I have decided that the most ridiculously cute thing in the universe is watching my baby boy crunch up goldfish crackers with no teeth. He gets this look on his face like he's initially worried, which quickly turns into determination as his little gums first crack the exterior of the goldfish. Then, as he crunches, his face lights up in vindication as if mocking the gods that have delayed his dentition. It's awesome, and it happens for every cracker. Today I witnessed this pinnacle of cuteness while watching Isla's last soccer practice (she's still undecided whether soccer is for her). In the video below, that's the English soccer coach who is yelling in the background, it's not a bad BBC documentary or something.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Year of writing 213. Crunch
7/31/12
I have decided that the most ridiculously cute thing in the universe is watching my baby boy crunch up goldfish crackers with no teeth. He gets this look on his face like he's initially worried, which quickly turns into determination as his little gums first crack the exterior of the goldfish. Then, as he crunches, his face lights up in vindication as if mocking the gods that have delayed his dentition. It's awesome, and it happens for every cracker. Today I witnessed this pinnacle of cuteness while watching Isla's last soccer practice (she's still undecided whether soccer is for her). In the video below, that's the English soccer coach who is yelling in the background, it's not a bad BBC documentary or something.
I have decided that the most ridiculously cute thing in the universe is watching my baby boy crunch up goldfish crackers with no teeth. He gets this look on his face like he's initially worried, which quickly turns into determination as his little gums first crack the exterior of the goldfish. Then, as he crunches, his face lights up in vindication as if mocking the gods that have delayed his dentition. It's awesome, and it happens for every cracker. Today I witnessed this pinnacle of cuteness while watching Isla's last soccer practice (she's still undecided whether soccer is for her). In the video below, that's the English soccer coach who is yelling in the background, it's not a bad BBC documentary or something.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Year of writing 212. Batman
7/30/12
Finally got to see Batman today, it being cheap night at the movies and all. It was an entertaining flick, but I was really annoyed by Bane's voice. Why the hell did somebody decide to cross Darth Vader with Sean Connery? Every time he spoke, I laughed. This is supposed to be a super villain who inspires fear in the hearts of everyone. He is a cold blooded maniac, not fucking Darth Connery. Oh well.
The other thing that got me was how nervous I was at the movie. I think that the culture of fear promulgated by the media and our own sort of digestion of it all has seeped into my bones. I caught myself looking around at noises, and crouching down low during the gunfights on the screen. It was a strange phenomenon.
Finally got to see Batman today, it being cheap night at the movies and all. It was an entertaining flick, but I was really annoyed by Bane's voice. Why the hell did somebody decide to cross Darth Vader with Sean Connery? Every time he spoke, I laughed. This is supposed to be a super villain who inspires fear in the hearts of everyone. He is a cold blooded maniac, not fucking Darth Connery. Oh well.
The other thing that got me was how nervous I was at the movie. I think that the culture of fear promulgated by the media and our own sort of digestion of it all has seeped into my bones. I caught myself looking around at noises, and crouching down low during the gunfights on the screen. It was a strange phenomenon.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Year of writing 211. Sunday
7/29/12
It was about 102 degrees Fahrenheit. The river bottom was parched, grasses rattling in a dusty wind. Both dogs scampered from shade to shade, whining like forgotten children until she and I caught up, hand in hand. Her cheeks were flushed as she asked about snakes: "do the babies bite too?" We rested near an ancient grape arbor, the wood faded to the same sandy brown as the grass, the dirt, our shoes. The heat was guiding us back, a hand on our shoulders. We were chased by rhinoceroses, dodged hot lava and inspected tarantula holes for possible pets. The sky was huge and cloudless, her hand still in mine. I will hold this day, this heat, her hand with me when pride begins to be larger than affection, when rhinoceroses live only in zoos and African plains.
It was about 102 degrees Fahrenheit. The river bottom was parched, grasses rattling in a dusty wind. Both dogs scampered from shade to shade, whining like forgotten children until she and I caught up, hand in hand. Her cheeks were flushed as she asked about snakes: "do the babies bite too?" We rested near an ancient grape arbor, the wood faded to the same sandy brown as the grass, the dirt, our shoes. The heat was guiding us back, a hand on our shoulders. We were chased by rhinoceroses, dodged hot lava and inspected tarantula holes for possible pets. The sky was huge and cloudless, her hand still in mine. I will hold this day, this heat, her hand with me when pride begins to be larger than affection, when rhinoceroses live only in zoos and African plains.
Year of Writing 210. Wedding
7/28/12
My old friend Josh was married today in a ceremony that restored my faith in goodness. In times where everything can seem stressful and negative, seeing two people who obviously love each other with such ease and grace come together in such a beautiful way is pretty much amazing. Plus all the groomsmen got to dress like cowboys and wear a buck knife on their belt.
My old friend Josh was married today in a ceremony that restored my faith in goodness. In times where everything can seem stressful and negative, seeing two people who obviously love each other with such ease and grace come together in such a beautiful way is pretty much amazing. Plus all the groomsmen got to dress like cowboys and wear a buck knife on their belt.
Check the belt buckle. Boom.
Year of writing 209. Rehearsal.
7/27/12
The wedding rehearsal for an old friend of mine was today - there's something about getting together with old friends that makes for ridiculous conversation. Not to mention foamy beer from the pre-wedding kegs and what not. The best part however, was the actual dinner at Boccali's Restaurant - a place I haven't been in 18 years. It is exactly the same - bad pizza, great atmosphere under the oak trees, and fun people. I got pretty excited for the wedding.
In other news, Jon got word today that we have an offer for first fridays at the Deer Lodge for the Wild Stallions - if this is legit - IT IS SO ON. We will murder a friday night.
The wedding rehearsal for an old friend of mine was today - there's something about getting together with old friends that makes for ridiculous conversation. Not to mention foamy beer from the pre-wedding kegs and what not. The best part however, was the actual dinner at Boccali's Restaurant - a place I haven't been in 18 years. It is exactly the same - bad pizza, great atmosphere under the oak trees, and fun people. I got pretty excited for the wedding.
In other news, Jon got word today that we have an offer for first fridays at the Deer Lodge for the Wild Stallions - if this is legit - IT IS SO ON. We will murder a friday night.
Year of writing 208. White Trash
7/26/12
I've got a backup of these again, so here's first in a fourtet.
I better be done judging people today, because I realized a serious truth about that. It started with meeting a friend at the Jolly Kone fast food restaurant. There were corn dogs, chili cheese fries and sno-cones to be had. One of the five kids that made up our playdate entourage was picking up ciggarette butts and attempting to eat them. Then we took our five kids and one stroller (meaning a kid on the hip) for a walk down to the elementary school playground, where they promptly went shoeless to play on the rusted equipment, beat up trampoline, & woodchips. My daughter peed standing up next to a building because we couldn't get to a bathroom. At this point I realized if there was a definition of white trash it would be us, maybe minus a tall boy of coors and some barbed wire tattoos - the point is, I better quit judging my fellow trashians.
I've got a backup of these again, so here's first in a fourtet.
I better be done judging people today, because I realized a serious truth about that. It started with meeting a friend at the Jolly Kone fast food restaurant. There were corn dogs, chili cheese fries and sno-cones to be had. One of the five kids that made up our playdate entourage was picking up ciggarette butts and attempting to eat them. Then we took our five kids and one stroller (meaning a kid on the hip) for a walk down to the elementary school playground, where they promptly went shoeless to play on the rusted equipment, beat up trampoline, & woodchips. My daughter peed standing up next to a building because we couldn't get to a bathroom. At this point I realized if there was a definition of white trash it would be us, maybe minus a tall boy of coors and some barbed wire tattoos - the point is, I better quit judging my fellow trashians.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Year of Writing 207.
7/25/12
The library in town here is exactly the way I remember it from being a kid. I volunteered there one summer because my mom told me it would be good on my resume, and ended up loving being around all the books. I remember checking out books like The Lord of the Rings and even Catcher in the Rye there to read for the first time, and being really excited to read on breaks or whenever. I would hide my books in my backpack when I went skateboarding with friends just so that I could read them on the bus ride home.
Now when I watch my daughter at the library it is kind of amazing to see her in the same place that I learned to really love books, walking the children's aisle, making a huge pile of books about witches, ghosts, robots, princesses and dinosaurs. She looks concerned, counts them, then asks "can we get 24 books from the library, Daddy?"
Sure little bean, of course.
The library in town here is exactly the way I remember it from being a kid. I volunteered there one summer because my mom told me it would be good on my resume, and ended up loving being around all the books. I remember checking out books like The Lord of the Rings and even Catcher in the Rye there to read for the first time, and being really excited to read on breaks or whenever. I would hide my books in my backpack when I went skateboarding with friends just so that I could read them on the bus ride home.
Now when I watch my daughter at the library it is kind of amazing to see her in the same place that I learned to really love books, walking the children's aisle, making a huge pile of books about witches, ghosts, robots, princesses and dinosaurs. She looks concerned, counts them, then asks "can we get 24 books from the library, Daddy?"
Sure little bean, of course.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Year of writing 206. 14 hours.
7/24/12
It's not all sunshine and lollipops when you're the stay at home dad. Don't get me wrong, there's lots of both of those, just not always. My wife needed to stay late at the hospital for some joint replacement talk or something equally mind blowing, and normally this would mean I enlist the help of another capable human being to soften the blow of the extra 3 hours of child care. See, I hit my wall at about 5 PM, and turn into a piece of shit. Semi literally. However, this time, I thought somehow I could manage this on my own, put both kids to bed and get dinner inside them with no hitches. Ha. Ha. Ha.
To kick it off, Miles wakes up screaming. Not like an "I'm hungry" scream or "change me" scream... this was more of a "The motherloving world is falling down on me and all I have is my own two shoulders to hold it up and now I have a charley horse" type of scream. After some coddling and prodding and a big pot with some water in it to play with on the kitchen floor, Miles was squared away. Now I needed coffee - pronto. Enter Isla, hair all over the place, rubbing her eyes. "Daddy - I'm starving and my tummy needs pancakes." Totally understandable, I'll get to the coffee in a second. Instant pancake mix, Minnie Mouse shape, ready to go - one side done and BOOM! "Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"
Somehow Miles had faceplanted onto the kitchen floor, and was now screaming louder than when he woke up. I pick him up, dust him off, and notice that his upper lip is now 3 times the size it's supposed to be. Holy crap. I grab an ice cube and hold it for him to suck on for a minute when I realize that the kitchen is filling with smoke.... PANCAKE! Shit. Ok, that is toast, I'll just make another batch. EXCEPT THAT THERE's NO MORE PANCAKE MIX IN THE BOX. It is now 45 minutes after I woke up, no coffee, both kids screaming, the house smells like Charlie McGee got ahold of it (look it up) and I'm ready to quit. I still have 13 hours and 15 minutes to go.
Fast forward about 8 hours, because they're a blur anyway.
It's 5 o'clock, and I decide to get a pizza after Isla's soccer practice to eat while we watch movies until mom gets home - totally doable. Isla is starving and extremely vocal about it - Miles is just mad that I'm still nearby, so he's screaming in the carseat. The caterwauling reaches a fever pitch as I totally run the stop sign nearest the pizza place. I have no idea how it happened, besides the fact that my brain was trying to get to the building faster than my body and the car was allowing - but it was no big deal, as there were no cars around. That didn't stop Joe Citizen from approaching me from the liquor store with denim jacket on yelling "YOU JUST RAN THAT FUCKING STOP SIGN!"
Now I am not a man of violence, nor do I look for confrontation. However, I am not having a great day, and señor obvio over there has crossed some kind of line with me. I walked up to him calmly, in my beastie boys t-shirt and flip flops and said "You are not a police officer nor my father. GO the FUCK away." There must have been something in the bloodshot murderous gaze I was giving him that spoke a bigger truth than he could have come up with, so he went back inside to buy his Zima or whatever. I order the pizza and commence waiting. All I got was 2 small pizzas, one half cheese half pineapple, one jalepeño and mushroom. Don't judge. The pizza artists at this establishment made one pepperoni and one olive and bell pepper - I'm not even kidding. When I looked at them and asked what they had written down, the kid at the front said - "one half cheese half pineapple, one mushroom and jalepeño." as he WAS LOOKING AT THE PIZZAS. I was beginning to feel like this was either a twilight zone episode or a Tarantino movie and I was about to start shooting. After another wait while they made the right pizzas, and my children sobbed in the corner from hunger, this goober behind the counter hands me a diet coke and says, "here, it's on the house."
"That's really nice," I say, "may I have something different, I don't like diet."
"No, that's what I can offer you."
"But there's plenty of other sodas in the fridge, I can just grab a different one."
"Sir, do you want the diet coke or not?"
At this point I considered placing the diet coke into the anus of this kid with a bad Bieber haircut and movie 3-d glasses with no lenses, but I maintained a calm demeanor for the benefit of my children.
"Not."
Back at home, we watched a terrible movie, neither kid fell asleep, and when Tegan finally came home, I walked straight out the door saying - "I just need to take a walk or something." I had no shoes on. AH, and this will be repeated on Thursday when my wife has another staff meeting until 8:30. Pray for me, Argentina.
It's not all sunshine and lollipops when you're the stay at home dad. Don't get me wrong, there's lots of both of those, just not always. My wife needed to stay late at the hospital for some joint replacement talk or something equally mind blowing, and normally this would mean I enlist the help of another capable human being to soften the blow of the extra 3 hours of child care. See, I hit my wall at about 5 PM, and turn into a piece of shit. Semi literally. However, this time, I thought somehow I could manage this on my own, put both kids to bed and get dinner inside them with no hitches. Ha. Ha. Ha.
To kick it off, Miles wakes up screaming. Not like an "I'm hungry" scream or "change me" scream... this was more of a "The motherloving world is falling down on me and all I have is my own two shoulders to hold it up and now I have a charley horse" type of scream. After some coddling and prodding and a big pot with some water in it to play with on the kitchen floor, Miles was squared away. Now I needed coffee - pronto. Enter Isla, hair all over the place, rubbing her eyes. "Daddy - I'm starving and my tummy needs pancakes." Totally understandable, I'll get to the coffee in a second. Instant pancake mix, Minnie Mouse shape, ready to go - one side done and BOOM! "Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"
Somehow Miles had faceplanted onto the kitchen floor, and was now screaming louder than when he woke up. I pick him up, dust him off, and notice that his upper lip is now 3 times the size it's supposed to be. Holy crap. I grab an ice cube and hold it for him to suck on for a minute when I realize that the kitchen is filling with smoke.... PANCAKE! Shit. Ok, that is toast, I'll just make another batch. EXCEPT THAT THERE's NO MORE PANCAKE MIX IN THE BOX. It is now 45 minutes after I woke up, no coffee, both kids screaming, the house smells like Charlie McGee got ahold of it (look it up) and I'm ready to quit. I still have 13 hours and 15 minutes to go.
Fast forward about 8 hours, because they're a blur anyway.
It's 5 o'clock, and I decide to get a pizza after Isla's soccer practice to eat while we watch movies until mom gets home - totally doable. Isla is starving and extremely vocal about it - Miles is just mad that I'm still nearby, so he's screaming in the carseat. The caterwauling reaches a fever pitch as I totally run the stop sign nearest the pizza place. I have no idea how it happened, besides the fact that my brain was trying to get to the building faster than my body and the car was allowing - but it was no big deal, as there were no cars around. That didn't stop Joe Citizen from approaching me from the liquor store with denim jacket on yelling "YOU JUST RAN THAT FUCKING STOP SIGN!"
Now I am not a man of violence, nor do I look for confrontation. However, I am not having a great day, and señor obvio over there has crossed some kind of line with me. I walked up to him calmly, in my beastie boys t-shirt and flip flops and said "You are not a police officer nor my father. GO the FUCK away." There must have been something in the bloodshot murderous gaze I was giving him that spoke a bigger truth than he could have come up with, so he went back inside to buy his Zima or whatever. I order the pizza and commence waiting. All I got was 2 small pizzas, one half cheese half pineapple, one jalepeño and mushroom. Don't judge. The pizza artists at this establishment made one pepperoni and one olive and bell pepper - I'm not even kidding. When I looked at them and asked what they had written down, the kid at the front said - "one half cheese half pineapple, one mushroom and jalepeño." as he WAS LOOKING AT THE PIZZAS. I was beginning to feel like this was either a twilight zone episode or a Tarantino movie and I was about to start shooting. After another wait while they made the right pizzas, and my children sobbed in the corner from hunger, this goober behind the counter hands me a diet coke and says, "here, it's on the house."
"That's really nice," I say, "may I have something different, I don't like diet."
"No, that's what I can offer you."
"But there's plenty of other sodas in the fridge, I can just grab a different one."
"Sir, do you want the diet coke or not?"
At this point I considered placing the diet coke into the anus of this kid with a bad Bieber haircut and movie 3-d glasses with no lenses, but I maintained a calm demeanor for the benefit of my children.
"Not."
Back at home, we watched a terrible movie, neither kid fell asleep, and when Tegan finally came home, I walked straight out the door saying - "I just need to take a walk or something." I had no shoes on. AH, and this will be repeated on Thursday when my wife has another staff meeting until 8:30. Pray for me, Argentina.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Year of writing 205. Potty time.
7/23/12
There are only a few sacred places in a man's home when he has a family. These are places such as the couch at 1 AM watching a vet show on Animal Planet and crying so hard when a German Shepard has to be put to sleep that your throat hurts for a couple of days. Or the "junk drawer" in the garage (which you may use your own imagination to place objects in, mine is still sacred). Or the bathroom during poopy time.
This last one is no longer sacred to me. I lament this loss, as these times used to be able to be extended into the half hour to forty five minute chunks of blissful alone time, now, even with two bathrooms, me doing the business has turned into just another lane on the busy ass highway of life with two kids.
Today I took the ipad into the bathroom, looking for a cool 10 minutes or so of defecating and words with friends (sorry if it was your game I was pooping while demolishing you). Instead, I had Isla wander in (the lock is useless) and put a temporary tattoo on while saying "Daddy, what are you doing?"
"pooping, I'd like some privacy."
"oh, yeah. I'm just going to put my tattoo on though."
"can't you use the other bathroom?"
"I like the water in here better."
(deep, mournful sigh).
Next, my lovely wife entered the bathroom to tidy up WHILE I AM SHITTING. Please, please can I have a little bit of me time? I realize our days are ridiculously busy with two kids, but COME ON! After an exasperated "how long are you going to be?" I finally was left alone again, until my recently scooting 10 month old shoved open the door with a high pitched "AaaaaaAAaaaaah!" to announce his arrival and the subsequent complete dismantling of my privacy while pooping.
At least I still have my late night private animal planet sessions - I read that there's a special about baby koalas soon - I'll get the hanky ready.
There are only a few sacred places in a man's home when he has a family. These are places such as the couch at 1 AM watching a vet show on Animal Planet and crying so hard when a German Shepard has to be put to sleep that your throat hurts for a couple of days. Or the "junk drawer" in the garage (which you may use your own imagination to place objects in, mine is still sacred). Or the bathroom during poopy time.
This last one is no longer sacred to me. I lament this loss, as these times used to be able to be extended into the half hour to forty five minute chunks of blissful alone time, now, even with two bathrooms, me doing the business has turned into just another lane on the busy ass highway of life with two kids.
Today I took the ipad into the bathroom, looking for a cool 10 minutes or so of defecating and words with friends (sorry if it was your game I was pooping while demolishing you). Instead, I had Isla wander in (the lock is useless) and put a temporary tattoo on while saying "Daddy, what are you doing?"
"pooping, I'd like some privacy."
"oh, yeah. I'm just going to put my tattoo on though."
"can't you use the other bathroom?"
"I like the water in here better."
(deep, mournful sigh).
Next, my lovely wife entered the bathroom to tidy up WHILE I AM SHITTING. Please, please can I have a little bit of me time? I realize our days are ridiculously busy with two kids, but COME ON! After an exasperated "how long are you going to be?" I finally was left alone again, until my recently scooting 10 month old shoved open the door with a high pitched "AaaaaaAAaaaaah!" to announce his arrival and the subsequent complete dismantling of my privacy while pooping.
At least I still have my late night private animal planet sessions - I read that there's a special about baby koalas soon - I'll get the hanky ready.
Year of writing 204. Stallions part deux.
7/22/12
Sunday was the day of the stallion again. Jon and I got to the Jester with our new hype man Johnny Fonteyn - which turned out to be an epic move. We had jumpsuits, LED light up shirts, medallions, hobby horses, horse sound effects, and 90's videos galore. It was the party to end all parties. On a Sunday night no less. I predict soon the Wild Stallions will be taking over the world, or at least Ojai, CA.
Sunday was the day of the stallion again. Jon and I got to the Jester with our new hype man Johnny Fonteyn - which turned out to be an epic move. We had jumpsuits, LED light up shirts, medallions, hobby horses, horse sound effects, and 90's videos galore. It was the party to end all parties. On a Sunday night no less. I predict soon the Wild Stallions will be taking over the world, or at least Ojai, CA.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Year of writing 203. 60 inches.
7/21/12
I am now officially an American. I found this out when the TV Tegan and I just bought wouldn't fit in our car. We have an SUV. I am making myself a little ill writing this right now.
HOWEVER, once that bad boy was in our house, with Avatar on the blue ray and surround sound kickin', I started spontaneously singing the National Anthem and made myself a bunch of corndogs. Not to mention, my mom went out and made Isla into a cowgirl.
I am now officially an American. I found this out when the TV Tegan and I just bought wouldn't fit in our car. We have an SUV. I am making myself a little ill writing this right now.
HOWEVER, once that bad boy was in our house, with Avatar on the blue ray and surround sound kickin', I started spontaneously singing the National Anthem and made myself a bunch of corndogs. Not to mention, my mom went out and made Isla into a cowgirl.
YeeHaw! Seriously, things are getting a little weird around here - I bought myself cowboy boots for a wedding last week, my grandpa gave me a ram's head belt buckle a couple days ago, my daughter is a cowgirl, and there is a truck parked in my driveway right now. I'm so sorry Oakland, I don't know what's happening to me.
Year of writing 202. The letter.
7/20/12
Things not to do when one's cousin asks you to watch their cat: lose their cat.
Things not to do when one's cousin asks you to pick up a letter with a check in it: lose the letter.
The good news is, my cousin & her family left me with 2 cats, and I still have one. This should be an interesting explanation.
Conclusion: don't give Aaron responsibility over anything that's not his. It is pretty safe to bet I will lose it.
Things not to do when one's cousin asks you to watch their cat: lose their cat.
Things not to do when one's cousin asks you to pick up a letter with a check in it: lose the letter.
The good news is, my cousin & her family left me with 2 cats, and I still have one. This should be an interesting explanation.
Conclusion: don't give Aaron responsibility over anything that's not his. It is pretty safe to bet I will lose it.
Year of Writing 201. The Jam
7/19/12
Ojai is so strange. I went to the venue where my show is featured tonight to see the other half of Wild Stallions dj a musicians open mic. It was weak, Jon was great, but the show was really weird. The host wanted to have music playing, while the live musicians "jammed" over the actual track. Duh. It just sounded like a sax, guitar and drums with some unrelated background music. Oh well. At least my man can mash together a set regardless.
Ojai is so strange. I went to the venue where my show is featured tonight to see the other half of Wild Stallions dj a musicians open mic. It was weak, Jon was great, but the show was really weird. The host wanted to have music playing, while the live musicians "jammed" over the actual track. Duh. It just sounded like a sax, guitar and drums with some unrelated background music. Oh well. At least my man can mash together a set regardless.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Year of writing 200. Feeding time
7/18/12
Feeding times have been easy as pie up til now. Miles usually takes some yogurt in the morning, a bottle after his first nap, some baby veggie/fruit combination in those squeezy packets for lunch, another bottle after his second nap, and one more spacebaby food before mama gets home with the real shit. Today, however, Miles realized his mouth can make the food go more than one way. It doesn't just have to just go down the esophagus, it can be splattered all over the place when you make motorboat sounds with your mouth, or immediately stick your chameleon-length tongue out after taking a bite. On top of all that, he found that if you fake out your dad by opening your mouth wide, then turning your head at the last minute, food hilariously gets all over your face. Whee! It's almost as fun as grabbing your own poop at changing time, I mean, who doesn't love all that squishy, smelly crap all over his hands?
The concoction all over his face in the picture is butternut squash/pear/apricot. Why these new organic kid food companies have to put three things together all the time, I have no idea, but it does make for pretty color combinations, if you eat more than one. Eat being a relative term.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Year of writing 199. Front yard.
7/17/12
Sometimes I look up at the number of the post I am writing and have to marvel just a bit. I can't believe I have actually written 199 days in a row. Granted, some have been horrible, some mediocre, but some have actually been something, and that's why we writers do this shit in the first place. I have made the executive decision today to continue writing every day beyond the "year of writing." Maybe next year I'll have to up the ante somehow, I'm not sure, all I know is that this has been extremely hard, and extremely necessary to do in order to stay sane.
My front yard.
The light filtered through a low-hanging oak
branch makes my son's eyes glow grey. We
sit on a beat up red blanket, left from Mema
in a back closet, it's been 10 years, but still
smells like her. My daughter rides a plastic
tricycle in the driveway, a one-eyed teddy
bear in tow. A squirrel jumps from the oak
to a thin branch of a guava tree. The branch
bends low to the ground, the squirrel hanging
on desperately as it springs back into shape.
We've all seen the trapeze act, my children
and I, we all smile at each other on this red
blanket, in this place we've made.
Sometimes I look up at the number of the post I am writing and have to marvel just a bit. I can't believe I have actually written 199 days in a row. Granted, some have been horrible, some mediocre, but some have actually been something, and that's why we writers do this shit in the first place. I have made the executive decision today to continue writing every day beyond the "year of writing." Maybe next year I'll have to up the ante somehow, I'm not sure, all I know is that this has been extremely hard, and extremely necessary to do in order to stay sane.
My front yard.
The light filtered through a low-hanging oak
branch makes my son's eyes glow grey. We
sit on a beat up red blanket, left from Mema
in a back closet, it's been 10 years, but still
smells like her. My daughter rides a plastic
tricycle in the driveway, a one-eyed teddy
bear in tow. A squirrel jumps from the oak
to a thin branch of a guava tree. The branch
bends low to the ground, the squirrel hanging
on desperately as it springs back into shape.
We've all seen the trapeze act, my children
and I, we all smile at each other on this red
blanket, in this place we've made.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Year of writing 198. Princess Ballerina camp.
7/16/12
Isla started her first day at "Princess Ballerina Dance Camp" today. Simultaneously, I have lost all manliness my trip to the Wharf to buy cowboy shoes had afforded me from the day before. I'm hoping for a little to return tomorrow at soccer practice, where Isla is the only girl. I do find it interesting to drop my little one off at things like this, where I get to see other family dynamics play out in little snippets. My favorite two were A) the mom who made her son go to Princess Ballerina Dance Camp with his sister, explaining to him how much fun he was going to have dressing like a prince, and rescuing all the princesses - then when she came to pick him up, he was all decked out in Cinderella gear. B) The grandfather who told his granddaughter to "man up" when she was crying about having to leave camp.
The thing I appreciate most about Princess Ballerina Dance Camp is that I do not have to sit and wait for it to be over, like other activities, hence I do not have to make nice with random moms and occasional dads. I can go home and take a nap like a real G.
Isla started her first day at "Princess Ballerina Dance Camp" today. Simultaneously, I have lost all manliness my trip to the Wharf to buy cowboy shoes had afforded me from the day before. I'm hoping for a little to return tomorrow at soccer practice, where Isla is the only girl. I do find it interesting to drop my little one off at things like this, where I get to see other family dynamics play out in little snippets. My favorite two were A) the mom who made her son go to Princess Ballerina Dance Camp with his sister, explaining to him how much fun he was going to have dressing like a prince, and rescuing all the princesses - then when she came to pick him up, he was all decked out in Cinderella gear. B) The grandfather who told his granddaughter to "man up" when she was crying about having to leave camp.
The thing I appreciate most about Princess Ballerina Dance Camp is that I do not have to sit and wait for it to be over, like other activities, hence I do not have to make nice with random moms and occasional dads. I can go home and take a nap like a real G.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Year of writing 197. Cowboy up.
7/15/12
I have to get fitted for a wedding wherein I am to be one of the groomsmen. Fitted like a cowboy. So, I went to this place in Ventura called the Wharf. It sells pet food, saddles, and cowboy clothes. Now, I have to be up front and say that I was way too excited about the prospect of getting some cowboy boots and snappy shirts, and this place did not disappoint. After trying on a few pairs, I started to recognize the inherent beauty and muthafreakin manliness that these dead cow skin foot protectors offered me. Then after trying the best pair on with some boot cut Levis 527's and a western snap shirt with a horsehair belt, I almost punched my own reflection out in the mirror and started sweating Jim Beam. It was phenomenal. I bought them all, except the horsehair belt, because for 60 bucks I now feel like I can catch, shave, and braid my own belt, suckas!
Year of writing 195. Beach & Penis.
7/14/12
We took the kids to Bates' Beach today - the best beach in the world, with endless space and dog-friendly rules. Isla built a turtle, hippo, alligator, and shark in that order - and we ran & played in the waves like muthafreakin dolphins.
But the best was Miles - Miles went through his witching hour without a peep. No wailing, no throwing his head back in mock agony as if the world were piling up all around him as he sobbed. Instead, he just kicked it on the beach, pantless, taking handfuls of the sand and letting it fall onto his penis. It was like magic. That activity must be amazing, because he did it for about an hour and a half - grab, pour, grab pour. I'm not going to lie about it, I wished I could try it as well - he looked so content. Here's to warm sand on your penis, kiddo.
We took the kids to Bates' Beach today - the best beach in the world, with endless space and dog-friendly rules. Isla built a turtle, hippo, alligator, and shark in that order - and we ran & played in the waves like muthafreakin dolphins.
But the best was Miles - Miles went through his witching hour without a peep. No wailing, no throwing his head back in mock agony as if the world were piling up all around him as he sobbed. Instead, he just kicked it on the beach, pantless, taking handfuls of the sand and letting it fall onto his penis. It was like magic. That activity must be amazing, because he did it for about an hour and a half - grab, pour, grab pour. I'm not going to lie about it, I wished I could try it as well - he looked so content. Here's to warm sand on your penis, kiddo.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Year of writing 194. Thrift store.
7/14/12
Isla and I went shopping today. As per every shopping trip, I told her she can buy whatever she wants, as long as she pays for it with her money. She keeps said money in a small San Francisco purse and had as of this morning $8.76, a tidy sum for a four year old. Usually she can't bring herself to part with any of her precious money for anything - that is, until we went to the thrift store in Ojai.
She spent a cool 4 bucks and came away with patent leather mary janes, a Minnie Mouse stuffed animal, an entire care bears care-a-lot playset, a Tiana Barbie, and 2 dresses. She was wheeling and dealing with the store owners, at one point referencing the fact that I had helped an eldery patron pull down an office chair from a hook on the wall. "My daddy helped today, and I only have one dollar left. Can I pay one dollar for this care bear toy?" Boom.
Isla and I went shopping today. As per every shopping trip, I told her she can buy whatever she wants, as long as she pays for it with her money. She keeps said money in a small San Francisco purse and had as of this morning $8.76, a tidy sum for a four year old. Usually she can't bring herself to part with any of her precious money for anything - that is, until we went to the thrift store in Ojai.
She spent a cool 4 bucks and came away with patent leather mary janes, a Minnie Mouse stuffed animal, an entire care bears care-a-lot playset, a Tiana Barbie, and 2 dresses. She was wheeling and dealing with the store owners, at one point referencing the fact that I had helped an eldery patron pull down an office chair from a hook on the wall. "My daddy helped today, and I only have one dollar left. Can I pay one dollar for this care bear toy?" Boom.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Year of writing 193.
7/12/12
The story was told in pieces
grave by grave.
This one was an important man,
the font stands proudly straight -
perfectly spaced across the smooth
granite marker.
Here a child lay, there is no name -
just a simple wooden plank;
a chipped plaster angel with no features,
a faded teddy bear tile near the base.
Oak leaves cover every inch of the cemetery,
a prickly blanket for those who rest.
They crunch underfoot, the little girl
waving her hand in front to clear cobwebs
from the path stops to pull one from her shoe.
"What about this one, daddy?" She asks,
fingers trailing over brass embossed letters.
"James Engle." I say, "He was 80 when he died."
"I think he was a happy man, daddy.
his stone is warm, it doesn't feel so hard as the rest."
The story was told in pieces
grave by grave.
This one was an important man,
the font stands proudly straight -
perfectly spaced across the smooth
granite marker.
Here a child lay, there is no name -
just a simple wooden plank;
a chipped plaster angel with no features,
a faded teddy bear tile near the base.
Oak leaves cover every inch of the cemetery,
a prickly blanket for those who rest.
They crunch underfoot, the little girl
waving her hand in front to clear cobwebs
from the path stops to pull one from her shoe.
"What about this one, daddy?" She asks,
fingers trailing over brass embossed letters.
"James Engle." I say, "He was 80 when he died."
"I think he was a happy man, daddy.
his stone is warm, it doesn't feel so hard as the rest."
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Year of Writing 192. The Graveyarden.
7/11/12
Isla asked me to go to the graveyarden (her word) today - it's a small cemetery in Ojai that I once spent the night at on a dare when I was 13. I was going to bring her some paper and crayons for gravestone rubbings, but I heard that practice is outlawed because it's too weird, and people hate crayons. Instead, I gave my little goth girl a camera and told her to take pictures of whatever she wanted. That actually turned out really interesting, and I will post the photos below. The trip itself kinda sucked, since it was 100 degrees today, I had to wear a hot ass baby on my chest, and Isla made me read the name of EVERY SINGLE gravestone in the cemetery. After awhile, I just started making up names that sounded cool to me, I'm not gonna lie.
She chose interesting angles for her photos. I like the way she's looking down on this weird sculpture of a boy half buried in the oak leaves.
Rad.
This photo of a dead rose scares me a little. I think Isla might be full blown goth.
I find it a little disturbing that people put old muppets on their loved ones' grave.
Speaking of disturbing.
There are so many cobwebs and cobweb suspended oak leaves here it's hard to make out the picture in its little picture hut. I really like this gravestone too.
Fake birds.
And real birds.
Isla asked me to go to the graveyarden (her word) today - it's a small cemetery in Ojai that I once spent the night at on a dare when I was 13. I was going to bring her some paper and crayons for gravestone rubbings, but I heard that practice is outlawed because it's too weird, and people hate crayons. Instead, I gave my little goth girl a camera and told her to take pictures of whatever she wanted. That actually turned out really interesting, and I will post the photos below. The trip itself kinda sucked, since it was 100 degrees today, I had to wear a hot ass baby on my chest, and Isla made me read the name of EVERY SINGLE gravestone in the cemetery. After awhile, I just started making up names that sounded cool to me, I'm not gonna lie.
This first one is just for authenticity. Note Isla's appropriate graveyard apparel. She especially wanted to know if the people buried there were husband and wife, or if there were any kids.
I love this gravestone. This is how I want mine to look, minus the Civil War Confed. and plus a unicorn.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Year of writing 191. Speak Up!
7/10/12
Today my daughter went to her first soccer practice. I was pretty impressed with the soccer coach - who made practice into one big pirate themed game. But I also had to fight with myself from getting involved in a situation where she needed to speak up for herself. It was a little thing - a game where the coach was running around with jerseys as "treasure" and the kids had to kick the ball at him. If they hit him, he'd yell arrrrgh and give them a "treasure." Isla hit him at least three times that I counted and each time, he gave the jersey to this little loud boy who held out his hand like he had done it (this little shit didn't even have a ball near him). Each time, Isla got more and more upset, until she was just kinda moping around on the field. At the water break I told her she needed to tell the coach that she had hit him, that people will take advantage of whatever they can to get what they want, and if she doesn't stand up for herself, she'll spend a lot of time watching people take what she has worked for. The whole time I really wanted to go punt that little bastard over the closest building, but I held it together OK.
Afterward, she told me she liked soccer practice, but thought it was a little "baby soccer, cuz he didn't even make us kick it in a goal, or pass the ball or anything, just play pirate games all day."
Today my daughter went to her first soccer practice. I was pretty impressed with the soccer coach - who made practice into one big pirate themed game. But I also had to fight with myself from getting involved in a situation where she needed to speak up for herself. It was a little thing - a game where the coach was running around with jerseys as "treasure" and the kids had to kick the ball at him. If they hit him, he'd yell arrrrgh and give them a "treasure." Isla hit him at least three times that I counted and each time, he gave the jersey to this little loud boy who held out his hand like he had done it (this little shit didn't even have a ball near him). Each time, Isla got more and more upset, until she was just kinda moping around on the field. At the water break I told her she needed to tell the coach that she had hit him, that people will take advantage of whatever they can to get what they want, and if she doesn't stand up for herself, she'll spend a lot of time watching people take what she has worked for. The whole time I really wanted to go punt that little bastard over the closest building, but I held it together OK.
Afterward, she told me she liked soccer practice, but thought it was a little "baby soccer, cuz he didn't even make us kick it in a goal, or pass the ball or anything, just play pirate games all day."
When we got home, she immediately changed out of her sporty soccer outfit, and put this little number together. "I'm getting married," said Isla. "To Charlie Bucket." Then an attempted curtsy which turned into a pile of girl and dog.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Year of writing 190.
7/9/12
Instead of writing normally today, I'll just post the awesome flyer I just made for my new Monthly show. Wild Stallions.
Boom Time.
Instead of writing normally today, I'll just post the awesome flyer I just made for my new Monthly show. Wild Stallions.
Year of writing 189. Wild Stallions Ride.
7/8/12
I just got back from DJing one of the most fun sets ever. An old friend, Jon Riddell moved back into Ojai from the Bay at the same time I did, and has been on a tear to get us a gig as "Wild Stallions" to do 90's themed parties in town. He made some flyers, and we promoted as best we could on facebook. The crowd that showed up to the Jester was incredible! We had that place rockin' on a Sunday night in Ojai, CA. population 10 G's. The 90's videos were flowin' from the projector and the dance floor was full all night long. Thanks Ojai - you're making this transition HELLA easy.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Year of writing 188.
6/7/12
There's something supremely satisfying about being 34 and demolishing a 15 year old at video games. The dismantling of my nephew will be something that I will hold on to in the days to come when virtual brain connections are the controllers and multi-sensory experiences are the norm. If I could textually pop my collar, I would. But since I can't, I wont.
There's something supremely satisfying about being 34 and demolishing a 15 year old at video games. The dismantling of my nephew will be something that I will hold on to in the days to come when virtual brain connections are the controllers and multi-sensory experiences are the norm. If I could textually pop my collar, I would. But since I can't, I wont.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Year of writing 187. The way down.
7/6/12
Part 2 of the whirlwind trip back to the bay.
I got into Laura's house about 2:15 this morning. Isla was sleeping in the tent in Bodie's room, so I thought things would be smooth & I would get some sleep on the comfy couch in the living room. About 12 seconds after falling asleep, Isla came stumbling in, murmuring about how she didn't finish her dinner. Really, Isla? it's 2:45 AM and you have to tell me that? After that stunning revelation, she decided she was going to sleep with me on the couch. Now, I'm not huge, but I am definitely not small enough to share a couch with a 4 year old who sleeps like I imagine a wolverine fights. At one point her foot was trying to make its way into my mouth. Needless to say, I slept about 45 minutes.
There was no turning back, however, so after breakfast, we packed it up and headed back for Ojai. Only this time no amount of movies, singalongs, storytelling, games of I-spy, or snacks could hold off the beast created by 3 nights of 11:00 bedtimes, too much sugar and tv, and 10 hours in the car. I also made the horrible decision to drink a 5 hour energy for the first time. Number one - those things taste like vomit mixed with aspirin. Number 2 - I feel vaguely like I took a bad hit of ecstasy after drinking it. Only by the good graces of George R.R. Martin, and a last minute decision to put on Labyrinth twice, did I manage to make it back to Ojai unscathed.
Beds feel sooooooo goooooooood after a trip like that. Trust me.
Part 2 of the whirlwind trip back to the bay.
I got into Laura's house about 2:15 this morning. Isla was sleeping in the tent in Bodie's room, so I thought things would be smooth & I would get some sleep on the comfy couch in the living room. About 12 seconds after falling asleep, Isla came stumbling in, murmuring about how she didn't finish her dinner. Really, Isla? it's 2:45 AM and you have to tell me that? After that stunning revelation, she decided she was going to sleep with me on the couch. Now, I'm not huge, but I am definitely not small enough to share a couch with a 4 year old who sleeps like I imagine a wolverine fights. At one point her foot was trying to make its way into my mouth. Needless to say, I slept about 45 minutes.
There was no turning back, however, so after breakfast, we packed it up and headed back for Ojai. Only this time no amount of movies, singalongs, storytelling, games of I-spy, or snacks could hold off the beast created by 3 nights of 11:00 bedtimes, too much sugar and tv, and 10 hours in the car. I also made the horrible decision to drink a 5 hour energy for the first time. Number one - those things taste like vomit mixed with aspirin. Number 2 - I feel vaguely like I took a bad hit of ecstasy after drinking it. Only by the good graces of George R.R. Martin, and a last minute decision to put on Labyrinth twice, did I manage to make it back to Ojai unscathed.
Beds feel sooooooo goooooooood after a trip like that. Trust me.
Year of Writing 186. The way up.
7/5/12
I decided to take Isla on a whirlwind trip back up to the bay. We left this morning at 9 - dropped off Milesy at Auntie Elizabeth's house and hauled ass up the 101, armed with a portable dvd player, snacks, and the last book of Game of Thrones on the ipad. Sweet.
The car ride was actually awesome. Isla and I talked and joked the whole way up, only had to stop once for gas, and made it to Oakland in just over 5 hours, a new record for me. I took Isla to her old daycare and she played with her best friend Bodie for hours. I had a beer with Laura and Ryan, then took off to DJ Tourette's without Regrets.
My review of the show:
Started off decent. The sound man sucked from the get go, never setting up the monitors right, and messing with my volume so I couldn't hear what the house was hearing. Didn't matter at first, I was just killing a 90's set in anticipation of Sunday's big Wild Stallions show.
Dirty Haiku bout: Kenyatta killed it. Clean sweep with a hilarious "ask your mama" haiku.
Slam: Mediocre. Katelyn's poem was cool. Everything else I've heard a million times.
Burlesque: I was thoroughly entertained by the Rorschach burlesque. I thought that the dancer was infinitely more talented than a lot of the stuff I've seen at Tourette's so far, at least in a choreography sense.
Games: American Flag fashion show was good, hot dog baseball way too messy, birthday male strippers were lackluster, really.
Comedians: I think I remember one. The Boom Time guy was decent. The "american" dude was horrible, and the girl I can't remember a joke she said. Oh well.
B-Boy vs. B-Girl Battle: The dancers were awesome. I was really really annoyed at them though. When I asked what songs they wanted for their set, they were like: Play 70's soul. No, funk. No, 90's hip hop. No, Electro. No, Breakbeats. Holy shit, guys.
Rap Battle: HORRIBLE. I don't know if the battle rappers had just injected sleeping pills or some shit, but everybody sucked except for ridiculous and the 19 year old rapper that won.
I decided to take Isla on a whirlwind trip back up to the bay. We left this morning at 9 - dropped off Milesy at Auntie Elizabeth's house and hauled ass up the 101, armed with a portable dvd player, snacks, and the last book of Game of Thrones on the ipad. Sweet.
The car ride was actually awesome. Isla and I talked and joked the whole way up, only had to stop once for gas, and made it to Oakland in just over 5 hours, a new record for me. I took Isla to her old daycare and she played with her best friend Bodie for hours. I had a beer with Laura and Ryan, then took off to DJ Tourette's without Regrets.
My review of the show:
Started off decent. The sound man sucked from the get go, never setting up the monitors right, and messing with my volume so I couldn't hear what the house was hearing. Didn't matter at first, I was just killing a 90's set in anticipation of Sunday's big Wild Stallions show.
Dirty Haiku bout: Kenyatta killed it. Clean sweep with a hilarious "ask your mama" haiku.
Slam: Mediocre. Katelyn's poem was cool. Everything else I've heard a million times.
Burlesque: I was thoroughly entertained by the Rorschach burlesque. I thought that the dancer was infinitely more talented than a lot of the stuff I've seen at Tourette's so far, at least in a choreography sense.
Games: American Flag fashion show was good, hot dog baseball way too messy, birthday male strippers were lackluster, really.
Comedians: I think I remember one. The Boom Time guy was decent. The "american" dude was horrible, and the girl I can't remember a joke she said. Oh well.
B-Boy vs. B-Girl Battle: The dancers were awesome. I was really really annoyed at them though. When I asked what songs they wanted for their set, they were like: Play 70's soul. No, funk. No, 90's hip hop. No, Electro. No, Breakbeats. Holy shit, guys.
Rap Battle: HORRIBLE. I don't know if the battle rappers had just injected sleeping pills or some shit, but everybody sucked except for ridiculous and the 19 year old rapper that won.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Year of writing 185. Fireworks
The fourth of July in Ojai is a eerily familiar event every year. There is a parade in the morning, swimming at some pool or another in the afternoon, and the community fireworks at the High School football field.
The parade is silly. People line up chairs on the sidewalk literally a week before the thing starts, and it lasts maybe thirty minutes. There's the high school band, the Hari Krishnas, cops on horses, some kids demonstrating karate, the cheerleaders, and this dog with sunglasses:
That's it. Wait. There is the Ojai Valley News photographer, whom I failed to get a clear shot of. This dude has a 80's glam rock mullet, dyed mauve. He's up in everybody's face with his camera, posing as if he were modeling photography maneuvers for National Geographic. He makes the parade, in a really uncomfortable way.
The swimming in the pool part is awesome, always. Every cousin imaginable comes, hijinks ensue, and general partying happens. The fireworks - kinda lame. Imagine every bad USA song, played just loud enough to be super annoying, like a mosquito in the middle of the night - as the soundtrack to a small town pyrotechnics show and tons of oohs and aahs. Then, when it's over, the city of Ojai sets up a cattle run to get off the football field that takes 4.5 hours to maneuver. I think we're watching the fireworks from our living room next year.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Year of writing 184.
7/3/12
There are those moments when magic isn't just in fairy tales, when the fantastic happens right before your eyes. When you are four, those moments are often and full of wonder. When you are thirty four, they happen very rarely. When you are the father of a four year old, they happen every second of every day. She told me she thought magic wands weren't real until I gave her a sparkler. I told her I never thought they were real until I saw her with one.
Monday, July 2, 2012
year of writing 183.
7/2/12
It is 10 pm and just as I sat down to write, Miles was handed to me. Apparently he is wide awake and super interested in pulling the cords from the laptop, grabbing the screen over and over and wailing until I put him on my lap, whereupon he attempts to write his version of the great American novel. Ah yes, and there it is - the possible culprit for his agitation is spewed forth in what looks like regurgitated breast milk and possibly broccoli and smells like rancid tofu. Being a writer of sorts is infinitely easier when typing with one's left hand, covered in toddler vomit. I should bottle this shit and sell it as pterodactyl repellent.
It is 10 pm and just as I sat down to write, Miles was handed to me. Apparently he is wide awake and super interested in pulling the cords from the laptop, grabbing the screen over and over and wailing until I put him on my lap, whereupon he attempts to write his version of the great American novel. Ah yes, and there it is - the possible culprit for his agitation is spewed forth in what looks like regurgitated breast milk and possibly broccoli and smells like rancid tofu. Being a writer of sorts is infinitely easier when typing with one's left hand, covered in toddler vomit. I should bottle this shit and sell it as pterodactyl repellent.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Year of Writing 182. Chickens.
7/1/12
We brought in July with a party for my brother at his house. He turned forty today. That's not what this is about, nor is it about the 65,000 tamales brought in, or the carnitas tacos and four homemade salsas from the farm. It's not about the ping pong tournament or the dude that tried to shark us talking bout "that's not actually how the international competition rules go..." whatever dude. It's not about following my little nephew out to the back yard because he wanted to go "play war against the girls" and he was carrying a hammer and a bag full of rocks.
This is about chickens. My brother has about 20 of them. They run all over his back yard, and consequently, so do all the little kids trying to catch and carry them. The chickens are pretty used to this, due to the fact that there are three little ones living there and torturing them on a daily basis. So, they acquiesce to the manhandling pretty readily:
We brought in July with a party for my brother at his house. He turned forty today. That's not what this is about, nor is it about the 65,000 tamales brought in, or the carnitas tacos and four homemade salsas from the farm. It's not about the ping pong tournament or the dude that tried to shark us talking bout "that's not actually how the international competition rules go..." whatever dude. It's not about following my little nephew out to the back yard because he wanted to go "play war against the girls" and he was carrying a hammer and a bag full of rocks.
This is about chickens. My brother has about 20 of them. They run all over his back yard, and consequently, so do all the little kids trying to catch and carry them. The chickens are pretty used to this, due to the fact that there are three little ones living there and torturing them on a daily basis. So, they acquiesce to the manhandling pretty readily:
This is my niece. She had a grand old time chasing this old bird and carrying it all over the place. My daughter got into it, for a little while, but then told me that chickens are a little boring. I concur. My son Miles, however, thought that chickens were the most disgusting creatures ever to walk the face of the earth. This picture doesn't do it justice, but every time a chicken would come clucking and bwacking close to us, miles would screw up his face like he just smelled some cat pee and holler at the chicken.
And I mean holler. If he could speak, I'm sure he'd be saying: "what the f*** kind of horrible animal is that abomination? Mother, kill it instantly before I vomit into my own eye sockets so I don't have to bear witness to such an awful creature!" But he can't talk, so he just said Baaaaaah! as loud as he could. You tell 'em Milesy.
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