Year of writing 329

12/27/12

Christmas has come and gone, and the one thing that Miles plays with most is a harmonica that I found in a box of my old stuff.  There is nothing cuter than a toddler walking around with a harmonica clenched between his teeth, lending music to his breath.  I approve.

Year of writing 328. A computer death.

12/22/12


Right after I made my pre-new years resolutions, my poor overworked macbook died.  I learned a lot about myself in that moment - not the least of which being my emotional attachment to a machine.  Mostly I just learned I don't take setbacks really well.  At any rate, blog posts will be sporadic until I get a new computer soon.  I have a lot to make up, and will do my best to document the holidays as I go.

Year of writing 326. Motivation.

12/11/12

It's getting close to the end of this year of writing, I intend to do 365, even though that wont end January 1, where this started, due to some recent fits and starts for the blog.  However, I would like to set out some things I'd like to be better at next year - I'll revisit this on the first to see if I still feel the same.


- I'd like to spend more time one on one with Isla, playing her games, and letting her be in charge for a while.  It's tough to be second to the baby for everything from where we go, to what I can do.  I can make time as he gets older to be just her daddy too.

- I'd like to get familiar with Ableton live and create music for our Wild Stallion sets.  That seems like the next logical step for us.  I'd also like to get some gigs in Santa Barbara where there's more people.

- I'd like to set up a poetry slam here in Ojai, just to make a team for me to go to Nationals again.

- I'd like to be more involved in Isla's school, to go help out, do whatever they need done.

- I'd like to really be proactive about my shoulder injury and get back to exercising more.

Year of writing 325. Great-Grandpa

12/10/12

I've been helping my Grandpa with his memoir over the past few years, and he's almost completely done.  He's an extremely motivated man, who very, very rarely fails to finish what he sets out to accomplish, so I'm not surprised.  Today I took video of him talking to one of his best friends about what friendship means over the course of 50 years or so.  Listening to these two men talk, share stories, and laugh was amazing.  They both have such a deep respect for one another that was apparent through every spoken sentence.  One interesting thing to me is that my Grandfather could speak for hours about the business venture he started at 7 years old, selling Muskrat skins to a shop that turned around and made them into the fur lining for bomber jacket collars, but he could scarcely recall one significant detail about his most recent business dealings.  I could attribute it to his Parkinson's disease, but I think it's not the right thing to do.  I think that more accurately, as we get older, and realize what is truly important to us, those events that imprinted on us these important things become clearer, while the end result, the "stuff" we end up with becomes less and less worth remembering.  My grandfather is a lover of lessons, both receiving and giving them, and I think these are what he holds dear to his heart.  These lessons of manhood, of life, of friendship, and of love.

Year of writing 324. The sickness.

12/10/12

I haven't written since Wednesday because at 3:30 AM Thursday morning, after a horrendous night of sleep, due to Isla's refusal to adapt to the norms of sleeping 4 year olds, I woke up (literally) in the act of sprinting to the bathroom with vomit nearly escaping my clenched lips.  It came out of nowhere, and everybody got it.  I know Isla came down with the stomach flupocalypse first, but I thought I was immune to that.  Nope.  So, for the last four or five days, either I, Tegan, Isla or Miles has been puke-tacular.  I'm just now getting my legs back. 

On top of all that, I had to do a show on Saturday, which was actually not that big of a deal, and a really good show, until the end when some dude started waving a knife around.  Oh, my life sometimes.

Year of writing 323.

12/5/12

Today I went to every place I used to work in Ojai, completely by accident.  It was scary.  I think I might have entered the twilight zone.  It started with the hardware store, that used to be Double J market, where I would "work" but mostly attempt to steal six packs of beer by putting them in the crates out back.  I chickened out almost every time.  Then, I went to Jolly Kone for lunch, where I once manned the fry station, and where the fry station once burned the crap out of my face.  The Jolly Kone is still the only job I've ever been fired from, they said I was giving away too much ice cream.  Finally, I ordered a pizza from Ojai Pizza, where I used to drive all around the valley, smelling like tomato sauce and garlic.  Needless to say I gave the driver a big tip.

year of writing 322. Soccer.

12/4/12

Tuesdays are Isla's soccer days, and due to the rad setup I have with my cousin, I have missed the last 6 weeks or so of her classes.  Today my cousin needed a break, so I took the girls to practice.  I think this might be one of those times when a person realizes that their child is growing up right before their eyes.  It's not very often when I can see a drastic increase in ability, since I see my kids all day every day, but today at soccer my baby girl was all growed up.  She used to stand and wait with the ball when the coach would play "come get me" games, but this time, she was dribbling with both feet and really launching the ball at the coach. 

This coach is awesome too - he is British with an accent and affect that screams "mediocre semi-pro player who blew out his knees early!"  But, he's awesome with the kids, pretending to be a pirate, race car, winnie the pooh, or whatever it takes to get 4 year olds motivated to kick a ball, which shouldn't be that hard, now that I think about it.  But it is.

Year of writing 321. Scott Free.

12/3/12

I have mentioned before how much I dislike going to "meet and greet" things anywhere, much less at Isla's school where for some reason my awkwardness always takes over completely, and the rich stay at home moms all treat me like a homeless rat.  It's not like I'm bitter or anything, though.  Anyway, I avoid these get togethers like the plague, unless it's something that Isla would miss out on because of my own issues.  Then, I man the eff up and handle biz.   

This brings us to today's "Caroling get-together"  apparently the kids all are supposed to go to school around 6 PM and get on a bus to go Christmas caroling at an old folks home and a couple other places.  Meanwhile, the parents are relegated to the library for coffee and "chatting."  I broached the topic with Isla, who said caroling sounded "great," much to my chagrin.  So, I resigned myself to an evening of awkward small talk and warm eggnog.  Just then, Isla's teachers walked by the car, and on a whim, I asked them what this caroling thing was all about, and how many preschoolers went.  She replied something to the effect of "Oh, preschoolers shouldn't go - it's too late at night and they are usually really shy."  Thanks, teachers.

I broke the news to Isla, whose lack of emotional response gave away her lack of passion about the whole situation in the first place.  Meanwhile in my head I was cheering, and applauding the near tragedy I avoided.  Ahh, sweet introversion. 

Year of writing 320. Miles Update.

12/2/12

Miles needs an update.  Here's what's new -

1.  This boy babbles non-stop.  He sounds a little bit like how one would imagine a concerned turkey would sound.  Only funnier.

2.  Miles is scared of lots of stuff, but it isn't anything that makes sense, like monsters or dinosaurs or anything like that.  He is scared of (in order of descending horror)  a: gloves - any kind of gloves.  He literally loses his shit when he sees a glove on the ground.  b: dog paws, but only dog paws from a large black lab/ vizsla mix named Riley.  Miles will sit and scream at this dog's paws until we take him away.  c: Baboon puppets - this has only been verified once, but it was absolutely horrifying when it happened.

3.  He now does animal noises - horse is my favorite, with him sticking his tongue out and giving a raspberry.

4.  He sleeps with Princess Leia.  Case Closed. 

Year of writing 318 - 19. Ah, yes. More puke.

11/30/12 - 12/01/12


Friday started off awesome.  A friend came over with his brother and made huevos rancheros while entertaining Miles.  It was super rad.  Then, I grabbed Isla from school and watched her play with her cousin Paulo in the playground for a couple hours, also super rad.  I made an awesome white bean soup for dinner, and kicked it hard, watching Homeland then fell asleep.  Damn - this day seems rad.


Saturday also started off great - found DJ equipment for cheap at a garage sale, had a clean house, Isla played at her cousin's again, had an amazing Eastern European meal at my sister's (no thanks to my god-awful attempt at Polish knot cookies).  - everything is awesome.  Until about 40 minutes ago.  That's when Miles puked.  His puke used to be cute little baby puke that you just sorta wipe up and continue on your business.  This evening, his little belly was full of cabbage and sausage - not the nicest combination to saturate one's sheets and bedclothes.  Once he was disrobed and the bed undone, Isla began to wail like a mountain lion with it's tail caught in an electrified pencil sharpener (it's a thing).  She was distraught like I've never seen - while Tegan was trying to be nurse mom for Miles, Isla would not accept any solace from me.  When I tried to comfort her, I got kicked and hit for my efforts.  Not fun - and in the end, when Tegan was finally able to calm her down, the reason for the mega-tantrum was "You are two rooms away, that's too far!"  Some days you feel like a super parent, and some days you just try and survive.  Ah yes, more puke indeed.

Year of writing 317. Bleccchhhh.

11/28/12

This afternoon I was in a great mood.  Miles had been insane since we were cooped up in the house due to the rain, but was chillin' hard in the car listening to some old Sam Cooke while we drove to pick up Isla from school.  We got there early, she was in her cooking class where they read a book, then cook something related - this time it was pigs in a blanket.  I glanced in the window of her preschool room and noticed her sitting happily at the table with the kids waiting for the food to be served.  So, Miles and I walked around for awhile in the drizzling rain, checking out the playground and some little sculptures.  When I went back to check if the kids were done, I noticed through the window that Isla wasn't sitting at the little table, and the teacher was frantically waving me in.  Turns out, Isla had thrown up all over the table, which didn't seem to deter the rest of the kids, who were contentedly chowing on their pastry-wrapped hotdogs.  I went over to the bathroom, and there was isla, getting a new outfit courtesy of her teacher from the lost and found box.  She was a little green, and said her tummy hurt, so I gave her a big hug and said we'd go home, get some 7 up and some soda crackers and curl up in front of a movie. 

In the car, I gave her a plastic bag and said if her mouth felt funny, to hold it open and throw up inside there.  Now I don't know about you, but throwing up for me is an intense experience, there's tears and snot and heaving and "no, no, no nonononononono's"  right before the eruption of stomach contents.  This is not true for Isla, who apparently can puke mid-sentence, then continue once the convulsion is over.  She threw up in the bag, then, proud of her accomplishment, told me that she did so, only to have her sentence interrupted by a huge spewing of dried mango and yogurt, that missed the bag completely and probably filled the entire carseat.  This was my day.

Don't worry, Isla's fine. 

Year of writing 315. Wisdom of youth.

11/27/12

My facebook status as of today was a gem from Isla again: 

Isla:"Daddy, the only thing that matters about a person is what they do."
Me: "What do you mean?" Isla: "what I said! it doesn't matter who you are, just the things you do are really you."
Me: " I think I get it."
Isla: "look daddy, I just know what I know. It is a lesson maybe you'll learn later."

Sometimes I marvel at the things this little girl says.  She later told me that her statement stemmed from Strawberry Shortcake, specifically an episode entitled Strawberella (which is apparently a version of Cinderella).  I could have done without the reference material, but if that is what she's getting from TV, I suppose I could be a lot worse off.  She could be watching "Bratz Babiez" which is a real thing featuring animated infant hoochie mamas wearing glitter makeup and miniskirts, basically talking like stereotypical valley girl mallrats from the 80's. 

 

Year of writing 314.

11/27/12

As I write this, my daughter and I are sitting on the couch watching "the Grinch."  She is four, mind you, and has spent the entire first half of the movie explaining to me why he is not really a bad character, he is trying to save Christmas from a town that has forgotten that it's not just about presents and money.  Plus, he's funny because he hit himself in the head with a hammer. 

This girl is awesome.

Year of writing 313. Back to it.

11/26/12

If every day was as easy as it was today, this stay at home thing would be a breeze.  We woke up late, nobody stressed, Isla ate her breakfast in the car without wiping it all over herself and the baby, & got off to school without a hitch.  Then Miles and I went to Ventura without him once pooping his pants, throwing a fit, or trying to eat his shoes.  He slept for two hours while I read a book. A BOOK!  Then we headed over and picked up Isla and Zia for gymanstics, where the girls tumbled giddily while Miles played serenely in the sandbox at the park outside and angels fed me grapes while I lounged in the uncharacteristic November sun.  Yeah, it was a good day.

Year of writing 312. The thanksgiving break.

11/25/12

After a visit with my Grandma this break, I have made an executive decision to recommit to this blog.  If for nothing else than that she can read it and laugh at my mishaps as a stay at home dad (or commiserate, whatever the case may be).

This week definitely had its ups and downs like any good rollercoaster - we decided to leave the loving arms of our families, who have smothered us with love and kindness for the last 6 months since moving down here, to visit some well-missed friends in the Bay.  We've found that the best way to travel with our kids, as well as maximize the time we get in a place is to leave around 4 AM, so the kids will sleep.  Yeah, not so much this time.  I finally finished packing up around 1 AM, slept til 4 and hit the road.  Isla settled back into her carseat and immediately asked for Disney songs on the stereo - now, I'm not exactly a musical snob or anything, but princess songs at 4 in the morning are a little bit like rubbing broken glass mixed with lemon juice in your eyeballs.  This unfortunately means that princess songs at 4 in the morning on three hours sleep is worse than that.  We did OK, besides being tired as hell, and cruised into Oakland around 11:30 in the morning.

The first day was a really nice time, seeing friends and reconnecting.  I do really miss the bay area and all of its diversity, cuisine and awesome people.  I do not really miss the traffic, or the crowds AT ALL.  In the early afternoon I had to pick up our awesome turkey at Whole Foods, so I drove down the block, lamenting how close everything is in Oakland, until I ran into the line of about 30 cars waiting to get into the parking lot.  The market was Pre-Thanksgiving chaos.  Around 20 security guards were directing traffic in the most aggressive way I've ever witnessed - I saw one burly dude screaming into an elderly woman's car, berating her for not moving fast enough out of her parking place.  I was more than a little scared, wondering if my maneuvers were good enough for these monsters.   I did finally get into the store, however, and while it was like being at a sold-out concert minus the music or fun, I got out with only minor cuts and bruises and a 17 pound turkey.

We decided to brine the turkey, which required wrestling it out of the package, washing it (upon which I discovered that the heart was still attached to the inside of the bird, and removed it with my hand, holding it aloft like some crazed caveman, then promptly grossing myself out so much I had to take a little break).  Then, I had to wrestle the turkey into a brining bag, which is somewhat like trying to fetch a naked toddler out of the bath, and into the fridge.

This would have been the start to a beautiful Thanksgiving.  Then, Tegan caught an overnight flu.  My poor wife spent the entire day shivering with a fever on the couch, while we made the meal.  At least she did get to eat. 

Highlights of the rest of the trip include:

1) Leftover turkey, sweet potato curry put together by Janey
2) Our friends' kid who is precociously verbose, making a joke out of a nonsense word "Pite" then using it as an inside joke the rest of the trip
3)  Seeing my old student, Christsna when we went out to eat.
4) Reconnecting with my old college roommate and his girlfriend for drinks.
5)  Spending precious time with my grandma at her house in Walnut Creek
Lowlights:
1)  Being sick
2) Missing out on seeing people - especially an old teaching partner I was excited to see
3) The drive back with insane children.
4)  Snot.

Year of writing 311. Fairy time.

11/14/12


Isla's Wednesdays away from school have gotten into a rhythm, which is pretty rad.  We wake up in the morning, do a couple chores, then head out to get breakfast at the coffee shop.  Isla gets a bagel & cream cheese or a muffin and some hot chocolate, and Miles throws shit on the floor.  But it's still cool just to hang out with my kids at a coffee shop on a Wednesday morning.  Then we walk over to the park and play for a while, go to the library and check out some new books and it's back home so Miles can nap.  Usually, this is where the day breaks down, because it's as far as I plan.  However, today Zia came over before Miles woke up for his nap - the girls played for a bit, then when he woke up, we decided to go to the rocketship park.  (check earlier entries for verification). 

At the park, the girls were occupied from 1:00 to 3:30, playing a game where they each took turns being different kinds of fairy, then gathering whatever supplies a fairy of this genre would need for a party.  For example, Isla started as the grass fairy, so she made a big pile of grass.  At first Zia allowed herself to be ordered into a fairy class, and ended up the "sand fairy," so she sat despondent in the sandbox until she realized she could make the rules as well, and ended up being a leaf fairy, then gathering huge Maple leaves until there was a big enough pile.  I was the dirt fairy, the litter fairy, and in my lowest moment, the dog poop and diaper fairy.  I guess I had to take one for the team. 

Year of writing 310. Work

11/13/12


My hands bear a good hurt,
a deep soreness at the base of the thumb,
this is what work feels like.

Shovels and dirt and rust and hammers
I've become out of practice, my hands
preoccupied with rest and comfort.

I don't miss the cuts, the nicks and scrapes
until they're back.  I don't miss the ache
until it's throb knocks at the doors of my bones.

Year of writing 309. I can do this.

11/12/12

I don't have any excuses for not updating for the last six days.  Nothing has happened that should have precluded me writing, in fact, nothing of note happened at all.  That shouldn't have stopped me from writing, actually, that's usually when the best writing happens.  I just had writers block and couldn't get out of my own head enough to power through it. 

Looking at a blank screen sometimes is the scariest thing I do.  Even knowing that I am doing this ultimately for myself, (and my children, if I ever dare show them) I sometimes can't bring myself to commit to the words I write down.  I hit the backspace button after every word, second guessing each sentence.  In fact, it's happening now as I'm writing these words down - but I'm going to finish this entry this time.

So catching up to today - I had a horrendous DJ experience turn decent after epic malfunctions, I watched guys cut down our dead tree, helped a friend find a poem to read at a funeral, and found out that my house is hella cold in the winter time.  There's no gas to our house, which means no heat.  Which leads to today.

Today I dug a ditch.  Seriously.  Again.  I was trying to find a gas line that we cut off when we were doing all the work on the house in the beginning.  I found it, it took a couple hours of digging while Isla played in the sawdust left over from the tree being cut down and Miles tried to eat cat poop.  When I got it all dug out, my dad came out and told me to fill it in again.  This is my life now.

At least I got to tear a wall down in the garage. I'll comment more if it works out.

Also, since Isla got a day off preschool for Veterans Day, my sister offered to take her to Wreck it Ralph with the cousins - any smidgeon of time occupied for a four year old will be cherished by me, so of course I said yes. 

I took the kids to Ventura and dropped Isla off at the movies with her Auntie.  Then I realized I had two hours to kill with a 14 month old who was already pissed off because he couldn't pull the steering wheel off his little stroller car thing.  I mean, I supposed it could have been residual cat poop ingestion, but that's a cop out in my opinion.  We tried going into a couple thrift stores, but I think his ego couldn't take it and he began wailing as soon as the grandpa smell hit him.  So, I instead went to this consignment mall store that sells collectibles and knick knacks.  I was looking for a She-Ra doll for Isla, who is now obsessed with that show, but no luck.  As I was leaving the store, Miles reached out and grabbed the lid of a Marilyn Monroe cookie jar on the end of a glass counter and launched it.  It slid the length of the counter and teetered on the other side, way too far for me to save.  Luckily, right then, a nimble good Samaritan happened to be walking by and saved the jar from falling.  As I thanked him, I noticed the price tag.  $549.00.  For a cookie jar.  Either Miles or I shit our pants immediately, I'm not telling who.

Year of writing 308. The Election.

11/6/12

I watched the election coverage last night on a bunch of channels: Fox News, MSNBC, CNN, DemocracyNow, ABC, The Drudge Report, The Huffington Post.   And here's my take on the whole thing: 

1. This political game we play has become so media saturated that people actually internalize the BS that comes out of all camps.

2.  I live in a "progressive state"  that fails to pass progressive policies.

3.  People get really, really mad when money they've used to back a candidate does not show a return.

4.  My daughter says:  "I will vote for brock obama because romney doesn't like girls."  If she's catching that vibe, maybe romney needs to brush up on his feminism.

5.  The kid that got up on stage with Obama sporting the Rakim high top fade from 1983 was so awesome I almost pooped my pants.

6.  While I'm glad I voted, so I could at least see prop 30 support education in CA, it was pretty anticlimactic to see California called like 15 seconds after the polls closed.

7.  Carl Rove is completely insane.  See #3.

8.  I love my family, and I hope everybody who was really upset about Romney not winning goes back and looks at the posts they made on facebook or otherwise after seeing that they're ok in four years and maybe rethinks the hateful drivel they've leveraged toward a man for no other apparent reason than he's black. 

Year of writing 307. The moth.

11/5/12

OK, I know I missed the weekend.  Don't worry about it, it was nothing to write home about.  Besides, I'm human, I can miss a weekend.


None of that is relevant however.  Ojai is a city of bugs, big bugs, little bugs, spiders, all kinds.  I forgot this until I moved back and have been on a neverending quest to end the lives of most of these.  It almost came back to me today. 

As I was taking a shower (our shower is an enclosed glass box in a tiny bathroom), I heard a noise - sort of like a shirt flapping in the wind.  I wiped the soap out of my eyes to find I was staring at a moth the size of a fucking sparrow beating its horrid wings around the light.  I froze in my glass prison, willing it to go back out the window, which seemed impossible due to the fact that this thing was a mutant moth from hell and couldn't possibly fit.  As I was contemplating how to escape this situation unmothed, the bastard dove from the light DOWN INTO THE SHOWER where I was cringing.  Suppressing the urge to curl into the fetal position, I reached quickly for the door handle, missed, slipped, and almost went headfirst through the glass, if I hadn't put one foot out for balance.  This moth had almost been the end of me, dear readers.  The end of the story is not even close to as good as the beginning  -  I escaped, and in all my naked glory, tried to find a smashing implement that would allow me to be at the furthest distance possible from this Silence of the Lambs extra.  However, upon my return to the bathroom I found it had escaped back into the Ojai night.  Hopefully never to be seen again.  Ever.

Year of writing 306. Friday .

11/2/12

To get back to some stay at home dad lessons - which I haven't done in a while - here's a list of stuff I need to remember for next time:

1.  Kids are only as patient as you are.  This means with zero sleep, you can expect madness from your little ones.  When you act a fool, there's no inverse correlation to how good your kids will be. That's just duh.

2.  Dress nicely.  For serious, I put on a shirt and tie this morning for the first time since stopping work, and people treated me so much better.  Even the stuck up mom who wrinkles her nose when I say good morning stopped and cooed over Miles in the parking lot this morning.  What the hell that is, I don't know, but  I'm milking it.

3.  If there is more than 36 hours between poops, don't over worry and take your kid to the emergency room, however be prepared for sheer pandemonium once that baby gets uncorked.  I believe this last one literally lifted Miles up off the floor when it was unleashed into his diaper.

4.  Isla is a univore.  She will eat only one thing.  It used to be pasta, now it's broccoli - go figure.

5.  The switch witch (invented to trade out kids' candy for a present of some kind left on the porch) is the best holiday gift character ever.  Isla had her candy for 2 days before she was itching to trade it in.  I get candy, she gets a toy.  Everybody wins.

Year of writing 305. The Day after.

11/01/12

There's nothing like sleeping 2 hours to make taking care of kids impossible.  Our DJ set at Azu last night was pretty epic, we closed the joint down - but that meant I wasn't in bed til 3, wasn't asleep til 4.  You know that you're really tired when your eyes feel like sandpaper at 10 in the morning.  Oh well, at least I know I can take a nap when Miles does.  That is, unless the second I fall asleep, I get the neighbor knocking on the door asking if I've seen a small black and white dog.  "Yeah, man - while I was sleeping in my house, I saw it running around in my dreams."  That's what I said in my head anyway.

year of writing 304. Halloween.

10/31/12

This year's Halloween was extremely eventful.  The day started off with Isla being able to participate in her preschool's party even though it wasn't her day to be at school. I made Tegan get her costume picked out and ready the night before, as I was witness to her meltdown last year trying to choose a costume for the day, and wanted to avoid all of that.  She decided on a "fairy cowgirl" costume.  That's fine, even though I had worked really hard to put together a rad Hermione Granger costume (by working hard, I mean pressing buttons on Amazon and Etsy, don't judge me).  So, when morning came, I thought we were good to go.  Yeah.  Right.  The cowgirl fairy costume was too "blue."  The princess costumes in her dress up box were too "itchy."  The Hermione costume wasn't pretty enough.  The Witch costume had too poofy a skirt.  About this time, we were already late for school, I had a huge migrane headache and I wanted to punt my sweet little daughter over the fence.  Finally, I pulled out a doctors' jacket Tegan had bought for her at her old job and convinced her how cool it would be to go as a doctor. 

Not only was it cool, it was a totally empowering costume.  Sweet.  We hopped in the car and headed to school. As we approached, Isla could see all the little kids milling around, and 9 out of every 10 girls were princesses.  I could see her physically sink deeper and deeper into her carseat, and I knew that this was going to be tough.  She did get out, however, and hiding behind my leg, made her way to the classroom.  As soon as we got inside the gate, a little girl yelled out "Isla, THAT's what you're wearing?  hahahahhahaha!"  and then ran away.  Shoving aside my desire to shove all of her plastic doctor accoutrements down this little shit's throat, I turned to Isla as tears started to roll down her face and said "That girl will never be able to be a doctor, don't worry."  It didn't work.  Her wonderfully nice teacher attempted to give her a princess costume that is in their dress up area, but it was again, "Too itchy"  so Isla just sulked in the corner.  Luckily, a sweet little boy named Finn saved the day when he shared his line leader duties with Isla, bringing her back into the fold. 

Like my wife told her when she got home, 20 years from now Isla, you'll look back on that decision to be a doctor in preschool with pride, and that little girl who yelled at you will probably be wearing sweatpants and 11 AM, eating tootsie rolls while she surfs the internet and throws the wrappers into her kids crib. Forget her.

Year of writing 303. The people from the bay.

10/30/12

It took one of my good friends visiting from the Bay down here to realize just how much I miss the Bay Area and all of its inhabitants.  When one moves from a place where one was living for the last sixteen years, building relationships and forming community, it's pretty shocking to pull up roots and move away.  Luckily we are in a place where there is built in community with family and old friends, but I still have to get my Bay fix every once in awhile.

Thank you to Joe and Hong for coming out with their baby boy and spending a night with us, catching up and doing what one does in Ojai - chilling hard.

Year of writing 302. Monday blues.

10/29/12

 Miles seems to get all Dilbert about Mondays.  His teeth hurt, he doesn't want to eat anything, but really wants to throw all his food on the ground, he seeks out anything dirty or disgusting and wipes it all over his face and hair, and generally acts outrageously.  This makes me think that perhaps people's widespread hatred of Mondays may perhaps be genetic, it may be in our DNA.  I don't have any empirical evidence as of yet, but I am conducting a double blind study in which I will attempt to convince Miles that Tuesdays are actually Mondays and see if anything happens.  Meanwhile, Isla will be given candy for breakfast lunch and dinner on Mondays, prepping her to love them, while her body will go into hypoglycemic shock on Tuesday.  This experiment is going to be so awesome.

Year of writing 301. Worst DJ night ever.

10/28/12

I've heard tale that the Ojai scene could get sketchy at times, but hadn't experienced it in the four months that the Wild Stallions have been gigging here.  That changed last night.  There were 5 people in the place, zero people on the dancefloor, and our dj setup kept malfunctioning.  That's all there is to say about it.

I guess Halloween weekend is a weird one in Ojai, with a lot of house parties and big draws from outlying cities, but we got the actual night on lock, hopefully Wednesday will kill this show dead.

Year of writing 300. roofing

10/28/12

When I woke up Saturday morning I had a vision of cleaning the gutters, since we had our first rain of the season last week, and I'm a homeowner (sort of) and all.  So I grabbed a ladder, went up to check it out, and noticed that not only were the gutters clogged with dirt, acorns, a small raccoon family, a hello kitty doll, and nameless other things, but the roof was covered with about 8 inches of oak leaves and acorns from the oak trees on either side of the house.   This was going to be a much longer affair than I had planned.  

"No matter," I thought, "I got this,"  I thought, and hopped in the car to borrow my stepdad's leaf blower.  5 hours and about 250 pounds of leaves, acorns and dirt later, I remember why I hate stuff like this.  I'm sore, tired, and coughing up acorns, but it does feel pretty good knowing I took care of something.

Year of writing 299. Prometheus.

10/26/12

This is my review of the movie "Prometheus."  If you haven't seen it, I'm going to spoil the shit out of it, so stop reading, or don't because it's not worth it anyway.

I was super excited to see this movie, although everybody I care about seemed to say it was bad.  I thought to myself, any movie that is an "Aliens" prequel about the origins of humanity has to be pretty freakin' good, regardless of dialogue issues I had heard about.  I was so wrong.  As the movie progressed, I started to come to the realization that it must have been written by two ten year old kids doing a fill-in-the-blanks script for an action movie.  The only thing missing was "It's quiet, too quiet," which probably was said during the part that I fell asleep. 

The giant alien things were pretty cool, but the biological weapon they developed, which turned out to not only be their undoing, but the origin of the Alien monster, was way too cliche.  They did nothing new with special effects or alien landscape, the setting could have been any martian movie, or even cave movie like the Descent.  Meh.  Don't waste your time on this one.

Year of writing 298. Waterbaby

10/25/12

Miles loves water.  In the mornings, we usually drop off Isla, go to the coffee shop and then walk down to the park where there is a big fountain.  He just likes to pull himself up on the ledge and point at the water.  The water is called "Gawg", as best I can discern.  However, this is probably not too accurate, as lights, the pull strings on ceiling fans, our cats, and the toilet are all also called "Gawg."

My cousin let me have her extra water play table and I finally picked it up today - as long as it is decently warm, my late afternoons will now consist of food prep while miles does this:  It's hard to hate my job sometimes.  Don't get me wrong, I find ways to complain - usually daily, but this is pretty freakin' cute.

Year of writing 297. Isla's story.

10/24/12

Isla's Story:

I was sailing on a raft and the sea was glittering white and I lay my head on my pillow.  I could hear waves going by, and the sea is swishing with darkness.  And, when I see the dolphins swim I jump in the water and swim and swim.  And I saw everything that was in the sea, like sea turtles and everything.  So, I did what most people do; go to soccer after I finished the boat ride.  As the stars sparkled and the moon gleamed, I sat there and looked at the sky.  I loved the view, but then it was time for bed.  I look at the moon while I lay in bed.  The moon looked like a slice of golden apple.  Then I fell asleep, but not until the morning.  And, I woke up three days later.  I slept for so long because I stayed up all night with the stars and the golden moon.  When I woke up, my hair was purple and my eyes were light blue.  My hair glittered in the sunlight, I loved the sunlight more than anything.  The golden sun came from the golden moon, it was sewed with golden buttons.  I held the golden apple in my hand and was so happy.  It was a piece of moon, and my eyes twinkled as the sun went down. My eyes were silver then, like mirrors.

The end.



Wow.

Year of writing 296. Monday

10/22/12


This will be short, because that's how I'm feeling. 

I don't think lamp shopping is an ideal way to spend the first Monday I've gotten to spend with my wife.  This, however, is in retrospect, in hindsight if you will.  It seemed like a great idea at the time.  Then, Miles happened and we walked laps through lamps plus like it was the paralyimpics. 

duh.

Year of writing 295. Best Show Ever.

Last night at the Jester in Ojai was the best by far.   TONS of people, all different types, all kinds of music, and the dance floor was packed from 10 til almost 2.  Ojai is coming up in the world.  Watch out Southern California.

year of writing 294. Homeland.

10/19/12

Tegan and I are addicted to the show Homeland.  I love that premium cable channels (and AMC) have gone nuts in the last decade with well produced, well written, well acted, and well received dramas.  Before The Sopranos, the last TV show I actually cared about keeping up with was probably "The Wonder Years,"  and that's almost exclusively because I had a ridiculous crush on Winnie Cooper and would spend the entire show waiting for her character to appear and then imagining what it would be like to have her be my first kiss.  At any rate, these shows have a formula to them that is something akin to crack or black tar heroin for me. Tegan and I have run through The Sopranos, 6 feet under, Deadwood, Game of Thrones, TrueBlood, The Walking Dead, Breaking Bad, etc... like they were free gelato on a summer day.  

Homeland has a little bit of nostalgia to it as well, because the first show Tegan and I watched together a lot was "My So Called Life"  with Claire Danes.  This was back in High School, and I think Tegan watched the show for the same reason I watched The Wonder Years - only substitute Jared Leto for Winnie Cooper.  I spent the show partially making sure Tegan wasn't comparing me to him, and partially swooning over Claire Dane's angsty character.  To be sure, she's come a long way (not Tegan, who now lusts after Bruce Willis of all people, but Claire Danes).  Her character in Homeland is awesome, and she portrays someone struggling with inner and outer demons masterfully.  I love it.

Year of writing 293. Inside.

10/18/12

Some days I draw the curtains on the sun,
sit in the false dark; a houseplant.   I am pot-
bound, this couch is bad soil, these
florescent bulbs nourish weakly. I know this,
I've done this to myself.  I never liked
unkempt growth, these leaves stunt comfortably
indoors.  They droop so sweetly here.

I am sure on these days that the light
behind linen and sheers cares enough
to split glass for me.  It is a game, I suppose,
of chicken. Only how does one outlast
the sun? I duck and shroud but know
the inevitable squinting and blinking
will come once the shades are drawn,
once the light makes dust motes dance.

Year of writing 292. The kids & I

10/16/12

I recently found a couple of pictures of myself at age 1 and 4 - the same ages my kids are now.  It's weird, although they look so different from eachother, they look very similar to me when I was their respective ages. 

Check it out.

Me at 1 and Miles at 1: 

Me at 4, Isla: 


Ahhh, genetics, you devil you.

Year of writing 291.

10/15/12

October 15.   For the past ten years, at this point I'd be deep in the doldrums of teaching.  Middle school kids realize around the beginning of October that they're in it for the long haul, so they set about trying new misbehaviors, and basically attempt to make teacher's lives hellish. At the same time, middle school teachers are realizing they've just finished one 6 week unit, and there are five more to go.  This is when sluggishness and faux depression begin to set in. 

I miss so many things about teaching: the wonder that appears on a kids' face when they figure something out about themselves, designing lessons based on current events that I know will kill in class the next day or week, seeing a child use his voice for the first time, and be heard for the beautiful person he is...etc.

I do not miss the endless hours of correcting papers, of trying to make relevant lessons fit into some prescribed and scripted curriculum that is boring as shit, I do not miss the constant disrespect from society (I get much more respect as a stay at home dad than I ever did as a teacher).  Teaching is one of those things that I don't understand how people (including myself) fall in love with, but we do, and I'm sure I'll be there again some day.
  

Year of writing 290. Bubble bath

10/14/12

I can hear her from the kitchen
she's singing "Tomorrow" from
Annie, the musical.  Her notes
all at once flat and sharp, the
lyrics bent to fit a four year old
mind: "the sun will come out
tomorrow, put your bottom dollar
that tomorrow there will be sun."

She splashes in the tub purposefully,
explaining to herself, her mom,
and nobody in particular how those
words just stick in her head, how
the song just makes her sing even
when it's not on anywhere but her head.

Maybe I'm wrong, but I think it is
these moments, in the magical mundanity
that make our hearts lurch and sway
drunk with how alive we all are right
here and now, it is these moments
which make us the men we always
wanted to be, the paternal rush
in our veins becoming a song
all at once flat and sharp, even when
it's not on anywhere but our heads.

Year of writing 289. First world problems.

10/13/12

Tegan and I decided that one thing we would do with our significantly lower mortgage since the short sale of our house in Richmond was hire a housecleaner twice a month.  It proved to be the best investment we ever made.  There is absolutely nothing better than coming home to a clean house, and not having to use our entire weekend to achieve it. 

That being said, this weekend was the cleaner's weekend and they didn't show up, or call, or anything.  Tegan and I almost lost our minds.  We were beside ourselves. 

Then, we realized how ridiculous that is.  Which made things come into perspective a little more, but still... the house is dirty, dammit.

Year of Writing 288. Los Angeles, Good riddance.

10/12/12

We finally made it out of LA, thank god.  It was a harrowing journey, especially the last day at Olvera St, where I thought I could bribe Isla into being happy with cheap trinkets, churros, and Mexican candy.  Yeah, no.  Two steps down Olvera street and Isla was already loudly proclaiming her boredom.  This was followed by me attempting to quell my starving belly with some authentic sopes from the oldest Mexican restaurant in LA.  What I actually got was a disgusting grey piece of "Carnitas" full of veins and gristle, on top of a hockey puck trying to pass for a masa cake.  Immediately after I threw away my one chance for nourishment for the day, Isla declared she had to poop. This was a public space, I wou;dn't have been able to let her use the facilities anyway, if they weren't shuttered.  Then, Isla began howling and hopping around, at one point slapping me in the face with her errant hands.  I totally wanted to quit.  Instead, we hightailed it to a McDonalds with a playland to wait out Tegan's last hours at her conference.  This could have been a happy ending if the playland didn't have an extremely unsafe high tunnel "bridge" as part of its crazy gerbil maze of a play area.  Isla climbed all the way up (it was probably suspended 9 feet in the air), but then lost her nerve when the bridge began swaying and squeaking loudly as if it was going to fall.  This unease turned to outright terror and she began screaming that she couldn't get across.  I, of course couldn't fit into the play area and I had a one year old in my arms, so all I could do was attempt to talk her down.  It worked, after about 10 minutes of screaming, and a McDonalds manager getting involved.  


But you know what?  I made it home, so there.

Year of writing 287. The Natural History Museum.

10/11/12

Fatalists and conspiracy theorists were all over the news feeds this morning predicting impending doom today, because the numbers in the date are in order.  Look, there is a pattern in everything.  And yes, things will end some day, and begin again another.  And, somebody will predict it, but that will be one out of billions of predictions, rendering it as random as everything else. 

While we're on the topic of quasi-scientific predictions, I will talk about my trip with the kids to the Natural History Museum in LA.  Not free, but not expensive.  We started off by visiting the "spider garden"  which has recently replaced the "butterfly garden," to my surprise.  Imagine telling your four year old daughter she will be walking around in a beautiful garden surrounded by floating butterflies, flitting this way and that, and landing on your shoulder like a Disney movie, then having it first rain, rendering the garden a muddy cesspool, and second, be filled with huge spiders NOT BEHIND GLASS mind you, just webbing up everywhere like it's the thing to do.  Now, if you have my daughter, that's not a problem, because she's awesome and grabbed the spider card and went spider hunting like a bad ass Dora the Explorer.  But if she's not my daughter I'm sure it would have sucked.

Next we entered the museum proper, where we were greeted by the only thing I remember about this museum, the big mouth shark, preserved from 1930 in some kind of disgusting liquid.  It is scary to say the least to see this monster from the deep marinating for almost 90 years in formaldehyde or whatever, but Isla got up enough gumption to look right near its head, and Miles threw cheerios at it like a real G. 

The highlight of the museum, and their main talking point is the revamped dinosaur exhibit.  I do have to say that their collection of actual fossils is pretty amazing, the best being the trio of Tyrannosaurs (a juvenile, teen and adult) all set up in an indoor courtyard.  Isla walked around with a pad of paper and a pen, drawing pictures of all the skeletons. It was pretty amazing.  Miles threw Cheerios at them all. 

Toward the end of the day I couldn't feel my head, hands or feet, but that's probably because all I ate today was the crust from Isla's peanut butter sandwich and a pillow mint.  I will never learn.  Ever.

Year of writing 285. Science Center.

10/10/12


The lesson for today is that sometimes you really need to get over yourself.  What I mean is, I've been stressing myself out about being alone in LA with my two kids for four days - this rubbed off on both of the little ones so that they were extra whiny, exaggeratedly annoying, and so forth.  I realized today that is mostly my fault.  Immediately after realizing this, I decided to man up my attitude and have some fun.  Miles, Isla and I went to a toy store in the morning, got coloring books and a ice cream sundae playset, came back to the hotel room for Miles' nap, watched some serious cartoons and then went to the free Science Museum in LA, where they have hands on awesome things to do for kids.  I could have been deterred by the breakfast fiasco in the morning when I didn't have time to get coffee before Tegan had to go to her conference, but I managed on some Folgers and a slap to my own face.  I could have been deterred by the five minute intervals of fire alarm warnings at the hotel during Miles' nap, but I just bucked up and covered his ears and/or put him back to sleep every five minutes.  I could have been deterred by the dead bee that somehow ended up in the stroller, making Isla scream like I was simultaneously ripping both of her legs off and pouring habanero sauce all over her tongue, but I simply flicked the deceased insect off the stroller and guffawed.  Like a boss. 

Needless to say, the day was rad. 

Year of writing 284. LA.

10/9/12

Today marks day one of my four day jaunt into the heart of Los Angeles to accompany my wife at her nursing conference.  We're staying at a hotel just across from the Staples Center, in what would be a rad situation if it weren't for two children who shall remain unnamed, as they are minors.  I think Tegan and I had this vision of a nice little visit, taking in the museums and sights of the city of angels while our children skipped and cooed, falling asleep in the stroller the instant they were tired. 

Yeah, no.  It's only been a few hours in LA and this is getting ridiculous.  The kids, out of their normal routine, are insane: whining, crying, complaining, cavorting, other c words.  I am tired and anxious at the same time, because nothing is easy.  I have to check the car everytime I come in, so I can't just run out and grab the sippycup I forgot in the backseat, I have to get my ticket, wait for the dude to come, and let me in to my own car so I can rifle through the trash in the back to get a barbie sippy cup.  Oh man.

Hopefully my plan of going to the science center tomorrow will fare better than this beginning.  If not, it's going to be a long, long, long next few days.

Year of Writing 283. The DMV.

10/8/12

I went to the DMV to renew my license today, something that I thought I had already done online.  When I called first to figure out what was happening, since I went through the entire renewal process online, and have been driving with an expired license since my birthday, I was told that my payment was never processed, so they never issued a renewal.  Can't somebody tell a motherf***er instead of just letting me wait the six weeks it's supposed to take, only to find out it was a glitch?  Apparently not.

Luckily, I was able to stash Isla with my cousin, and I only had to bring Milesy with me.  We arrived at the DMV, this bastion of humanity, and immediately I saw that the line was already "Disneylandified"  which is a word I just made up which refers to the labyrinthine post and rope system of herding people that has been devised by some horrible person to cram as many people into as small a place as possible.  So not only are you standing right behind some stinky person, you are flanked by two as well.  Thanks engineers.  I took my place, probably 40 people back from the "Start Here"  sign which had a god damned smiley face after it - text style, like this :).  I wanted to rip it off it's stupid frame.  Anyway, I stood there for about five minutes until the line moved one person.  Whatever, it's the DMV, I was prepared for this.  I had a bag full of Cheerios for miles, and a ton of ridiculous people to look at, which is what this post will be about.  Here are the people I noticed:

- A man with a motorcycle helmet, still on, wearing blue short-shorts and a Hawaiian shirt with a floral Hello Kitty pattern.

- A Latina woman with a tattoo of a grizzly bear roaring on her neck and upper back - like this:


- four members of what looked like the douchiest boy band ever. They had Jersey Shore guido hairdos and each of them had on Jordan brand shorts, strap sandals, and v-neck t-shirts and gold chains.  It looked like what would happen if the Backstreet Boys started a basketball team.

- A teenage girl with the word:  "Dangerus"  tattooed on her neck.

- A 400+ pound man with male pattern baldness who still liked to rock long hair off the sides and back, wearing yellow happy face suspenders, jeans up to his sternum, and a Ben & Jerry's T-Shirt.

- A three or four year old boy wearing a stormtrooper mask.

- at least six elderly people with oxygen tanks.

- A woman with a gold cane, topped with a huge fake diamond.  She was wearing a light blue velour tracksuit and a greenish blonde wig.

- Me and Miles.

We got to the front, and when the woman told me the wait was going to be more than two hours to turn in my paperwork, as much as I wanted to hang out with this Motley Crew, I had to go.  Bummer.

Year of writing 282. Things that make me want to punch myself in the neck.

10/7/12

After going shopping this weekend, I realized I need to update my list of things that suck.  These are not in order of importance, or even how many times I would punch myself in the throat, but just the top few situations, places, people and things that make me contemplate suicide by self brutalization:

1.  Halloween stores that pop up everywhere this time of year, full of cheap ass costumes, screaming animatronic witches and skeletons, and fake spiderwebs.  No, I don't want to be assaulted by a cackling demon or disembodied head doing a god-awful rap version of the Monster Mash.

2.  When dogs eat cat poop.  That is so disgusting dog, you should be ashamed of yourself.  You are a disgrace to your breed.

3.  Babies that reach into their own diapers while on the changing table.  Seriously?  Just wait to play with your penis until I wipe up all the feces, kid.

4.  Whining.  Holy crap I hate whining.  Every time my daughter starts to whine, I feel like a needle point of white hot laser is boring into my cranium.  It takes all I have not to grab a bat and pound my own head shapeless.

5.  Club owners.  Pay your talent, jerkwads.  That way they'll come back and bring more people too.

Year of writing 281

10/5/12

I now have an understanding of why musicians have managers.  This is the third club/bar owner who has tried to finagle Jon and I out of money for playing.  I don't understand what it is, maybe that people who play music don't necessarily have the arguing skills or confidence to demand what they should be given.  However, when an agreement is already in place, and money is involved, I'll be damned if we'll leave before we get paid.  Which is why I was sitting on a barstool in an empty bar an hour after closing last night.  3AM hello.

Year of writing 280. Jumanji

10/4/12


This morning I went to get my lipid screening done, to check my cholesterol and all that good stuff you gotta do when you're a 35 year old dude.  I had Miles with me, because Miles is always with me - and sat him on my lap while the phlebotomist got the needle ready.  I was a little worried, since Miles just got his shots, and was pretty traumatized by the whole thing, but this time, the kid saw the needle go into my arm, and when he started to draw the blood up into the syringe, Miles started laughing as if it was the most hilarious thing he's ever seen.  His laughter was so raucous that even the nurse at the desk looked over to see what the hullabaloo was.  I suppose I'm raising a vampire - which isn't so bad, as long as he's not the sparkly kind.


As I write this, Isla, Miles and I are watching Jumanji and eating pizza, waiting for mom to come home from a long day at the hospital.  I like my life right now.

Year of writing 279. Debates and A's.

10/3/12
The presidential debates between Mitt Romney and President Obama made me have a ridiculous headache.  I am sorely disappointed in Obama and his inability to capitalize on Romney's incessant lying rhetoric, and I am one hundred percent sure that at least a few of my old Junior High debaters could have whupped both their butts on that stage tonight.  If I were undecided, I would only be more undecided right now. 

In better news, the year I leave the bay and my Oakland A's, they go on a tear, ripping up opponents left and right, and just today, in breathtaking fashion, winning the AL West pennant.  Thanks a lot A's, now I have to get some serious cable upgrades just to watch next season.  I'll do it though, dammit, I'll do it.

Year of writing 278. First steps.

10/2/12

Miles took his first step today.  We were at Tegan's parents house while Isla was at school, playing some old pipe tunes with Joseph, Caitlin's boyfriend, and Peter, an old family friend.  I was on guitar, Joe was on bass, John was playing the mandola, and Peter was on the tin whistle.  Even if that was all that had happened, it would have made for an awesome day. I forgot how great it is just to sit and play music with a bunch of people.  However, Miles was not to be outdone. He was pulling himself up on Peter's leg just about the time we were going to leave, and I held my hands out to him to pick him up - instead, he launched himself forward with two wobbly delicious steps and grabbed onto my hands.  There are lots of rad feelings in the world. They don't come close to seeing the child that came from you do something important.  I'm holding on to this one, it was for me.

Year of writing 277.

10/1/12

October, hello.  It was 104 degrees today in Ojai, California - my new home.  That is unacceptable.  This heat belongs in ovens and morbidly obese people's crevices, not all around me in my natural habitat.  I go from air conditioned car to house running.  I think it is ridiculous when my neck is flushed, my inner elbows are drenched with sweat, and it's ten in the morning.  Winter better hurry the hell up.

Year of writing 276. The tooth.

9/30/12


Miles is a year and 8 days old.  He finally cut his first tooth today at about 4.  I know this because we were checking it out pretty closely before his nap, and when he woke up, there it was - a little white dentine miracle poking out of his gums.  I know he needs these teeth and everything, but I had kind of gotten used to the idea that Miles would never have teeth, and just be cute and gummy for the rest of his life.  Oh well, life had other plans for this boy.  Maybe now he'll be able to actually chew his food rather than mashgagging it all the time.

Year of writing 275. Birthday Dinner.

9/29/12

I got to celebrate my birthday in style today by going to a swanky restaurant called "Bouchon" in Santa Barbara.  I was super mannish in my cowboy boots and western button up, like a boss.  The dinner was decent, which is surprising given the reputation of the place, I expected it to be much better.  In truth, the restaurant we've been going to in town is much better overall.  I will say that the wine pairings they did for this meal were pretty fabulous. 

One thing I realized at dinner was that after a couple of glasses of wine, I turn into a social butterfly.  Without it, I'm kind of aloof and introverted, but get some red in me and all of a sudden I'm sharing entrees with the old lady at the table next to us.  I need to slip myself a flask at the next school function so it's not so awkward. 

Year of writing 274. Airplane Boy.

9/28/12

He wobbles heavy, drunk
with anticipation. His
legs at best a frustration,
an ungainly tether to this
carpet, this earth.  He
raises both hands to
the ceiling, face contorted
a wail forming on his lips.

I bend down to him, toss
his body into the air, watch
his face split with joy.
I can appreciate the gravity
of this moment, the manner
in which weight gives way
to flight; the split seconds
when body ceases, when
air is all that matters.

Year of writing 273. thirty five.

9/27/12

35 years ago, I was born.   I need to marinate on that for a minute. 

Year of writing 272. This kid.

 9/26/12

Miles is one.  He has zero teeth - but a million charisma, so I guess it all balances out.  His new things are pulling up on anything he can get his hands on, crawling all over me and laughing in my ear really loudly, stealing sunglasses, eating pizza, and being much cuter than anything else on the planet.  I'm going to be 35 tomorrow, and I just realized that when Miles turns 35, I'll be 70.  That doesn't scare me too much, it just makes me realize I should take care of myself a little bit.  So, I'm going to go get my cholesterol screened on Friday, and walk all over Fiona Apple's treadmill.  (Did I mention I own Fiona Apple's treadmill?)  I do. For real.

Year of writing 271. morning.

9/25/12


The light stung sharp;
pointed like tongues
and tines, it angled steep
from the window.

He wasn't awake,
in any cognitive sense
of the word, his left eye
still buried in the pillow

his right open just enough
to catch this lone ray,
this painful beginning.
He let it hurt for a while,

tattooing its brightness
against his retina. He coughed
then, once, and reached a
slow hand to the blinds.

Year of writing 270. The dentist, part whatever.

9/24/12

My loathing of dentists has been quite well documented.  I am not ashamed of the fact that I have anxiety around dentists, it's just another part of me - as Michael Jackson might have said.  That being said, I usually am cool with cleanings.  I do have sort of sensitive gums, due to the fact that I never really floss, since that would make going to the dentist easier, and I think I might be addicted to the fear of the situation.  However, cleanings are more often than not pretty benign affairs.  So knowing that I had to drop off the boy with my cousin today and get my teeth cleaned wasn't such a big deal - I can handle this kind of thing. 

I was wrong.

It started off fine - great even - the hygienist knew my mom and dad, she was really friendly, and she gave me topical anesthetic for my gums.  Bonus!  Then she got to work.  I was vaguely aware that she was using a whole lot of elbow while cleaning, my lower jaw felt like I was supporting her entire weight on my lower jaw at times.  It wasn't until she said casually, "You'll probably need to take a few advil tonight, and wont be able to eat anything too solid for a while..."  AFTER A CLEANING????  holy crap.   Then, reality came rushing at me when I finally got to rinse, and instead of seeing maybe a pink tinge to the mouthwash, I spit blood like my tongue had just been cut out.  And it didn't stop either - I spit the same bright red horror movie a few more times, and after giving the receptionist a winning bloody smile, spit more on my way home.  As I write this at 8:15 PM (the appointment was at 10 AM), I am no longer bloody, but good god damn, my gums feel like somebody chewed them and put them back into my mouth. 

Its official, I still hate the dentist. 

Year of writing 269. Miles' party.

9/23/12

Miles' party was a success - catered by a rad tamale place in town that makes their own pickled jalepenos and carrots, beer by dos equis, and drinks by capri sun.  It was a dinosaur theme for some reason, so Tegan created a pin the tail on the dinosaur game, I made a hunting for dinosaurs game out of inflatable dinos and a bow and arrow.  We had a beautiful cake from the same place our wedding cake came from, all on dinosaur plates.  Overall, it was really nice.  Following the party, I had to rush over to the Jester for our 80's show - which we ruled like always.  However, as I was packing up the DJ stuff at about 12:30, I suddenly felt really ill.  Stupid ill, like somebody took a brick and hit me in the head, no more like I was wearing a pain headband.  Then, my stomach started cramping and I had immedarrhea (immediate diarrhea).  All in all I give this day a 6.  Would have been at least a nine if not for that pesky loose stool situation.

Year of writing 268. First words.

9/22/12

Today is Miles' birthday.  He's officially in the year club.  For his birthday, he decided to be a little selfless and give me a present.  In the morning, when I saw him, he looked up and said "dada."  This is not too unusual, since "da" is one of the syllables he repeats over and over again - but it was pretty pointed this morning.  Then, once more in the afternoon, and finally this evening, he said it again when I walked into the room, along with a pointed index finger in my direction, like: "DAD. What the hell?  I've been saying my first words to you all day and you can't even give me a goddamn reaction?  Jesus." 

Ok, so maybe it had a bit less blasphemy, and a little more cuteness, but the sentiment was definitely there. Sorry my boy, when a moment is as big as saying MY NAME for your first word, I gotta be sure.  Love you, kid.

Year of Writing 267. Ugh.

9/21/12

Isla woke up this morning with stomach flu.  Usually when Isla is sick, which seems like all the time, if a snotty nose is an accurate barometer, she is still in a great mood and never complains about the sickness.  This morning she was really upset; her tummy hurt, and she had a grand total of 6 diarrhea visits during the day.  Hence, no school.  Now, if it wasn't Friday, and I wasn't burnt from the rest of the week I may have found better activities than I did, but that unfortunately wasn't the case, so I spent the day watching her watch cartoons.  That sounds bad, but really, I think we both needed a good dose of Strawberry Shortcake.  Which leads me to an aside - my favorite thing Isla does of all time is sing a "Strawberry Shortcake" song which she made up, all in the stylings of the Ramones.  Just imagine it... now multiply whatever you imagined by a factor of 1,000 and that's how awesome it is.

The stomach flu, however is not awesome.  Neither is hearing this statement yelled at you from the living room: "Daddy!  I think I went poop a little bit."

"Where? in the toilet?"
"No, on the carpet."
"Oh no!  Let's change your undies and give you a bath."
"I'm not wearing any clothes, daddy."
*facepalm.

Year of writing 261. Lunch served

9/19/12

My daughter does a lot of things better than me.  She dances better, has a better imagination, has way more patience, knows how to put makeup on a horse, can draw better and is much cuter.  I'm totally ok with these things.  However, when one of her spectacular abilities begins to infringe on my own perceived strengths, I start to get paranoid.  Case in point today: Isla begins asking me what I would like for my meal as we're playing restaurant.  (she has already designed a menu with prices and pictures of the food I could order).  I order some hot dogs and cake, keeping it simple.  Now, I consider myself to be somewhat of an accomplished amateur chef.  I can cook all kinds of cuisine, and pretty well too.  However, I am not so good at the plating aspect - it pretty much always looks like what it is, some good food on a plate.  Here is what Isla sat me down to.

Note the flowers on the plates, and the color pallete.

I hang my head in shame.  You win again, little girl, you win again.

Year of writing 260. The mask

9/18/12

I ordered a couple horse head masks, thinking they'd be cool props for the Wild Stallions show, that and they were cheap and I wanted a horse head mask.  They arrived today, while Isla was at school, and I got excited to show her how outrageous they look.  

 I busted one out of it's cellophane cage and played with Miles for a couple minutes, he grabbed it and tried to eat the nose, but was otherwise pretty disinterested.  I had to go get Isla soon after, so the horse head went back in the box and all was to the good.  After Isla got home, I surprised her with a whinny and nicker, she laughed and wanted to try on the horse, with one caveat - she had to be in complete princess regalia, a princess horse.  She's entitled to her idiosyncrasies, so I documented the final result. 

It's a good look for her. 

I wish the story ended here - but after a long, long day at work - almost 15 hours, Tegan got home and I tried to show her.  All hell broke loose.  Miles unleashed a bloodcurdling scream that should be reserved for when one runs into a long lost relative come back from the dead to eat one's brains, which sent Isla into sympathy wails.  I snatched the mask from my head and tried to calm Miles, which took a minute, but was ultimately successful.  Until he saw the mask lying where I had tossed it, at which point he redoubled his efforts to communicate his distress with another baby who must have been at least 5,000 miles away, judging by the volume of his calls.  Meanwhile, Tegan is looking at me like I'm the worst father in the history of fatherdom, and probably is at this moment going through my wallet so she can revoke my dad card.  I swear on everything holy, Tegan, they were fine with the horse head earlier, I swear. 

Year of writing 259. The stalker

9/17/12


On the way to watch Monday night football at a friends house I had only been to once before, at night, I got lost.  The house is up a side street, past some orchards, across a bridge, that kind of place.  In my circling around and around where senor GPS told me the house should be, I passed a woman and a teenage boy standing outside their house talking.  I passed them probably six or seven times before I realized that the woman was my old high school Government teacher Ms. Bartow.  I paused to roll down the window and she ushered herself and her kid swiftly inside the house with a look of genuine panic on her face.  Great.  Now my high school teacher thinks I'm stalking her family.  

Year of writing 256-258. Gotta own it.

9/14/12 - 9/16/12

I have to own the fact that I have not been able to keep up with the daily blog.  It's weird, I'm not working, but working more than I ever have at the same time.  Oh well.  This will encapsulate my weekend - let's get back to bullet format, these things I have learned about myself and the world around me this weekend:

1.  Jon and I are better DJ's than most people I've seen. 

2.  I love the beach, seriously.  On a hot ass day, the ocean is amazing.  I never liked going as a kid, hated the way the water left me all salty, but now I want to be there all the time.

3.  When babies can't move, you wish they could.  When they can, good lord do you wish they'd stay put.

4.  I can cook the crap outta Indian food.

5.  I saw my wife drawing little pictures on Isla's napkins in her school lunch, then when I picked her up from school, the teacher said her lunch time art has been something all the kids look forward to.  So rad.

Year of writing 255. tearing down walls

9/13/12

I mentioned yesterday about upping my Wednesday game.  I need to amend that, I have to up my weekday game in general.  Thinking that Isla's school would give me some freedom to get stuff done was a fantasy.  Instead, I have an hour after dropping her off before Miles needs to take a nap.  This is a scheduling nightmare.  It takes a while to get him to sleep - then I clean up the hurricane residue that is our house, and he wakes up, then I have 45 minutes until I have to pick Isla up again.  So once again, I'm stuck in the house.  Stir crazy barely begins to explain it.  I'm gonna start tearing down walls here pretty soon.

Year of Writing 254. Upping the game.

9/12/12

I need to up my Wednesday game exponentially.  This is the one day of the week that Isla doesn't go to school, and so far all of my best laid plans have been demolished by life and the realities of an 11 month old kid.  Isla is not the kind of preschooler who loves to just sit and play by herself all day long, and our Wednesdays have consisted of chilling in the air conditioned house until Miles takes his naps so we can maybe go swimming or some other cool activity.  Unfortunately, as soon as Miles wakes up stuff gets crazy and it's WAY too hot outside to try and motivate to get into the car.  Man.  I'm setting up a homemade slip n slide and some sprinkler action for next Wednesday for sure.

Year of writing 253. Tuesday Mornings, no thank you.

9/11/12

This morning getting ready for school was pretty easy - I had the right breakfast, served her waffles with a raspberry happyface, Isla was in a great mood.  That is, until she slammed her bedroom door, playing with Miles.  Unfortunately her toe was underneath the door as she slammed it, so I heard a wail.  "My tooooooe!"  I looked at it, which was a huge mistake, as there was a large chunk of skin flapping around, and the toenail had been bent all the way back on her big toe.  But, if I've learned anything about being a stay at home dad, it's that hello kitty bandaids can fix anything.  Add a popsicle for good measure, and we're talking superdad.  Never you mind that I almost puked and passed out while trying to put the toenail back down.  Never you mind at all.

Year of writing 252. Football, Who cares.

9/11/12

On this september 11th, I found myself sitting there at my house, with my brother, my brother in law, my stepdad and a couple friends watching football.  That's what you do on a Monday when the Raiders are playing.  I didn't really care all that much about watching football until college, when there was an actual team to root for.  Then somehow I got roped into being a fan of the most painful NFL team to be a fan of.  It's not that the raiders are horrible, they've gone 8-8 pretty much every year - it's that they give the fans false hope.  They'll be brilliant one day, then, like tonight, suck so much ass you'd think you were watching an ass sucking contest.  They needed one of those slurpee straws they were sucking so much ass.

Year of writing 251. Taste of the town.

8/10/12

My wife won tickets to an event today called "Taste of the Town."  I was mostly just happy to get to spend some daylight hours with Tegan sans kids, but hey free food is good too.  As we drove through the hills of Santa Barbara to get to this event, I started to realize the amount of money that was involved.  Mansions rolled by on either side and the greenery was obnoxiously lush.  When we got to the event, we walked up to will call and they could not find our name.  I felt a little like an imposter, then some manager came and asked if we were on the "VIP" list.  We didn't know, so asked them to check... fully expecting to have to turn around and go home.  Lo and behold, however, we were VIPs, so they ushered us off to a fully catered luncheon with things like compressed watermelon salad and buttermilk poached chicken.  It was pretty rad.  After, there was a fun auction, to which our limits were quite handily outbid, but it was still entertaining to watch. 

If this were all, I would have, after 3 glasses of wine with lunch, gone home happy.  What I did not realize was that next, we would be traipsing around tasting 80 restaurants and 40 wineries.  I was overjoyed, and doomed.  The food was phenomenal, highlights being the wonton sushi nacho, apple fritters, deep fried phylo dough wrapped prawns, and gold-dusted chocolate mousse.   What got me in trouble though, were the wines and beers.  I was already 3 glasses in, and I have no idea how many more glasses I drank, I'm pretty sure I sampled everything.  Needless to say I was wobbly on the way back down the hill to the car.  Wobbly, but happy.

Year of writing 250. Grief

9/8/12


I found out on Saturday night that one of my students was killed in Hayward earlier that week.  Tony Jones was a chubby 8th grader who was always smiling, joking and talking about how he was going to make it big.  His uncle or cousin had a studio somewhere, and Tony would come after class with a fresh cd-rom to show off - his lyrics were all about having fun and being a kid, I remember that much.  Tony was killed on Monday by a friend of his who had stolen a 22 caliber handgun from a 90 year old WW2 veteran the weekend before.  Three days earlier, I had been speaking to Tony online, he sent me a message, wanting to catch up and talk about how he was a little nervous about becoming a father, his girlfriend is due in a week with a little girl.  The last thing I told  him was to always be there for her. 

I don't know if it's because of our conversation, or that I've lost so many kids, and I have no more capacity for grief, but I have no idea what to do with it.  I don't know where to put it, what to do or say, or even how to hold myself with this.  Oakland, I love you, your children are beautiful - please, please protect them.

Year of Writing 249. New Show

9/8/12

The newest Wild Stallions show happened on Friday night, and it was pretty rad.  We played with a guy named Dave Palmer on the keys, he is a phenomenal keyboardist who has done albums with Fiona Apple, De La Soul, plus tons of other rad people.  Friday night he played a modified Atari system and a pocket piano noisemaker thing that hit so hard. I was blown away.  He is invited back to every party from now on. 

Year of writing 248. Naaaaaaan

9/6/12

I fell off.  Totally.  I'm writing Thursday's entry on Sunday.  That's weak, I know, but it is what it is (or as my wife likes to say, "what the hell does that even mean?" 

Thursday's dinner was pretty epic.  If you know Indian food you might know butter chicken, a super spiced tomato creamy dish.  You should also know what Naan is.  Well, I made both for my beautiful wife for dinner.  Homemade Naan.  I mean, I'm not superman or anything, but I don't think he ever cooked Lois Lane Naan on a Thursday night after taking care of the kids all day.  I want a badge or something.

Year of writing 247. Winning.

8/5/12

I had some friends over to watch football tonight on our supremely oversized television.  Isla was in terrific form - doing ballet in front of the screen, and forcing people to play zoo with her when the game was on the line.  I kind of like watching football with kids, it makes things interesting.

Year of writing 246. Back to School.

9/4/12


I am happily offloading my child onto the schoolyard at 830 every morning, and picking her up again at 1:15, nearly five hours of precious time to any stay at home parent.  I have pipe dreams of cleaning the carpet, doing some dishes or the laundry, fixing the sliding doors, starting a million other projects.  However, life doesn't really work like that.  Instead, I find myself wrestling Miles for an hour and a half, trying to get him to sleep, failing, then trying again for an hour.  Once he finally is asleep I have lost all motivation to do anything, so I sit, slack jawed on the couch until I need to wake up the baby and pick up Isla.  Upon arrival, she says "Can I stay longer?" 

Yes, my dear, you may.

Year of writing 245 The Mantis

9/3/12

She reached out for it without fear, my daughter's hands stopped near its legs.  "Will I break it?"  she asked, her fingers curled back like question marks.  "Is it real?  Or is it a toy?"  She held her hand out gingerly upon my reassurances, let it wobble its way onto her palm.  Her giggles rolled down the hills as the mantis tickled between her fingers, its head swiveling curiously as it tried to make sense of its surroundings.  She gently places it back on the leaf it came from and joyously races off to find bees and flies for it to eat.   

Year of writing 244 The Mawwwwl.

9/2/12

For the first time in my entire life, I went to a mall and didn't want to murder everyone within a 100 yard radius of me.  It was weird, maybe it was the ecstasy spiked Wetzel's Pretzels or the fact that the Disney Store makes me uncharacteristically giddy, but we had a good time with our kids.  AND I had to do the grocery shopping as well, no fights, nary a curt word was spoken.  Successful Sunday FTW!

Sidenote:  The Disney store has a section dedicated just to the Villains.  This is effing amazing.  

Year of writing 243. Burning man.

9/1/12

My friend Jon and I had a lapse in judgement in agreeing to DJ a burning man party for people who hadn't gone to burning man.  The tipoff should have been the guy who runs the space, which is the real reason we were doing it in the first place, so we could have run our own party using his space - hence we worked for free.  At any rate, this dude has no idea what he's doing in terms of running a party for profit, aka a club. 

The night was supposed to start at 8 with a live band.  We were there earlier to set up a sound system that we had to borrow for the place, because dude has none.  When 8 rolled around, there was no band at all.  Instead, we waited until 8:30, then put on an itunes playlist, which was fine, since NOBODY was in the building at this point.  At about 8:50, an older man about 55 or 60, came in, donned rollerskates, and began cruising around the concrete floor of the place.  He was the only one there.  Ten minutes into his routine, homeboy falls, breaks his wrist, and turns white as a sheet.  I put him on the couch, get some ice, and tell him to chill til he can get picked up.  Then, he needs water, goes to the bar, and passes the fuck out.  I have to carry him back to the couch and call 911.  Nobody else is there yet. 

At 9:30 or so, Daniel Ashe, a local celebrity who used to play bass in Bauhaus and Love and Rockets, started his DJ set.  He loves him some smoke machine, let me tell you what.  His set was so ridiculous I won't even go into it.  I just have a problem with DJs who don't care enough to beatmatch or blend songs.  Just get Pandora. 

Then our host, who has never actually been a dj, wanted to spin.  I will leave it to your imagination, as long as you imagine something horrible.

Our set was supposed to be super facemelting electronica to pacify the burners who were there.  They were into it for about 45 minutes. Then everything started to suck.  The owner kicked his own bartender out, then complained because nobody was serving.  People stopped dancing until we played 90's hits, and the bottom line is, we will never do crap like this again.  For free too.  Jesus.

Year of writing 242. Bye August.

8/31/12


August sits heavy over this town,
making my feet hit dull and leaden
onto the cracked tarmac street.
The orange leaves curl like
worried parents to protect moisture
exiting veins to midrib. The heat
coruscates everywhere: a car's hood,
an empty crosswalk, the evaporating
rivulets from a just-watered lawn.

As it wanes, as the days cool
we find ourselves outside with
outstretched arms, pleading for its
heat, its weight to return.  Yearning
for its fatherly arm draped
over our shoulders.

Year of writing 241. Things I learned from Isla on the way home from school today.

8/30/12

These are the things I learned from my daughter on the way home from school today.


1.  Snakes are made out of silk, not snot, like I obviously must have thought.

2.  Tadpoles are baby frogs that haven't "blown out" their legs yet.

3.  My Little Pony dolls are all named Penelope.

4.  Jumping rope is easier if you think about candy while you jump.

5.  You can't build houses out of peas. They're way too green.

Year of writing 240. Paradise.

8/29/12


My daughter has Wednesdays off from school, or "really shitty days"  as I will call them from now on. I have no boa constrictor or tadpoles to make Isla happy, and she lets me know all day long.  So, I decided to be proactive and take a little trip to visit mommy in Santa Barbara at her hospital.  It was a good idea.

First, Miles didn't nap until we were approximately 3.5 seconds away from the parking lot in Santa Barbara.  This meant that I had to wake up an already cranky baby from his one minute nap in order to bring him somewhere unfamiliar and just totally eff up his routine.  Whee!

Second, we went to a beautiful outdoor courtyard with a river running through it and cabanas (go ahead Cottage Hospital!).  The cafeteria has great food for ridiculously low prices, so we grabbed what we could with Isla complaining about having to eat whatever we chose.  Then Miles wiped his entire lunch on Tegan's lab coat, and we left.

Third, all the way home, Isla wailed about missing her mommy.

Fourth, Netflix wasn't working on the computer, so she threw her stuffed animal at it and got time out.

Fifth, I put myself in time out for the rest of the day.

Year of writing 239. Easy.

8/28/12


Today Isla went to school for real, it was her first day without me.  Now, I have done my best to raise a child who can be independent without making horrible decisions, who is proud to be her own self, and all that good stuff.  However, there is a part of me that is a little sad that when I drop her off at her brand new school, where she doesn't know anyone, she just says "Bye Daddy!"  and runs off to go play in the school fountain.  It stung a little. 

That sting was removed when I picked her up from school a few hours later.  "Daddy!" she yelled, " Daddy, when you left I sat by the oak tree and cried because I missed you."
"Oh, I'm sorry baby, did you feel better once you got into your class?"
"No, I just sat there and looked at the other children with tears dripping down my face."

"You are so melodromatic, sweetie."
 "Thank you daddy."