5/31/12
This morning after I fed Miles and Isla, I was drinking coffee and checking some news during the one point in the day that Miles is cool with just sitting on the carpet playing with some toys. Isla was drawing chalk pictures outside, and everything was peachy. Miles has been able to sit up for a while now, and as he was not mobile, it's pretty easy to set him down and let him play without worrying too much (unless it's not the morning, any other time he howls like this):
After a couple of minutes of blissfully reading up on what Rihanna has gotten into lately, and drinking my coffee without any whining, I looked up to see Miles was a good ten feet from where I set him. He was sitting in the exact same position, however, which meant we have another scooter on our hands. When Isla was little she would scoot herself forward with one hand and one leg, and somehow this worked. I think it had a lot to do with the hardwood floors we had, they allowed for maximum slippage of the buttocks. I put Miles favorite toy, an empty Gatorade bottle, a few feet away and waited for the magic to happen. I was not disappointed. This child has a completely newfangled way of motoring. He first starts to rock back and forth like a disturbed person in the Greyhound station, then throws his heels out on a particularly intense rock, and drags his diapered butt about half an inch. He moves deliberately in this way until he reaches his destination. What's that somebody said about slow and steady? It sure isn't winning any races around here - I know he'll pick up speed sooner or later, but for now I'll take this, plenty of warning as to which direction and possibly dangerous item has taken his fancy lets me cut him off at the pass, even if I'm not paying much attention, and lets face it, he's a second child, so yeah, I'm not paying much attention.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Year of writing 150. 10 hours of hell.
5/30/12
In my previous post, I introduced Doobius Maximus, the dog we are watching for my parents. Not only is Doobs obese, he is epileptic, and must take pills in the morning and at night. These pills make him really, really thirsty and he has to drink water all night long. This doesn't seem like a problem, and it shouldn't have been - but it is the introduction to the worst 10 hours I've had in a long time.
10:00 PM - Doobie starts panting heavily, signaling he's thirsty. I show him the water inside. He isn't having it, so he waits by the door until I let him out.
11:00 PM - I go to unload the hamper in the bathroom, and water starts spraying everywhere. I'm too tired to deal with it, so I just turn off the main valve and figure I'll deal with it in the morning.
12:00 AM - I'm asleep, happily.
12:10 AM - Doobie comes into our room for the first time, panting and making "I HAVE TO GO POOP" doggy noises. I let him out. He doesn't poop.
1:00 AM - Isla comes crying into the room, she falls asleep.
1:30 AM - Doobie comes in again, repeat of the same. No poop. I leave the door open.
2:00 AM - Doobie comes in and lays down next to my side of the bed. He sounds like a freight train.
2:45 AM - A small earthquake wakes me up - whatever, it's california. But for some reason, this reminds Doobie that he has to poop, and even though the door's open he must need me to hold his hand or something.
3:00 AM - I remember that the door is open when 50 mosquitoes dive bomb my face.
3:45 AM - Isla, who is sleeping backwards on the bed, wakes up and announces that she has peed all over the place. We strip the bed, throw the sheets outside in the laundry, and attempt to sleep again.
4:30 AM - I'm asleep again, finally.
5:45 AM - Isla wakes up
6:10 AM - Miles wakes up - I silently curse my lot in life.
7:00 AM - I attempt to feed Doobie his morning pill. He doesn't eat his food. Miles and Isla are both screaming about something completely unrelated. I have no idea the reasoning behind either.
7:10 AM - I remember that there are people coming to work on the yard today, so I have to pick up the dog poop in the backyard, which now contains Doobie's outrageous leavings. As I do this, Sophie, our little pit mix, eats Doobies food containing the epilepsy pill. In my rush to stop her, I put my hand on the poop side of the shovel.
7:20 AM - I try to wash my hand in the sink, forgetting that I turned off the main valve. So, I turn on the main valve, not remembering that water was spraying all over the place. Water sprays all over the place.
7:40 - I give the right dog the right pill - call to make sure I shouldn't force Sophie to puke or something equally disgusting, and attempt to entertain a still- screaming son.
7:45 - I fall asleep while Miles naps. Isla wakes me up 5 minutes later to ask me what color eyes Doobie has. I cry.
In my previous post, I introduced Doobius Maximus, the dog we are watching for my parents. Not only is Doobs obese, he is epileptic, and must take pills in the morning and at night. These pills make him really, really thirsty and he has to drink water all night long. This doesn't seem like a problem, and it shouldn't have been - but it is the introduction to the worst 10 hours I've had in a long time.
10:00 PM - Doobie starts panting heavily, signaling he's thirsty. I show him the water inside. He isn't having it, so he waits by the door until I let him out.
11:00 PM - I go to unload the hamper in the bathroom, and water starts spraying everywhere. I'm too tired to deal with it, so I just turn off the main valve and figure I'll deal with it in the morning.
12:00 AM - I'm asleep, happily.
12:10 AM - Doobie comes into our room for the first time, panting and making "I HAVE TO GO POOP" doggy noises. I let him out. He doesn't poop.
1:00 AM - Isla comes crying into the room, she falls asleep.
1:30 AM - Doobie comes in again, repeat of the same. No poop. I leave the door open.
2:00 AM - Doobie comes in and lays down next to my side of the bed. He sounds like a freight train.
2:45 AM - A small earthquake wakes me up - whatever, it's california. But for some reason, this reminds Doobie that he has to poop, and even though the door's open he must need me to hold his hand or something.
3:00 AM - I remember that the door is open when 50 mosquitoes dive bomb my face.
3:45 AM - Isla, who is sleeping backwards on the bed, wakes up and announces that she has peed all over the place. We strip the bed, throw the sheets outside in the laundry, and attempt to sleep again.
4:30 AM - I'm asleep again, finally.
5:45 AM - Isla wakes up
6:10 AM - Miles wakes up - I silently curse my lot in life.
7:00 AM - I attempt to feed Doobie his morning pill. He doesn't eat his food. Miles and Isla are both screaming about something completely unrelated. I have no idea the reasoning behind either.
7:10 AM - I remember that there are people coming to work on the yard today, so I have to pick up the dog poop in the backyard, which now contains Doobie's outrageous leavings. As I do this, Sophie, our little pit mix, eats Doobies food containing the epilepsy pill. In my rush to stop her, I put my hand on the poop side of the shovel.
7:20 AM - I try to wash my hand in the sink, forgetting that I turned off the main valve. So, I turn on the main valve, not remembering that water was spraying all over the place. Water sprays all over the place.
7:40 - I give the right dog the right pill - call to make sure I shouldn't force Sophie to puke or something equally disgusting, and attempt to entertain a still- screaming son.
7:45 - I fall asleep while Miles naps. Isla wakes me up 5 minutes later to ask me what color eyes Doobie has. I cry.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Year of writing 149.
5/29/12
Today Doobie, the immense dog that belongs to my parents, came over for a vacation while they go to my brother's wedding in Missouri. As soon as Miles caught sight of doobie, whose back resembles an aircraft carrier, he erupted in laughter and tried to throw himself out of my arms. I have no idea what it is that Doobie does for Miles, but I'm not arguing, because I can put him down next to Doobie for hours. It makes me wonder if everybody in the world has something that does that for them. Like, If I saw the perfect eggs benedict, I would be transfixed in joy for hours - every time I saw it. That would be pretty rad.
Today Doobie, the immense dog that belongs to my parents, came over for a vacation while they go to my brother's wedding in Missouri. As soon as Miles caught sight of doobie, whose back resembles an aircraft carrier, he erupted in laughter and tried to throw himself out of my arms. I have no idea what it is that Doobie does for Miles, but I'm not arguing, because I can put him down next to Doobie for hours. It makes me wonder if everybody in the world has something that does that for them. Like, If I saw the perfect eggs benedict, I would be transfixed in joy for hours - every time I saw it. That would be pretty rad.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Year of writing 148. Gavin
5/28/12
A long time ago, when I was a Ventura County skate rat, I met a dude named Gavin Peters. I immediately liked him - he was a little older, way better at skating than I would ever be, and funny as hell. We started talking about music, I think it was about how GZA was the best rapper out at the time, and that conversation led to a great friendship. Along with skateboarding, Gavin was a budding artist, who would mainly work in screenprinting manipulated found objects and making either stencils or vinyl stickers out of them. Everything this dude did was cool. A few months before I started college, we took a road trip together up to Berkeley to check out the school and see what kind of scene it was. We stopped at every skate park we saw, as well as every Taco Bell - which turned into a contest. Whoever could eat the most burritos that day got to choose the beer that the other had to buy. Gavin holds the record for fourteen burritos. It makes my colon hurt just thinking about it.
While I was in college, for the first few years I would get random packages from Gavin that always had the coolest swag in it - usually a mix tape and some crazy stickers or posters to put up. But once, he sent me a huge cocoon looking thing in a paper bag with a label on it that said "Praying Mantis Egg Sac." Sure enough in a couple weeks I had about 500 baby praying mantises in my apartment. I would see Gavin every time I came home, usually to skate or chill and listen to music.
One day, Gavin called me up and was in a crappy mood. It turned out that he was really frustrated with himself because he was in a skate contest at the skatepark in Ventura and kept falling off his board on what were really simple tricks. A couple months later and he couldn't even stay on his board while riding down the street. Gavin knew something was wrong, but he didn't have health insurance, so he put it aside as just some weird thing with his ankles, and focused on art. That went ok, until he noticed he started weaving and lurching as he walked. This scared him, so Gavin actually applied for Medical, and when he got it, and finally had his doctor's visit, he was diagnosed with M.S. He was put on a really rigorous medication and physical therapy schedule, but nothing was working and he was deteriorating fast. He could no longer walk without a cane, and was constantly in pain. This is when he was 26. Then Gavin started looking at alternative therapies, at one of these sessions, a "bee sting therapy" session, the woman administering the therapy commented that she had heard of someone with very similar symptoms that was suffering from Lyme disease. Since nothing had worked so far, Gavin decided to tell his doctor what she had said.
In summary, what happened next was that Gavin was re-diagnosed with Lyme disease, more than four years after his first symptoms. Lyme disease, if caught early, can be killed with antibiotics. Gavin's case had gone unchecked for so long that the neurological damage was irreversible. Now Gavin is totally confined to a wheelchair, has lost most of the use of his hands and arms, and cannot take care of himself.
Since Gavin has been in the wheelchair, I have seen him exactly three times. The first was when he first got it, and was rolling around a department store playing with a baseball bat and acting ridiculous, like he usually was. The second time was after he had gone to India to have stem cell therapy, and had deteriorated so badly that I couldn't bring myself to see him again until today. I feel horrible for this. Gavin's mind has not been affected at all, he still has the same sense of humor, the same great taste in music, and humorous disdain for all things hipster. I don't understand why I didn't visit more often, it must have to do with my own unfounded unease with change. But after this visit, I can honestly say that I can't think of too many better ways to spend a lazy Monday afternoon than with Gavin Peters on his front porch, talking shit about hipsters and just chilling until he gets tired in the best way possible.
Beyond being a reminder that we need to spend the time we have right now with the people that we love, this has been a reminder that we as people are a very small part of our own lives, and the sooner we recognize this, the sooner we really become a part of some community or family or whatever you want to call it, the happier we will all be. Thanks Gavin, see you next week.
http://infiniverseabstract.com/
http://www.vcreporter.com/cms/story/detail/a_little_help_from_his_friends/7744/
A long time ago, when I was a Ventura County skate rat, I met a dude named Gavin Peters. I immediately liked him - he was a little older, way better at skating than I would ever be, and funny as hell. We started talking about music, I think it was about how GZA was the best rapper out at the time, and that conversation led to a great friendship. Along with skateboarding, Gavin was a budding artist, who would mainly work in screenprinting manipulated found objects and making either stencils or vinyl stickers out of them. Everything this dude did was cool. A few months before I started college, we took a road trip together up to Berkeley to check out the school and see what kind of scene it was. We stopped at every skate park we saw, as well as every Taco Bell - which turned into a contest. Whoever could eat the most burritos that day got to choose the beer that the other had to buy. Gavin holds the record for fourteen burritos. It makes my colon hurt just thinking about it.
While I was in college, for the first few years I would get random packages from Gavin that always had the coolest swag in it - usually a mix tape and some crazy stickers or posters to put up. But once, he sent me a huge cocoon looking thing in a paper bag with a label on it that said "Praying Mantis Egg Sac." Sure enough in a couple weeks I had about 500 baby praying mantises in my apartment. I would see Gavin every time I came home, usually to skate or chill and listen to music.
One day, Gavin called me up and was in a crappy mood. It turned out that he was really frustrated with himself because he was in a skate contest at the skatepark in Ventura and kept falling off his board on what were really simple tricks. A couple months later and he couldn't even stay on his board while riding down the street. Gavin knew something was wrong, but he didn't have health insurance, so he put it aside as just some weird thing with his ankles, and focused on art. That went ok, until he noticed he started weaving and lurching as he walked. This scared him, so Gavin actually applied for Medical, and when he got it, and finally had his doctor's visit, he was diagnosed with M.S. He was put on a really rigorous medication and physical therapy schedule, but nothing was working and he was deteriorating fast. He could no longer walk without a cane, and was constantly in pain. This is when he was 26. Then Gavin started looking at alternative therapies, at one of these sessions, a "bee sting therapy" session, the woman administering the therapy commented that she had heard of someone with very similar symptoms that was suffering from Lyme disease. Since nothing had worked so far, Gavin decided to tell his doctor what she had said.
In summary, what happened next was that Gavin was re-diagnosed with Lyme disease, more than four years after his first symptoms. Lyme disease, if caught early, can be killed with antibiotics. Gavin's case had gone unchecked for so long that the neurological damage was irreversible. Now Gavin is totally confined to a wheelchair, has lost most of the use of his hands and arms, and cannot take care of himself.
Since Gavin has been in the wheelchair, I have seen him exactly three times. The first was when he first got it, and was rolling around a department store playing with a baseball bat and acting ridiculous, like he usually was. The second time was after he had gone to India to have stem cell therapy, and had deteriorated so badly that I couldn't bring myself to see him again until today. I feel horrible for this. Gavin's mind has not been affected at all, he still has the same sense of humor, the same great taste in music, and humorous disdain for all things hipster. I don't understand why I didn't visit more often, it must have to do with my own unfounded unease with change. But after this visit, I can honestly say that I can't think of too many better ways to spend a lazy Monday afternoon than with Gavin Peters on his front porch, talking shit about hipsters and just chilling until he gets tired in the best way possible.
Beyond being a reminder that we need to spend the time we have right now with the people that we love, this has been a reminder that we as people are a very small part of our own lives, and the sooner we recognize this, the sooner we really become a part of some community or family or whatever you want to call it, the happier we will all be. Thanks Gavin, see you next week.
http://infiniverseabstract.com/
http://www.vcreporter.com/cms/story/detail/a_little_help_from_his_friends/7744/
Year of writing 147.
5/27/12
Upon watching my son with his great grandfather
Two smiles separated by decades upon decades
play across their faces like an echo
these are the moments when time does not exist,
when age is just the wind heard outside
and love is the only number.
Upon watching my son with his great grandfather
Two smiles separated by decades upon decades
play across their faces like an echo
these are the moments when time does not exist,
when age is just the wind heard outside
and love is the only number.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Year of writing 146. Rocketship park
5/26/12
Rocketship Park.
Today we took Isla & Miles to the park in Ojai that has had the same rocket ship metal climbing structure that has been there since I was a kid. She's been here once before too, when she was maybe two years old. That time, I had to climb up the rocket with her, angling my shoulders askew to fit through the holes in the metal. She wouldn't move unless I was right behind her, ready to catch. This time, Isla didn't even ask, just ran over to the rocketship and started climbing as fast as she could. A part of me was really proud, but most of me was a little sad, and reminded me that I only have so long to be right there with her for all of her first attempts. A part of me made me hold out my hands a little to catch her, even though I was ten feet away on the grass.
Rocketship Park.
Today we took Isla & Miles to the park in Ojai that has had the same rocket ship metal climbing structure that has been there since I was a kid. She's been here once before too, when she was maybe two years old. That time, I had to climb up the rocket with her, angling my shoulders askew to fit through the holes in the metal. She wouldn't move unless I was right behind her, ready to catch. This time, Isla didn't even ask, just ran over to the rocketship and started climbing as fast as she could. A part of me was really proud, but most of me was a little sad, and reminded me that I only have so long to be right there with her for all of her first attempts. A part of me made me hold out my hands a little to catch her, even though I was ten feet away on the grass.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Year of writing 145. Week 2.
Another week down in the new adventure that is my life as a stay at home dad. Here are my weekly learnings and mislearnings as well.
1: books, books,and more books. I am raising my kids to be such hard core readers that they walk down the street reading a young adult fantasy novel that they just can't put down and forget to look where they're going, so they smash into a telephone pole right when the person they like happens to be riding their bike down the street. Oh wait, that was me. Still, my heart leaps every time I catch Isla reading Edward Gorey books to herself, and every time I catch Miles drooling all over some typeface.
It would have to resemble a human woman, somewhat similar in stature to my wife. Then I figure I could spray it with her pheromones (those are easy to get, right?), and sit it next to Miles. That way I might just be able to make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with both hands or maybe even urinate by myself without having my son announce loudly and publicly that he's been abandoned forever and all times, and call an Amber alert on himself until I pick him up approximately twenty seven seconds later.
3: Whatever is happening in the artistic realm developmentally for Isla right now is freakin' awesome. She has moved into these surreal faces, incorporating zombies and vampires as well as flower petals and tiaras to capture the mood someone is in. Anytime someone visits now, she runs up to them and asks them what color their eyes are, what mood they're in, and how to spell their name. A fabulous surrealist portrait awaits them as they depart. I still haven't figured out a good way to store markers and crayons though. Currently they are residing in an old cat food box. Don't ask why.
4. Keeping in the vein of things I haven't figured out yet - eating for me has now reverted to my college days at best, when we happen to pass a place that sells one slice of pizza or a hot dog or something, and the ridiculous remains of whatever my kids had for lunch at worst. I think this week my lunch looked like
Monday - half a pb&j and some chewed banana,
Tuesday - the tops from some strawberries and the last of Isla's smoothie,
Wednesday - half a pretzel from the zoo and a hot dog.
Thursday - baby yogurt and some soggy saltines.
Friday - cold Finneas and Ferb macaroni and cheese.
I don't know if it's that I can't get it together to make myself something, or that I have started to really enjoy the dregs of my children's plates. Whatever is happening, it's not healthy.
5. DO NOT HERMIT YOURSELF, ever. No matter how hard you may think it will be to pack a bunch of crap, get out of the house with the two kids semi-intact, and plan the trip to wherever it is that isn't your home - it is infinitely better to be somewhere else. Children that have been stuck at home all day with a tired, cranky daddy turn into Fizzgig from The Dark Crystal:
6. This is the best way I have found to deal with a kid that is being outrageous - be firm, be consistent, and as soon as you get a chance, confuse the crap out of them by saying something ridiculous like "Hey Isla, have you ever tried to catch a daddy long legs and dress him up like Harry Potter and make him act out scenes from the movie for you?"
7. All kids love Michael Jackson's music. It doesn't matter if they are 4 months old or not, put on MJ and watch the magic happen. That being said - Isla's favorite song right now is the "Shankill Butchers" by the Decemberists. Look up the lyrics to that, and you'll see why she is how she is.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Year of writing 144. Dinobaby
5/24/12
Along with drooling copiously all over himself, my son has now at 8 months began to really vocalize. There are four categories to his sounds: Crying, Squealing, Cooing, and Dinosaur.
The crying category can be subdivided into distinct genres as well - the hungry cackle, the "I can't believe you really left me alone to play here on the carpet with this plastic skull while you go pee" wail, the throw the head back and holler teething yowl, the about to fall asleep moan... all amazing, as you can imagine.
Cooing and squealing are actually closely related in nature, these are the happy time sounds, with the squeals reserved for such delights as my parents' obese Vizsla mix with epilepsy and some serious goiters, cardboard swatches that can be dissolved in the drool vortex, and his own reflection.
Dinosaur is my favorite. I don't know what brings it on, but every once in a while, Miles will start a low rumbling. I guess it's some kind of concentration thing - because at first I thought he was pooping, and I thought "now there's an epic pooping noise!" However, I was mistaken, there was only thunder, no hail. Then I noticed he did it when he really was into whatever object he was holding - most recently an empty Gatorade bottle. First he growls low at it, like a fat pitbull who thinks you're too close to its food, but doesn't want to get up to deal with it. Then, he puts his chin on his chest and starts moanurgling in a manner which most closely suggests this creature:
Along with drooling copiously all over himself, my son has now at 8 months began to really vocalize. There are four categories to his sounds: Crying, Squealing, Cooing, and Dinosaur.
The crying category can be subdivided into distinct genres as well - the hungry cackle, the "I can't believe you really left me alone to play here on the carpet with this plastic skull while you go pee" wail, the throw the head back and holler teething yowl, the about to fall asleep moan... all amazing, as you can imagine.
Cooing and squealing are actually closely related in nature, these are the happy time sounds, with the squeals reserved for such delights as my parents' obese Vizsla mix with epilepsy and some serious goiters, cardboard swatches that can be dissolved in the drool vortex, and his own reflection.
Dinosaur is my favorite. I don't know what brings it on, but every once in a while, Miles will start a low rumbling. I guess it's some kind of concentration thing - because at first I thought he was pooping, and I thought "now there's an epic pooping noise!" However, I was mistaken, there was only thunder, no hail. Then I noticed he did it when he really was into whatever object he was holding - most recently an empty Gatorade bottle. First he growls low at it, like a fat pitbull who thinks you're too close to its food, but doesn't want to get up to deal with it. Then, he puts his chin on his chest and starts moanurgling in a manner which most closely suggests this creature:
The fun continues until the dinosaur noises start to merge with the crying noises, at which point I usually resort to diversionary tactics, like tummy razzberries or pretending to be a big fat happy dog with a goiter.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Year of writing 143. Zoo.
5/23/12
I know, this looks pretty awesome - let's feed a giraffe, right? Wrong. First off, you have to walk up a big ass hill to get to the giraffes, which is not easy when you have a stroller full of baby and a four year old that "caaaaaaan't maaaaaaaake it" up the hill. Then you get to the giraffe feeding location, only to find that they need six bucks from you in exact change or else you can't have two pieces of lettuce, and you have to stand to the side like the nerdy kid at a high school dance. So, I have to march back down the hill to get exact change for my 10, then back up the hill one more time. B.S. Whatever, Isla wants to feed the giraffe. So, now my six dollars disappear into a fat man's fanny pack and he hands Isla the aforementioned 2 pieces of lettuce. Then this swagged out lady named Gene (really? Gene?) instructs her on how to hold the leafy green while the giraffe sticks out like four feet of tongue and proceeds to taste her hand, fingers, forearm, and hair. "You're gonna get a little wet," Gene says. Isla just giggles and holds out another piece of lettuce for the slimy monstrosity that extends from the maw of this beast. In 20 seconds it's over, and I'm lucky that my stupid Android camera got even one picture. Now, I have a child with hair plastered to her forehead by giraffe spit, and she's wiping her sodden hands all over my vintage Target camo shorts. Luckily they have hand sanitizer nearby, so I douse my child and get: "I wanna feed the giraffe again - her tongue was so tickly!"
"How about we just go home and I'll hit you with a wet towel a bunch of times?"
"Daddy, that doesn't sound like fun."
"You're too small to know what fun is."
"No I'm not, fun is like puzzles and reading books and playing with toys."
"Let's go home and do that then."
"Okay!"
"WIN!"
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
year of writing 142. tough days mean good food.
5/22/12
Today was rough. Really rough. Miles STOPPED crying three times. Once when he took a nap in the morning, once in the afternoon, and when his mom got home. On top of that, Isla screamed at me about how hungry she was WHILE A DELICIOUS BURRITO was sitting right in front of her, and Miles was red faced and wailing in my ear.
I handed off the grub to Tegan as soon as she walked though the door and transformed into Iron Chef Aaron. It was my mother in law's birthday so I decided to go a little nuts. First, I took my sister's super bitter Radicchio challenge, and made an appetizer by laying the leaves out on baking sheets, firing the oven to 450, drizzling olive oil, grating Parmesan on top and letting it go for about 10 minutes. It was pretty awesome.
Then, onto the grill. Yellow squash, baby zucchini, fennel, onion, and carrot in garlic oil were first. Charred, then cubed and mixed with some more garlic oil and basil. Grilled salad like what! Next the meat went on - 6 sirloins marinated in parsley, garlic and oil. Five minutes on the flame, turn, put a cream cheese, blue cheese, jalepeno, white basalmic, and shallot mixture on top till medium rare. Finish with a nice Cabernet and some grilled pears - sheeeeeeit. It's like the bad day never happened. Until tomorrow, when it starts all over again.
Today was rough. Really rough. Miles STOPPED crying three times. Once when he took a nap in the morning, once in the afternoon, and when his mom got home. On top of that, Isla screamed at me about how hungry she was WHILE A DELICIOUS BURRITO was sitting right in front of her, and Miles was red faced and wailing in my ear.
I handed off the grub to Tegan as soon as she walked though the door and transformed into Iron Chef Aaron. It was my mother in law's birthday so I decided to go a little nuts. First, I took my sister's super bitter Radicchio challenge, and made an appetizer by laying the leaves out on baking sheets, firing the oven to 450, drizzling olive oil, grating Parmesan on top and letting it go for about 10 minutes. It was pretty awesome.
Then, onto the grill. Yellow squash, baby zucchini, fennel, onion, and carrot in garlic oil were first. Charred, then cubed and mixed with some more garlic oil and basil. Grilled salad like what! Next the meat went on - 6 sirloins marinated in parsley, garlic and oil. Five minutes on the flame, turn, put a cream cheese, blue cheese, jalepeno, white basalmic, and shallot mixture on top till medium rare. Finish with a nice Cabernet and some grilled pears - sheeeeeeit. It's like the bad day never happened. Until tomorrow, when it starts all over again.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Year of writing 141. Neverending Story.
5/21/12
I started reading The Neverending Story to Isla last week - a friend of mine from down here returned a copy of the book I gave him when we were in 8th or 9th grade. It is so awesome - with green and red typeface to distinguish which parts are taking place in the real world and which are taking part in Fantastica. Reading chapter books to Isla is kind of amazing. She sits there and either stares into space, imagining what's happening, or staring at my mouth and the words on the page for an entire chapter. It's a pretty special time.
A couple days ago, she ran up to me breathless. When I asked her what the heck was going on, she pulled a VHS copy of this from behind her back.
"Where'd you get that?" I asked her. "Daddy you NEVER told me there was a MOVIE for this story! LOOK - it's the rock eater and the tiny and Falkor and the CHILDLIKE EMPRESS, LOOK DADDY!"
"I know, I know - we gotta get through that book so we can watch the movie."
"Is it bedtime now?"
I started reading The Neverending Story to Isla last week - a friend of mine from down here returned a copy of the book I gave him when we were in 8th or 9th grade. It is so awesome - with green and red typeface to distinguish which parts are taking place in the real world and which are taking part in Fantastica. Reading chapter books to Isla is kind of amazing. She sits there and either stares into space, imagining what's happening, or staring at my mouth and the words on the page for an entire chapter. It's a pretty special time.
A couple days ago, she ran up to me breathless. When I asked her what the heck was going on, she pulled a VHS copy of this from behind her back.
"Where'd you get that?" I asked her. "Daddy you NEVER told me there was a MOVIE for this story! LOOK - it's the rock eater and the tiny and Falkor and the CHILDLIKE EMPRESS, LOOK DADDY!"
"I know, I know - we gotta get through that book so we can watch the movie."
"Is it bedtime now?"
Sunday, May 20, 2012
year of writing 140. The beach.
5/20/12
We took our first beach trip as a SoCal family today and the overwhelming consensus was awesome sauce. In true middle school teacher fashion, I will make a postive/negative T- chart for the experience.
|
Positive |
Negative |
|
- 2 ½ hours of baby bliss, generated by sand, sun, and a dried
mango. Miles was in a zone. - Isla squealing in the waves, making a 34 year old man run from the surf like it was an angry hippopotamus. - Five dolphins about 20 feet out, and a sea lion playing in the waves close enough to see his whiskers glistening. - Meeting up with my sister and her husband, free guacamole, beer and salad from the farm. - Sand castles, pebble paths, shell drawbridges, seaweed banners – and nobody looking at me crazy for building Winterfell out of sand because I have a 4 year old there with me. |
- Sand sucks. Especially when your daughter uses your
sweatshirt to wipe it off of her butt. - Happy giggly time teaching Isla to throw a frisbee ending tragically when I threw it up to myself, and charged forward to catch it, hitting Isla Oakland Raiders style with a shoulder and laying her out on the sand. Man, daddies can be jerkfaces sometimes. - Getting two kids ready for the beach, with all the required accoutrements, food, towels, etc... Is impossible, given that their parents are severely disorganized. Is there a pill for that? - Sand really sucks – I think I still have some in my mouth after Isla kicked sand all over my apple. It was a delicious apple though, so I powered through it. |
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Year of writing 139. Where I am.
5/19/12
I swing my feet out from under the covers
the same way I always have. They land on
unfamiliar carpet, but for how long? How
many mornings until my feet hit home?
The doves outside are not my doves, the
crow cawing on the roof belongs to bright
skies and morning sun. My sweat has fallen
into the earth many times already, my blood
has been spilled as well. Still, this place of
quiet, of wrought iron and orange blossoms,
does not fit right on my body. When it does,
when the sun no longer leaves its mark on
my neck, when the mosquitoes tire of my
taste, then I will alter the pause in my speech
when someone asks where I am from.
I swing my feet out from under the covers
the same way I always have. They land on
unfamiliar carpet, but for how long? How
many mornings until my feet hit home?
The doves outside are not my doves, the
crow cawing on the roof belongs to bright
skies and morning sun. My sweat has fallen
into the earth many times already, my blood
has been spilled as well. Still, this place of
quiet, of wrought iron and orange blossoms,
does not fit right on my body. When it does,
when the sun no longer leaves its mark on
my neck, when the mosquitoes tire of my
taste, then I will alter the pause in my speech
when someone asks where I am from.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Year of Writing 138. Week 1.
5/18/12
As of 5 PM today, I officially ended my first week at my new job. It's a pretty rad job. I take care of two beautiful kids, I play, cook meals, and even though I have to do the cleanup, I can usually get some help along the way. Here is a list of things I have learned and yet to figure out.
1. Babies need to have a translator chip installed in them at birth to translate frequency and pitch of distress calls so I can distinguish between "I'm hungry," "I'm tired," and "I don't want your goddamn organic apple/peach/butternut squash/edamame bullshit. Give me a banana."
2. Gummi Worms, Bubbles, Fruit roll-ups, and screen time are all great bribe material, but when you can convince your four year old to do something by LETTING HER HELP YOU CLEAN if she does - you have reached parenting Nirvana. (yeah, that happened).
3. There's nothing like a nice jaunt to Target at the end of the day with two screaming kids, amongst all the other screaming kids, just so you can pick up some baby food and toilet paper, then you get distracted by all the screaming kids, and end up buying a suitcase sized tylenol bottle and forgetting the toilet paper altogether, so you end up using a ripped up piece of a Trader Joe's bag that was in the bathroom for some reason to wipe your ass when you poop. There's nothing like that in the world.
4. Let your daughter wear whatever she wants. Unless you're going to high tea or something, it's not worth it anyway. Plus, when you walk into a store with your kid wearing rainboots, princess dress, witch hat, carrying a lightsaber and a purse shaped like a poodle, you kinda feel like a rock star.
5. Stay at home dads are not quite accepted yet. Old ladies always smile and say "you look like you got your hands full there!" (seriously, I've been accosted by this phrase about seventy five thousand times now). But younger mothers with their children still eye me with suspicion, as though I have ulterior motives as I stand there cleaning puke off my shoulder while trying to simultaneously bottle feed a baby and keep my daughter from running into the street without holding my hand. What the hell? Can't I just get a hello?
6. When you have a regular job, there's always this wall you hit after lunch, right around two. This is the time that tired and sleepy show up with their faded fedoras and billy clubs and knock you around for a little while. Most jobs have breaks built in, so you can recharge a little bit. When you stay at home, this is amplified by a gazillion, and while tired and sleepy are chewing on the butts of their cigars and beating the shit out of you, your kids are screaming because a) Finneas and Ferb wont come on the television and b) I have no idea.
7. Imagination is a beautiful thing. I will stop everything if a good imagination session is happening. Conversely, I will ignore a dumb imagination session - like "pretend you are Harry Potter and I'm Hermione and I'm chewing on an orange, but Harry thinks it's a piece of gum." Yeah, no.
8. It's been said a million times, but the box really is better than the toy.
9. Human contact is supremely necessary. I understand now that parent groups are really and truly for the parents. Kids could care less.
10. Family is crucial. I can't express how lucky I am to live so close to my mom, stepdad, sisters, brother, cousins and friends who are willing to come swoop up Isla and take her to feed their mom's turtle and play on the playground while I decompress in my hyperbolic chamber for a couple minutes.
As of 5 PM today, I officially ended my first week at my new job. It's a pretty rad job. I take care of two beautiful kids, I play, cook meals, and even though I have to do the cleanup, I can usually get some help along the way. Here is a list of things I have learned and yet to figure out.
1. Babies need to have a translator chip installed in them at birth to translate frequency and pitch of distress calls so I can distinguish between "I'm hungry," "I'm tired," and "I don't want your goddamn organic apple/peach/butternut squash/edamame bullshit. Give me a banana."
2. Gummi Worms, Bubbles, Fruit roll-ups, and screen time are all great bribe material, but when you can convince your four year old to do something by LETTING HER HELP YOU CLEAN if she does - you have reached parenting Nirvana. (yeah, that happened).
3. There's nothing like a nice jaunt to Target at the end of the day with two screaming kids, amongst all the other screaming kids, just so you can pick up some baby food and toilet paper, then you get distracted by all the screaming kids, and end up buying a suitcase sized tylenol bottle and forgetting the toilet paper altogether, so you end up using a ripped up piece of a Trader Joe's bag that was in the bathroom for some reason to wipe your ass when you poop. There's nothing like that in the world.
4. Let your daughter wear whatever she wants. Unless you're going to high tea or something, it's not worth it anyway. Plus, when you walk into a store with your kid wearing rainboots, princess dress, witch hat, carrying a lightsaber and a purse shaped like a poodle, you kinda feel like a rock star.
5. Stay at home dads are not quite accepted yet. Old ladies always smile and say "you look like you got your hands full there!" (seriously, I've been accosted by this phrase about seventy five thousand times now). But younger mothers with their children still eye me with suspicion, as though I have ulterior motives as I stand there cleaning puke off my shoulder while trying to simultaneously bottle feed a baby and keep my daughter from running into the street without holding my hand. What the hell? Can't I just get a hello?
6. When you have a regular job, there's always this wall you hit after lunch, right around two. This is the time that tired and sleepy show up with their faded fedoras and billy clubs and knock you around for a little while. Most jobs have breaks built in, so you can recharge a little bit. When you stay at home, this is amplified by a gazillion, and while tired and sleepy are chewing on the butts of their cigars and beating the shit out of you, your kids are screaming because a) Finneas and Ferb wont come on the television and b) I have no idea.
7. Imagination is a beautiful thing. I will stop everything if a good imagination session is happening. Conversely, I will ignore a dumb imagination session - like "pretend you are Harry Potter and I'm Hermione and I'm chewing on an orange, but Harry thinks it's a piece of gum." Yeah, no.
8. It's been said a million times, but the box really is better than the toy.
9. Human contact is supremely necessary. I understand now that parent groups are really and truly for the parents. Kids could care less.
10. Family is crucial. I can't express how lucky I am to live so close to my mom, stepdad, sisters, brother, cousins and friends who are willing to come swoop up Isla and take her to feed their mom's turtle and play on the playground while I decompress in my hyperbolic chamber for a couple minutes.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Year of Writing 137. Tape Town
5/17/12
Preschool activity FTW. Ingredients: masking tape, carpet. I got up this morning with a moment of intense inspiration. While Isla was eating breakfast and Miles was doing baby stuff, I took a roll of masking tape that was sitting nearby and taped off the floorplan for an entire town on the carpet. There is a city park, apartment complexes, government housing, and the upper west side. It's pretty rad. Isla took her cars, actiion figures and dolls and made a whole fictional story for the town. It was presided over by the Goblin King from "Labyrinth" who had taken Ariel the mermaid hostage and everyone in town was too scared to do anything about it. This led to the emergence of a new superhero "Flyman" (Who in reality was an old power ranger villain from a thrift store). This paragon of justice not only rescued Ariel, but flew around giving Dora rides to Diego's house, and opening My Little Pony's locked front door. Then, in a moment of charity, he started a school only for the Goblin King to teach him "how to be a good town guy." This was by far the best received thing I've tried to do for Isla's entertainment - it was a good 4 hours plus, and still going strong.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Year of Writing 136. Teething.
5/16/12
Day three of my daddy daycare was a little rough around the edges. There's this thing called a tooth. And apparently, getting one sucks so bad that a person screams all day. I feel bad for the little dude, I mean, he's literally soaked with saliva from the minute he gets up until he goes to bed, and I change his clothes at least 5 times a day. I give him a dose of baby tylenol too, and that usually buys me an hour or so. Today though, the tylenol did a whole lot of nothing, and this kid was a crying, screaming, drooling, snotty, uncomfortable mess the whole day. I take it back. Almost the whole day. He fell calmly asleep right before Tegan got home, so I got the whole: "wow things are so calm in here!" To which I returned the evilest squint I could muster.
Day three of my daddy daycare was a little rough around the edges. There's this thing called a tooth. And apparently, getting one sucks so bad that a person screams all day. I feel bad for the little dude, I mean, he's literally soaked with saliva from the minute he gets up until he goes to bed, and I change his clothes at least 5 times a day. I give him a dose of baby tylenol too, and that usually buys me an hour or so. Today though, the tylenol did a whole lot of nothing, and this kid was a crying, screaming, drooling, snotty, uncomfortable mess the whole day. I take it back. Almost the whole day. He fell calmly asleep right before Tegan got home, so I got the whole: "wow things are so calm in here!" To which I returned the evilest squint I could muster.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Year of writing 135.
5/15/12
Today I found out that Isla was not accepted to the preschool we really liked when we got here. We were waitlisted, and it really kinda sucked. The art teacher there is an old family friend, and her cousin Zia will be in the same class (she was already accepted earlier). This got me thinking about education in general.
Things I must remember: No matter what, the family dynamic plays a huge part in a kid's educational success.
The worst possible school here is maybe one step down from the best school in Oakland.
Isla loves to learn. She will continue to do so as long as learning is available to her.
School is not the only place learning happens.
Wherever she goes, if I am involved, I'll know if it is right.
I had no idea that preschool applications could be as mind crushing as college applications were for me 16 years ago. That feels wrong. I can only imagine what it is like, in a place like Oakland, for a parent who only sees one decent option for their child dissolve away through bureaucracy or some other bullshit. I am leagues away from that situation, and need to consider myself lucky. That's still not going to stop me from hounding these MF'ers until my baby gets into her #1.
Chea.
Today I found out that Isla was not accepted to the preschool we really liked when we got here. We were waitlisted, and it really kinda sucked. The art teacher there is an old family friend, and her cousin Zia will be in the same class (she was already accepted earlier). This got me thinking about education in general.
Things I must remember: No matter what, the family dynamic plays a huge part in a kid's educational success.
The worst possible school here is maybe one step down from the best school in Oakland.
Isla loves to learn. She will continue to do so as long as learning is available to her.
School is not the only place learning happens.
Wherever she goes, if I am involved, I'll know if it is right.
I had no idea that preschool applications could be as mind crushing as college applications were for me 16 years ago. That feels wrong. I can only imagine what it is like, in a place like Oakland, for a parent who only sees one decent option for their child dissolve away through bureaucracy or some other bullshit. I am leagues away from that situation, and need to consider myself lucky. That's still not going to stop me from hounding these MF'ers until my baby gets into her #1.
Chea.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Year of Writing 134. It's official
5/14/12
As of today, I am officially a stay at home dad. Tegan went to her brand new job at Cottage Hospital in Santa Barbara today for the first time, leaving me armed with my trusty list of things to do in Ojai and a reciprocated "good luck."
Truth be told, this is a good gig. It is not easy by any stretch of the imagination - but it is good. The only complaint I have had (besides the political stuff like pay and respect and management and curriculum) about the actual job of teaching was that I was missing my daughter's milestones, and because children change like quicksilver, I was missing things that I would never get to see again. That makes me feel supremely grateful for the opportunity I have right now to do just that, to slow down a little and just be with my kids, for better or for worse, and hear their imaginations work, watch first steps happen, second steps, and all the other ones after. Just today I witnessed my daughter make a friend on the playground, giving me a surreptitious wink and a thumbs up while chasing her around, I helped my son get the movements for crawling under control, worked my way through a couple mini-tantrums, ate breakfast and lunch with my kids, read three books, deconstructed an episode of Strawberry Shortcake, changed 5 diapers, played the part of Harry Potter, Darth Vader, Bellatrix's dad, Papa Smurf, and Rapunzel, and took the whole family out to celebrate my wife's first day of work.
Again, this is a good gig. I'll take it.
As of today, I am officially a stay at home dad. Tegan went to her brand new job at Cottage Hospital in Santa Barbara today for the first time, leaving me armed with my trusty list of things to do in Ojai and a reciprocated "good luck."
Truth be told, this is a good gig. It is not easy by any stretch of the imagination - but it is good. The only complaint I have had (besides the political stuff like pay and respect and management and curriculum) about the actual job of teaching was that I was missing my daughter's milestones, and because children change like quicksilver, I was missing things that I would never get to see again. That makes me feel supremely grateful for the opportunity I have right now to do just that, to slow down a little and just be with my kids, for better or for worse, and hear their imaginations work, watch first steps happen, second steps, and all the other ones after. Just today I witnessed my daughter make a friend on the playground, giving me a surreptitious wink and a thumbs up while chasing her around, I helped my son get the movements for crawling under control, worked my way through a couple mini-tantrums, ate breakfast and lunch with my kids, read three books, deconstructed an episode of Strawberry Shortcake, changed 5 diapers, played the part of Harry Potter, Darth Vader, Bellatrix's dad, Papa Smurf, and Rapunzel, and took the whole family out to celebrate my wife's first day of work.
Again, this is a good gig. I'll take it.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Year of Writing 133. The Money Pit.
5/13/12
Anybody remember this movie? I am living this movie as we speak. I apologize for the rant like nature of my posts recently, but I'd be lying if I tried to come off in any other manner. I feel like ranting.
All I really wanted to do today was cook my mom and my mother in law a nice brunch with huevos rancheros and mimosas. I got to do that, so I guess I can't complain too much - but in the meantime, we needed some hot water up in here, so I called the gas company to turn on our gas. We had fixed the deadly leak that probably would have blown up our whole block, then got this technician to come out yesterday to turn on our gas. This fu**in' guy. He must have just graduated from the gas academy last week, because he showed up in spiffy new coveralls, wearing kneepads, elbow pads, a freaking helmet, and some kind of body armor like robocop. He walked through the house with a checklist making suggestions about our windows and the dampers for the fireplace, and then stood there watching me fix them, saying that he would have to charge us 50 bucks for each of these inane fixes if I didn't do them right then and there. I normally wouldn't submit myself to this kind of ridicule, but my baby needed a hot shower, so I grit my teeth and fixed shit. THEN, this man goes out to the box at the street, and proceeds to tell us he can't turn the gas on because the line on our side, WHICH WAS PUT IN THAT DAY, was not made of the regulation material, and we'd have to call out the plumber again, to put it in today. I almost punched him in the neck, but thought better of it, since the priority was getting hot water.
This brings us to today. The plumber, a family friend came out on Mother's Day to fix the line. He did it exactly to specification. Sweet. I called the gas company. "Please turn on the gas," I said, "My baby's sick and we need to boil his sheets." The lady said no. I refused to accept this answer and ranted and raved until the supervisor at the gas company relented. "You're sure you did everything to specifications?" she asked. "You sure I won't reach through the phone and rip out your larynx?" I replied. (or something slightly less murderous). "We'll have a guy out there today." "Yes you will."
The guy comes. He's a stand up guy. He turns on the gas, apologetically. Then, checks the water heater - check. The gas dryer - check. He comes inside, where there is NO GAS TO ANY OF OUR APPLIANCES. Wait... what?
Yeah, apparently we cut a line that was spliced into the gas main, so we only get gas to the outside of the house. Sweet. Start over. Oh, and when I started cleaning the dishes from the Mother's day brunch, I was super stoked to try out the dishwasher, which promptly leaked a river into the living room.
You have won this battle, house. And the war will be long and costly, but mark my words, demon dwelling, I will prevail. Oh yes, I will prevail. After my wife's paycheck, that is.
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Year of writing 132.
5/12/12
Here is the theme song for today:
Not because I'm feeling a little sappy and reminiscent for my emo high school years, but because I hurt. I haven't hurt like this in a long time. My hands hurt from the sledgehammer, shovels, and sawzall. My legs hurt from standing and doing shit every day for 2 weeks now. Even my fingernails hurt from abuse. Poets are not cut out for this type of shit. On the bright side, things are getting done around here like gangbusters. However, now I'm deathly afraid of starting any new project, since I always seem to open up 76 other cans of worms in the process.
Here is the theme song for today:
Not because I'm feeling a little sappy and reminiscent for my emo high school years, but because I hurt. I haven't hurt like this in a long time. My hands hurt from the sledgehammer, shovels, and sawzall. My legs hurt from standing and doing shit every day for 2 weeks now. Even my fingernails hurt from abuse. Poets are not cut out for this type of shit. On the bright side, things are getting done around here like gangbusters. However, now I'm deathly afraid of starting any new project, since I always seem to open up 76 other cans of worms in the process.
Friday, May 11, 2012
Year of writing 131. When what can go wrong does.
5/11/12
Here's how it goes.
try to fix toilet - find out that the entire bathroom needs to be remodeled and tiled because of mold damage.
try to get ice from refrigerator - find out that the water lines to every faucet are frozen with sediment and hard water residue, need to replace every faucet and valve in the house.
try to install gas dryer instead of electric - find out that there's a gas leak outside the house that's been at dangerous levels for probably the last three to five years.
try to figure out when sprinklers come on - find out that the system has leaks throughout, need to break out concrete sidewalk and replace valves.
It's not like I wasn't a homeowner before, I just wasn't a homeowner of a place that needed maintenance. I have a problem with maintenance. We ain't cool.
Here's how it goes.
try to fix toilet - find out that the entire bathroom needs to be remodeled and tiled because of mold damage.
try to get ice from refrigerator - find out that the water lines to every faucet are frozen with sediment and hard water residue, need to replace every faucet and valve in the house.
try to install gas dryer instead of electric - find out that there's a gas leak outside the house that's been at dangerous levels for probably the last three to five years.
try to figure out when sprinklers come on - find out that the system has leaks throughout, need to break out concrete sidewalk and replace valves.
It's not like I wasn't a homeowner before, I just wasn't a homeowner of a place that needed maintenance. I have a problem with maintenance. We ain't cool.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Year of writing 130. Lyrical girl.
5/10/12
Today I noticed a new trend for Isla. She likes to take the lyrics to some song we've been singing, and incorporate it into whatever she's doing. Basically, she's sampling already - and I think it's pretty rad. The first one I noticed was this morning when she was running around the rocks on our front lawn. She was singing the chorus to "Leroy Brown" by Jim Croce, only she thinks it is "Amigo Brown," and that ranks a 14 on a scale of cuteness, so I've never corrected her. As she ran around, this is what she sang: "I'm bad, bad Amigo brown, I run around, I run around. These are my rocks, they don't fight, they just sit on the grass because I'm Amigo Brown."
The second iteration of this new phenomenon happened while she was in her room playing with all of her little animal figurines. We've been listening a lot to Chad Van Gaalen's "Willow Tree," and she reimagined the lyrics thusly: " I sleep all day, I'm a tiger by the doggy. / I hang my clothes, actually I don't have clothes./ When I die, I hide my head inside the jungle trees / when I'm dead that's when I'll be hungry."
Finally, at dinner, while pretending to be Harry Potter, she took the classic Death Cab For Cutie track, "I'll follow you into the dark" and did this: "Hermione, I'll follow you into the dark for dinner." All in tune. I really hope this continues - she could bring back "Who's line is it anyway," and give Wayne Brady a run for his money.
Today I noticed a new trend for Isla. She likes to take the lyrics to some song we've been singing, and incorporate it into whatever she's doing. Basically, she's sampling already - and I think it's pretty rad. The first one I noticed was this morning when she was running around the rocks on our front lawn. She was singing the chorus to "Leroy Brown" by Jim Croce, only she thinks it is "Amigo Brown," and that ranks a 14 on a scale of cuteness, so I've never corrected her. As she ran around, this is what she sang: "I'm bad, bad Amigo brown, I run around, I run around. These are my rocks, they don't fight, they just sit on the grass because I'm Amigo Brown."
The second iteration of this new phenomenon happened while she was in her room playing with all of her little animal figurines. We've been listening a lot to Chad Van Gaalen's "Willow Tree," and she reimagined the lyrics thusly: " I sleep all day, I'm a tiger by the doggy. / I hang my clothes, actually I don't have clothes./ When I die, I hide my head inside the jungle trees / when I'm dead that's when I'll be hungry."
Finally, at dinner, while pretending to be Harry Potter, she took the classic Death Cab For Cutie track, "I'll follow you into the dark" and did this: "Hermione, I'll follow you into the dark for dinner." All in tune. I really hope this continues - she could bring back "Who's line is it anyway," and give Wayne Brady a run for his money.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Year of writing 129. Community
5/9/12
I came back to Ojai leery of the douchebags that occupied my high school experience here, and if you have spoken to me recently about the move back here, it was probably very high on my grumble list. However, one thing that I neglected to allow into my thinking was how many awesome people are here also. While the chumbuckets are still here, as witnessed by the last few posts, I have been made acutely aware of the sense of community that a small town offers, and it's pretty amazing. There has not been a day so far where some friend from the past has stopped by to lend a hand in this ridiculous process of renovating a house, or to bring dinner, or food from their farm, or a case of beer, or a book I lent them in the 9th grade. I used to be afraid, and thought I would hate being in a place where you know everyone, but now I realize how special that really is, when the people are so cool. Here's to knowing your neighbors, getting deals at the neighborhood store, walking to EVERYTHING, and a big healthy dose of family.
I came back to Ojai leery of the douchebags that occupied my high school experience here, and if you have spoken to me recently about the move back here, it was probably very high on my grumble list. However, one thing that I neglected to allow into my thinking was how many awesome people are here also. While the chumbuckets are still here, as witnessed by the last few posts, I have been made acutely aware of the sense of community that a small town offers, and it's pretty amazing. There has not been a day so far where some friend from the past has stopped by to lend a hand in this ridiculous process of renovating a house, or to bring dinner, or food from their farm, or a case of beer, or a book I lent them in the 9th grade. I used to be afraid, and thought I would hate being in a place where you know everyone, but now I realize how special that really is, when the people are so cool. Here's to knowing your neighbors, getting deals at the neighborhood store, walking to EVERYTHING, and a big healthy dose of family.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Year of writing 128. Wub Wub
5/8/12
Finally all caught up! Last night after I ran into the bro from the last post, I was walking back to the car with a friend and we saw a car roll by filled to the brim with teenagers. Actually it was a truck, this is important because there were five people in the cab, and the dude in the passenger seat nearest us as the truck turned the corner while we passed in the crosswalk was literally hanging out the window. This particular truck and these particular teenagers were engaged in listening to Dubstep music at high volume. This, being a middle school teacher is not such a hard thing to get my mind around, I even like a little dubstep every now and again. Like this:
So I get it, dubstep is catchy, it makes me want to clean my room hella good, and whatever, it's fun to listen to. But, the thing is, this dude hanging out of the truck was SINGING ALONG to the song. This song has no vocals. It is an electronica song. So, basically he was saying "Wub Wub Wubba Wubba Wub" over and over again. No, not saying it, like screaming it, like screaming it as if he was a 13 year old girl at a Bieber concert. That is what makes no sense to me. How the hell do you know the lyrics to a song with no lyrics? The only possible explanation is that dubstep is actually a new language developed by teenagers to fuck with me. That's the only explanation at all.
Finally all caught up! Last night after I ran into the bro from the last post, I was walking back to the car with a friend and we saw a car roll by filled to the brim with teenagers. Actually it was a truck, this is important because there were five people in the cab, and the dude in the passenger seat nearest us as the truck turned the corner while we passed in the crosswalk was literally hanging out the window. This particular truck and these particular teenagers were engaged in listening to Dubstep music at high volume. This, being a middle school teacher is not such a hard thing to get my mind around, I even like a little dubstep every now and again. Like this:
So I get it, dubstep is catchy, it makes me want to clean my room hella good, and whatever, it's fun to listen to. But, the thing is, this dude hanging out of the truck was SINGING ALONG to the song. This song has no vocals. It is an electronica song. So, basically he was saying "Wub Wub Wubba Wubba Wub" over and over again. No, not saying it, like screaming it, like screaming it as if he was a 13 year old girl at a Bieber concert. That is what makes no sense to me. How the hell do you know the lyrics to a song with no lyrics? The only possible explanation is that dubstep is actually a new language developed by teenagers to fuck with me. That's the only explanation at all.
Year of writing 127. The bros.
5/7/12
So today I ran into the Ojai version of a gangster. Let me describe this bro. He is probably 5'10", yoked, shirtless at 10 PM while I'm leaving the cheap showing of "The Avengers," chilling by the post office, with a bicep wrap, shoulder piece, and tramp stamp all tribal. He is red in places you shouldn't be red, and walks with his arms held out from his body like he's afraid that if they touch him he might turn gay. He's probably gay, but says he hates fags. This dude failed high school in a place where the graduation rate is above 90%, he works at his stepfather's septic tank business, and he brings a twelver of Natty Ice wherever he goes. He is the reason I dislike southern California. However, this time, as opposed to when I've been around bros like him as a teenager living here, I held my head high, kept talking about Dungeons and Dragons with the other nerds I was with, except maybe a little louder, and smirked the shit out of dude. What's he gonna do anyway? I'm from Oakland motherfu**er.
So today I ran into the Ojai version of a gangster. Let me describe this bro. He is probably 5'10", yoked, shirtless at 10 PM while I'm leaving the cheap showing of "The Avengers," chilling by the post office, with a bicep wrap, shoulder piece, and tramp stamp all tribal. He is red in places you shouldn't be red, and walks with his arms held out from his body like he's afraid that if they touch him he might turn gay. He's probably gay, but says he hates fags. This dude failed high school in a place where the graduation rate is above 90%, he works at his stepfather's septic tank business, and he brings a twelver of Natty Ice wherever he goes. He is the reason I dislike southern California. However, this time, as opposed to when I've been around bros like him as a teenager living here, I held my head high, kept talking about Dungeons and Dragons with the other nerds I was with, except maybe a little louder, and smirked the shit out of dude. What's he gonna do anyway? I'm from Oakland motherfu**er.
Year of Writing 126. The family cookout.
5/6/12
This Sunday we were invited to my Mom and Dad's house for a barbecue. Tri tip, salmon, grilled fresh garlic, grilled romaine with bleu cheese and balsamic, potato salad and green salad, all but the beef either caught or farmed by a member of the family. It's days like this that remind me how OK it is to have moved here.
This Sunday we were invited to my Mom and Dad's house for a barbecue. Tri tip, salmon, grilled fresh garlic, grilled romaine with bleu cheese and balsamic, potato salad and green salad, all but the beef either caught or farmed by a member of the family. It's days like this that remind me how OK it is to have moved here.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Year of writing 125. Autocorrect.
Ok. Typing on my phone is maddening. This entry I will leave every word exactly as my phone says. Startybf now.
I don't really know what day this is supposed to be for anymore. Instead I just kinda hope its for the 5th of may. A Saturday. We are stuck setting in to ur house, its a slow peicvess for sure. I guess I'm learning a lot about how to take orders from a verbose foreman; my stepfather, and I.definitely can pyr files on a bathroom floor, seal them and all hat. I doubt that the work will end around here until next year. I wrote out a list of shit hat seeded to be done and ur wad nearly five pages long.
Ok. Enough of this crap. Do you see why I need the overstated -_- internet back? Tuesday. I promise.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Year of writing 124
5/4/12
These will be short until Tuesday when the internet gets installed here. The way I can best describe my new house is that it is a compound. A compound which needs a lot of work, but a compound nonetheless. If any federales try and get me, they got their work cut out for them. Unfortunately, the infrastructures here are running a little ragged, and every project I start unearths 47 new ones along the way. Oh well.
Friday, May 4, 2012
Year of writing 123. Reality.
5/3/12
Now a day behind my post, and trying to type on my phone's janky keyboard, I realize how difficult this is really going to be for the next few days. The biggest thing about forming a new habit (at least a good one) is routine...and that's exactly what I don't have right now. Update is as follows: movers came with 9100 lbs of crap, we tiled the bathroom floor, fixed the lights in the kitchen, and are finna go to a storytelling festival downtown. Not bad for the first full day here.
Takeaway 1 from all this is how incredibly quiet small towns are. Especially after living 12 feet from a freeway, and a mile from the iron triangle in Richmond, with its gunshot serenades.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Year of Writing 122. To Ojai
5/2/12
Today I arose at 4:30 AM to do a final cleanup and emptying of our house. As I walked through the echoing rooms I was hit by all the memories created in this house. This is where both of our children were born, where they fell, laughed and cried. I got a little throat-lumpy, but held it together as I crammed everything into our little car, including two trash cans, a clay bust of Michaelangelo's "David," Litter box, Vacuum cleaner, mop, broom, three suitcases, an art portfolio, cleaning supplies, and two cats.
Yeah. Cat's in the car. This is what happened for six hours:
Other than that, the car ride was pretty uneventful, the cats just kinda competed with the audiobook I was trying to listen to, the new Dark Tower novel by Stephen King. I have no idea what happened in that book.
When we arrived in Ojai, I went straight to the new house where my dad has been working feverishly for the last 2+ weeks to get it ready for movers, who are coming tomorrow. It needed some last minute work, so we got to it. This would have been cool if I had actually eaten anything that day. I hadn't. So, by 5 PM I sort of felt like Thor was beating my head with his beautiful, horrible hammer, and everything looked kind of swimmy. Oh well. Nothing a few hours of sleep and some Thai food won't fix. Tomorrow I will rate a Ruben's burrito. This will happen.
Today I arose at 4:30 AM to do a final cleanup and emptying of our house. As I walked through the echoing rooms I was hit by all the memories created in this house. This is where both of our children were born, where they fell, laughed and cried. I got a little throat-lumpy, but held it together as I crammed everything into our little car, including two trash cans, a clay bust of Michaelangelo's "David," Litter box, Vacuum cleaner, mop, broom, three suitcases, an art portfolio, cleaning supplies, and two cats.
Yeah. Cat's in the car. This is what happened for six hours:
Other than that, the car ride was pretty uneventful, the cats just kinda competed with the audiobook I was trying to listen to, the new Dark Tower novel by Stephen King. I have no idea what happened in that book.
When we arrived in Ojai, I went straight to the new house where my dad has been working feverishly for the last 2+ weeks to get it ready for movers, who are coming tomorrow. It needed some last minute work, so we got to it. This would have been cool if I had actually eaten anything that day. I hadn't. So, by 5 PM I sort of felt like Thor was beating my head with his beautiful, horrible hammer, and everything looked kind of swimmy. Oh well. Nothing a few hours of sleep and some Thai food won't fix. Tomorrow I will rate a Ruben's burrito. This will happen.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Year of writing 121. Moving day.
5/1/12
may first , I've been thinking about this day for a long time. It makes me think about so many things: the friends and community we're leaving in the bay, the family we will be rejoining down south, the complete change it will be to stay at home with my kids, but most of all it makes me realize that I have A LOT OF SHIT! Like tons, literally. Today I watched the movers shake their heads at our mountain of stuff, and this is AFTER renting a huge dumpster and donating 18 boxes to Goodwill. I feel pretty ridiculous about 7000 lbs. worth of whatever Tegan and I have amassed over the 16 some odd years we've been together, but damn if we didn't whittle it down to what we thought were the basics. We possibly might need an intervention. Ok, I might need an intervention...case in point:
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