my awesome
little 8th graders the news. "You can't have cell phones in school, said
Karla." I replied, "You are a jerk head. My baby just walked, plus I'm the
teacher, I can do whatever I want. Eat that." After teaching the rest of the
day with a permanent cheesetastic smile, I went home. Upon opening the door,
said pooter face looked at me, exclaimed "Da!" and took 3 rapid steps, ending
in tragedy, of course, as her first attempt to make it into my waiting arms
was thwarted by a plastic fire engine and that bastard gravity.

B. So Big: She has learned three new awesome things, this is the second. When
she is cavorting on the carpet doing the things babies do, she can be
interrupted by few things. One is small puffy snacks with various flavorings
that I like to call "baby crack." Another is by pointing at something,
anything really, and saying "what's that?" To which she'll reply "Da?" and
whine until you bring the object to her, or her to the object, depending of
course on the steadfastness or mobile nature of the object in question. The
third, and my favorite way to distract is to say: "How big is Isla?" She
will stop whatever she is doing, give you a patented saucy smile and throw
her arms high into the air to a chorus of "sooooo big!" by anyone in the room
who is in the know. I love this. It is my daddy crack.

C. Kisses: She learned how to kiss. I am the winner, and will save every one
of them for when she turns 13 and refuses to do anything but curse my name
silently into her pillow between choking sobs because I won't allow her to
date her 17 year old crush named Bruce who has a rat tail haircut and
listens to crappy 2022 house music without even being ironic. I hate
Bruce. I love baby kisses though.

D. The Poopiest Day ever: Was three days ago at Babies 'R Us. I was in line,
minding my own business on what was an unusually busy day at the BRU. My
thoughts were on the kickass skorts outfit I just bought Isla with a teacup
picture on it, and how I could possibly coordinate with such a fabulous
ensemble when I first heard the rumbling. It sounded roughly like an
approaching thunderstorm, although I'm pretty sure those are not standard
fare in your average Babies R Us. No, this was guttural, literally. I
prepared myself for the olfactory onslaught of poopiness, but was in no way
ready for the preposterous ordeal which was to come. The purposefulness with
which my little stinky angel set about doing this deed was, in retrospect,
pretty freaking awesome. She steeled her jaw and neck with determination and
really just went for it. About ten seconds later and it was over. It did
smell, and I gave a knowing smile to the 7 million people in line with me
this day, I mean, they all know the deal, right? At this point, a kindly
soul occupying the spot in front of me in line pointed out that "your baby
is dripping."
"My baby is fucking dripping? Oh fuck, oh no! Jesus, help me!" I thought.
"Thank you." I said, however, and calmly dripped my way into the parking lot
where I had thankfully stored the diaper bag, which I usually forget on such
forays. The poop juice was now visibly dripping from her pants leg, and was
smeared all over my jacket. In order to save my beautiful upholstery from
disaster, I decided to re enter the store, to use their Daddy friendly
changing table. Once I had embarked upon the changing adventure, with her
securely strapped into the table and screaming, I realized a few Awful, Awful
details about my situation.
1. the poop was literally everywhere but the diaper.
2. i had no wipes.
3. the bathroom was full of vaguely sympathetic dudes.
To end this rant, I will say I made good use of some wet paper towels, I'm
sure there is still poop on the ceiling of that Babies R Us, and my favorite
jacket is now the foulest piece of clothing I own. Whee.


II Wife
A. Back: My poor Athena of a wife was lifting a 350 pound elephant of a woman
at the hospital a few weeks ago, and tweaked her spine. Something I can't
pronounce happened to a vertebrae or two - and thanks to muscles
"compensating," AKA running from the pain, she now bears an uncomfortable
likeness to Igor from Young Frankenstein. This should be funny. It's not.
here's why.
1. She can't lift over 5 pounds. that means the baby. or pretty much
anything else important.
2. She did a gazillion things around here that I never even thought
happened until I had to be responsible: "what do you mean? I
thought that clean socks just appeared in my drawer every week..."
3. Constant pain + no pain killers because of breast feeding = suck.

B. Front: Still good, don't trip.



enough for now, stay tuned for next updates forthcoming.

Bonk

After weeks and weeks of asking for trouble, it finally found me in the form of rapidly descending baby. Look, I DO have a monitor, and I DO run to check her all the time - just this time she woke up silently, I didn't hear a peep... until.

It was around 11:00 - after her first nap. She must have been sitting up and reaching for the cat - all I heard was a "Whap!" sound. Or maybe it was more of a "Whump!" Hmmm... It was definitely the sound of a thanksgiving turkey dropped on the cement from a porch. Then, silence.

I bounded from the couch, hurtled the baby gate and tore upstairs like a cartoon catfight.

There she was, laying on her poor innocent tiny back, face frozen in Han Solo Cryptonite horror. Still no sound. I picked her up and braced myself, checking her limbs for plasticity and movement. A good 10 seconds passed before the most gigantic intake of oxygen to which I have ever borne witness rushed to her lungs. I imagine it to be similar to the sound a pelican must hear just before being sucked into a 747 engine.

Now, imagine if you will, sitting on top of a fire engine as its siren blares. With headphones on connected to a smoke detector amplified by Jimi Hendrix's distorted Marshall stack. during a thunderstorm. Ok. Thank you for imagining. It was louder than that.

Her wail was more like a proclamation than a cry. A rumpus vociferation, per se. She began on a mid octave C, rising to a crecendo at a high E or possibly G - It was hard to hear through my ruptured eardrums. This wail lasted until the last of her oxygen was expended, then was repeated four times.

After the fourth and final shriek, she abruptly stopped and pulled back from me, staring accusingly with tear streaked eyes. "I'm so sorry, baby!" I supplicated - to which she raised one finger, almost lazily, to point at my nose.

"ahh cha." she said, definitively. It was a demand.

"ok," I said. and gave her my best fake sneeze.

up until this point in my life I have never heard the triple inhaled sob breath interrupted by a giggle.

but then again, I've never been a dad before.

Dramamine

Somewhere around 1996 I heard a song called Dramamine by modest mouse. I was sitting on the floor of a dorm room in Berkeley and a kid had a copy of the song on 7" vinyl. I remember that this was one of the defining musical moments of my life. The song was a beautiful revolution. It was a hydra, a cerberus. At the time, I wasn't able to articulate what it was that was so incredibly profound about the song, so instead I just stole the record. Amen.







Then, earlier this year I came across this Sun Kil Moon album called "tiny cities." It features eleven songs - all of which are modest mouse covers. The folked down version of dramamine took me back to the floor of that dorm room, waiting for the tenant's attention to wane, and slipping the cool black disc under my shirt. I still have it, no sleeve, no liner, just a scratched up copy of a brilliant song. Thanks dude, I hope you didn't miss it too much.

The year was 1973

The man, Bill Withers.

This song is a live version - It's ridiculous.

"Ain't no sunshine when she's gone"

Her smile lights up city blocks
and she only has four teeth
she's finicky and aloof
like a cat
but hides her face in my shirt
and calls me kitty
which is kidspeak
for superfather

I feel like the worlds biggest ass
then
as I drop her off
with some bottles
and a pathetic wave
"bye baby"
I say

"kitty"
she says.

this time it means
the sun stops shining
for the next 8 hours
hurry up before your
chlorophyll heart shrivels

I'll be here when you get back
to hide my face in your shirt
and breathe some sunshine
back into your chest

dada

Get By

Talib Kweli is widely acknowledged as being an underrated and under appreciated emcee, who despite attempts to break into the mainstream on MTV, the Chappelle show, and even basketball commercials, remains an underground staple. Or, perhaps, stapled to the underground.

My favorite song of his (barring the whole Black Star album) is "Get By" from 2002. The song was produced by Kanye West years before he was the vuitton backpack sporting mogul he is today - and he used the best piano sample I have ever heard on a song.

It's been 7 years and I still can't get the song out of my head.

You can't save them all

This post is dedicated to Oscar Grant.

This night let us toast the memory
of a young father
with shattered champagne glass windows
and burning tires

Let us honor his last words
uttered with such force
for his four year old daughter
they painted the grey cement pink where he lay

With kicked in windshields
47 dollars
from a laundromat register
and a thizzelle dance
atop a honda civic

Who the fuck
do you think you are
Oakland

dont you see your children
watching?
little minds making connections
violence makes violence

when a people feel powerless
they steal it from among themselves
transferring oppression
through pathetic violence

The panthers would be sick
to see
we're teaching their kids
the language of victim

Your wallet is a gun
we say
treat it as such

Your life is expendable
we say
treat it as such

Tourette's 09

Tonight's show was one of the better shows I've seen at the new Metro in Oakland (3rd and Jefferson). The poets were few and all good, the Freestyle battle didn't have a horribly wack rapper in it, and I didn't get anything thrown at me. Fucking excellent.

Highlights:
45+ year old Burlesque dancer who was hilarious - on purpose.
Jelly Donut making it to the finals in the Freestyle battle... dressed as a honey bee. Seriously.
Seeing a kid I used to teach (his name is Washington - I think he goes by 2dub or something) get to the semifinal bout in the Battle - and he's only 16
hearing a decent breakup poem and throwing on "take these broken wings" by Mr. Mister
playing "no rain" by Blind Melon as soon as I saw dude dressed up like a bee
The Kill Whitey game in which D silence and Dre shot the audience with nerf projectiles while "Welcome to the Terrordome" was blasting in the background.

I'm positive some of the cacophony will be youtubed so get there.

Bowie

When I woke up this morning I was singing "the man who sold the world" in my head - there's a part of the chorus that goes "oh no, not me, I never lost control." I don't really know why it was stuck in my head, but there it was.

So I wonder then, if I ever found myself face to face with the man who sold the world, would he look like Leonard Nimoy? I hope so. Then I would be able to enter my servitude with quiet contentment.

Happy Birthday tomorrow David Bowie.

Van McCoy

A man named Van McCoy would be celebrating his birthday today, that is if he wasn't dead. You should listen to his first single circa 1959: Mr. DJ



before you know that he is responsible for "the hustle."



Damn you disco. damn you to hell.

Day one. AKA back at school, chea.

Well, looks like I'm joining the blogosphere. I suppose there's no other reason than I simply need to write consistently, if I don't, I won't. Get it? This post will be divided into three subsections: SCHOOL, BABY, and MUSIC. Why? I don't know, shut up.

SCHOOL
Today was the first day back from winter break at school (school being United for Success Middle School in East Oakland). I was apprehensive as hell to get back into the grind after two weeks of doing basically nothing at all, besides watching my baby - to be discussed later. When I walked in, though, the vibe was conspicuously awesome. I was wishing all my favorite thugettes and ne'erdowells a happy new year and getting high and low fives like they grew on trees. Beautiful. In class we had soppy Christmas stories to share: "Over break, my Aunty got arrested 'cuz she ran over her boyfriend with her car!" Awww.
To make it better - Mondays are Art days, so everybody was blissfully shaping Lil Waynes and Randy Mosses out of red clay with our resident Museum of Children's Art Artist while I got to go shoot the shit with my students about whatever (my favorite thing to do). So far, I learned from Cecilia that I can "go hard" and "beast" at the same time, but only if my shoes are brand new, and since my Dunks are pretty "Bootsy" and "hurt" right now, I really need to get fitted quick. Also, I learned that Dulce de Leche candies are HELLA GOOD if they come from Mexico as a present.

Then the day went to crap. Let me sum it up like this, since I don't feel like dwelling on the negative: One kid popped an Ecstasy pill at PE and, never having done Ecstasy before, freaked out. Hard. Only, his freaking out to me, who is not looking for symptoms of Ecstasy usage at 10 AM on a monday morning in 13 year olds, took his lolling about and looking forlorn as being just "sick" as he said he was. So, I sent him on his merry way to the office with a note to call mom and go home. An hour or so later, and his mom was up at school, threatening everybody with horrible things (as would I if my kid came home on E) and trying to physically assault some other students in my class. Fun Times.

Plus I forgot my lunch and all they gave me at school for the school lunch was a corn dog with no stick and 6 french fries. I'm not kidding. I wish I was. Good lord. That's enough about school.




BABY:

My baby girl Isla is 9 months old now, and is all over the place. She doesn't quite crawl, though, she does this scuttlebug thing where she sits upright, throws her body forward, then steps with her right foot and drags her left foot under her like it has atrophied terribly and she can't quite force it to do what it should. It's cute. Cute like retarded puppies. Speaking of which, somehow our puppy, a shit huahua (literally and figuratively), can make her laugh way more than either I or my wife can... that's demeaning. Her favorite pasttimes include: calling everything kitty, eating egg yolk, eating string cheese, smearing said egg yolk and string cheese on everything, then calling it kitty, screaming for no apparent reason, then smiling when I get worried, and pooping. All kinds of pooping.
Over the break I bought her a rocking horse, a genuine 60's or 70's rocking horse with pastel pinks and blues all over it, and a really cool fire truck that makes really cool fire truck noises and screeches to a halt. She has alphabet blocks and wooden dolls and stuffed animals and rattles and all kinds of brightly colored plastic crap that I don't understand. But everytime she sits on the floor, only one thing gets her attention - the chewed rawhide dogbone. These should be cathartic moments for me, where I realize that possessions are pointless and everything, but they're not. They're just gross moments to me, where I realize that my baby daughter has soggy pieces of slobbery rawhide bone in her mouth.



MUSIC:

I've been listening to lots and lots of really good music lately. I'll save that for another post. And, after getting sucked in to the Serato Revolution for DJing, I can save my vinyl to listen to at home as well as add way more to my set when I perform.

I have two things to say about music at this moment. 1. There were like a zillion good songs recorded in Brazil from 1960-1979. 2. If Lil Wayne has three tears on his face, does that really mean he killed three folks in prison, and if so, was it because they ate his pizza pockets? This kind of stuff keeps me up at night. Good night Lil Wayne.