I often wonder if my son, Jack, has seen or experienced anything yet that he’ll remember for a long time. He’s only four and a half, so despite his brilliance, I’m still inclined to think he won’t remember most of his life up to this point. But he’s got to be straddling the line of when his long-term memories will form. I can remember images, snapshots if you will, from my life when I was younger than five, but five seems to be the earliest age that I can vividly remember people and events.
So I worry that any day now I might do something that he’ll remember forever. I mean, I certainly teach him things that I hope he holds onto, like to always say ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’ and don’t talk to strangers, but I’m talking about doing something inadvertently that will shape his opinion of me. For instance, if he walks into the living room tomorrow and sees me picking my nose, is he going to remember that for the rest of his life? Will he develop deep-seeded resentment over the fact that I tell him to use a tissue if he needs to blow his nose, only to find me elbow deep without a tissue in sight? Will he become the nose picker in school, constantly wiping boogers under the table and flinging them at girls? It’s a lot of pressure.
Jack is already to the point of grumbling under his breath and saying, “Come on, people,” whenever we’re stopped at a traffic light. So do I need to watch every little thing I say in the car to keep him from eventually developing road rage? Thank goodness his mother ran over that squirrel and not me.
What about the fact that I drink coffee every morning? Will he look at that and think I support the Colombian drug trade? You never know. Kids come to pretty wild conclusions. If you have a sibling, you unquestionably believed throughout your whole childhood that your parents liked him or her more than you, and you most likely continue to think it today. Why? Probably because your dad went to Jimmy’s championship basketball game at the same time your piano recital took place and you’ve hated him for it ever since. Your mom was at the recital, but that wasn’t good enough, was it? Again, a lot of pressure.
So here I am trying to look like a capable dad in front of my son; helping him when he needs it, having answers to all of his questions, and appearing able to take on any situation. However, no matter how hard I turn the damn wrench, the screws that attach his training wheels to his bike keep coming loose. Every time he rides it, he tells me the training wheels are coming loose again. And every time he says it, he looks at me disgustedly, no doubt questioning my sexuality.
I also worry that by mowing the lawn myself, he might think I hate immigrants. Now I know that sounds like a tired joke about lawn care being a popular profession among our Spanish friends to the south, but in all seriousness, the two houses directly across the street from us use a lawn-mowing service that is operated by Hispanic gentlemen. If my son doesn’t notice this now, he will eventually. And he’ll certainly form some sort of opinion about it, possibly an outrageous one. (For the record, I absolutely do not hate immigrants. I just don’t like them to be in my yard.)
Ultimately I want my kids to develop into well-rounded, successful, law-abiding citizens without me having to always set a good example. It’s hard enough to keep adults from forming negative opinions about you based on a completely innocuous moment (A guy can’t seem to text a few photos of his genitals anymore without getting called a pervert), but kids really know how to blow things out of proportion.
With that said, I guess I better come to terms with the fact that I have to be on ever-improving behavior. If I don’t want my son to grow up thinking that I pick my nose, then I’ll just have to do it at work.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Diary Entry From the Spider on My Porch
Dear Diary,
Today was a long day, but the guest web is nearly complete. At this point I'll just be relieved to have it finished. Spinning the guest web has proven a much bigger undertaking than the renovations I made to the main web last year. The addition of the breakfast nook and the downstairs bedroom were tedious, but they don't compare to the work that has gone into spinning a whole new web from the ground up. The plumbing was the real bitch. I really should have hired out for that, but hindsight is 160/160.
The in-laws better appreciate this thing when they're here for the holidays. Actually, I'm already looking past the holidays and into next year when we can spend five months at the summer web. That is my true masterpiece. The design is a classic Victorian with beautifully-crafted dormers and spacious vaulted ceilings. The hundred-year-old model needed a lot of refurbishing, so we got a great deal on it, which allowed me to splurge on some crown molding and light fixtures from the same era.
I wouldn't mind living there year round, especially given the things that have gone on around here lately. The dwelling that we're currently attached to has become increasingly volatile. I feel bad about biting the young human that mistook me for one of those giant, paper Halloween spiders that look like pinatas. He tried to take me inside and tape me to the wall with all his other decorations. I had to defend myself.
And I'm afraid the whole family is beginning to suspect that I'm the reason the cat disappeared. I don't feel bad about that one. The feline's violent reaction when I tried to mate with her was completely uncalled for. All that scratching and hissing was really off-putting. I had no choice but to disembowel it and bury it's carcass in the yard under the cover of night. Damn shame, too. The poor thing will never know what it could have had.
And most recently was the repeated stomping I endured from the largest human in the household. I didn't even get a look at the specimen until it took a few steps back, picked up a brick, covered its eyes and flung the brick in my direction. It looked like a male, but when it ran back inside yelling, "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," it sounded decidedly feminine.
I'm not gonna lie - the brick hurt like hell. I had to take some time off afterwards, but the bruises healed rather quickly. All of this was enough to make me seriously consider turning the summer web into our permanent home, but the schools over there leave a lot to be desired.
The Misses and I have to consider things like that now. The doctor says in a little over a week we'll have hundreds of new mouths to feed. So excited!
Today was a long day, but the guest web is nearly complete. At this point I'll just be relieved to have it finished. Spinning the guest web has proven a much bigger undertaking than the renovations I made to the main web last year. The addition of the breakfast nook and the downstairs bedroom were tedious, but they don't compare to the work that has gone into spinning a whole new web from the ground up. The plumbing was the real bitch. I really should have hired out for that, but hindsight is 160/160.
The in-laws better appreciate this thing when they're here for the holidays. Actually, I'm already looking past the holidays and into next year when we can spend five months at the summer web. That is my true masterpiece. The design is a classic Victorian with beautifully-crafted dormers and spacious vaulted ceilings. The hundred-year-old model needed a lot of refurbishing, so we got a great deal on it, which allowed me to splurge on some crown molding and light fixtures from the same era.
I wouldn't mind living there year round, especially given the things that have gone on around here lately. The dwelling that we're currently attached to has become increasingly volatile. I feel bad about biting the young human that mistook me for one of those giant, paper Halloween spiders that look like pinatas. He tried to take me inside and tape me to the wall with all his other decorations. I had to defend myself.
And I'm afraid the whole family is beginning to suspect that I'm the reason the cat disappeared. I don't feel bad about that one. The feline's violent reaction when I tried to mate with her was completely uncalled for. All that scratching and hissing was really off-putting. I had no choice but to disembowel it and bury it's carcass in the yard under the cover of night. Damn shame, too. The poor thing will never know what it could have had.
And most recently was the repeated stomping I endured from the largest human in the household. I didn't even get a look at the specimen until it took a few steps back, picked up a brick, covered its eyes and flung the brick in my direction. It looked like a male, but when it ran back inside yelling, "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," it sounded decidedly feminine.
I'm not gonna lie - the brick hurt like hell. I had to take some time off afterwards, but the bruises healed rather quickly. All of this was enough to make me seriously consider turning the summer web into our permanent home, but the schools over there leave a lot to be desired.
The Misses and I have to consider things like that now. The doctor says in a little over a week we'll have hundreds of new mouths to feed. So excited!
Monday, July 18, 2011
I Now Pronounce You...
For those of you who have had a wedding I recently attended or have a wedding coming up, the following is in no way a comment on your specific event. Yours was (or will be) beautiful. This is just a comment on weddings in general and was inspired by current affairs, so please don't be offended. If you are offended, then your cake was bland.
Weddings are fascinating. Not so much to watch, but the fact that they’re so popular. They’ve existed forever, but people still celebrate them as if the idea is brand new. And celebrate them we do. In this country alone they're a $5 trillion a month industry. Over the course of human history, weddings fall only slightly behind the wheel in terms of overall approval rating.
You’d think by now weddings would be more like getting an HD TV. If you don’t have an HD TV at this point, you probably get a lot of confused looks and demeaning comments from those around you (I’m not the only one who suffers through these, right?). Sadly, that part is similar to getting married. If you reach a certain age without marrying, then people start to think something’s wrong. However, no matter how long people think you need to “hurry up and get married,” they will treat you like royalty when the big day finally comes.
Once you get an HD TV, though, could you envision inviting 200 of your closest friends and family members to your house to see it, and expect them to bring gifts? Would you rent or buy clothes for the occasion? Even if you offered them free food and booze, would they attend your HD TV party? Only if you invited people to watch the Super Bowl on your HD TV could you get, maybe, 30 people to come over, but they would still somehow watch the Super Bowl if your HD TV didn’t exist. Probably on their own HD TV.
And yet weddings have this weird hold over us. Look at the Royal Wedding earlier this year. All of England stopped what it was doing to watch it, not to mention way more Americans than what should have. If that many people are going to watch a wedding, shouldn't they do so because they expect to see something different? Like a monkey performing the ceremony, the bridesmaids and groomsmen being replaced by convicts who were brought up on charges of arson and public indecency, or the attendees being divided up not according to whether they know the bride or groom, but by playground basketball rules – shirts and skins.
Granted, weddings haven’t looked exactly the same over the decades. Destination weddings became really popular for a while and are still the preference for a significant number of people. More recently, wedding parties have been taping themselves doing choreographed dances and uploading the videos to the Internet, though this is done so much now that it feels like it’s been going on since the mid-80s. Despite these changes to the procedure, the end result is still the same. Which is why I think more and more states, like New York, are legalizing gay marriage.
You probably think it has something to do with our evolution as a society, and the desire to grant people equal rights no matter their sexual preference. Well, that might have a little something to do with it. But I think it has more to do with all of us just wanting to see some variety. Especially now during the height of wedding season.
I guarantee at least one member of the New York Senate looked at his or her colleagues during the voting process a couple of weeks ago and said, “If I have to attend one more straight wedding this summer, I’m going to shoot myself.” (It was either that or they finally buckled from the threat of celebrities who have sworn they wouldn’t marry until everyone has the right to. Granting equal rights to all mankind is a nice little motivator, but it’s no match for seeing Brad and Angelina finally tie the knot!)
Besides just the variety, think how much easier it would be to attend a gay wedding. If my wife ever says to me, “We have six weddings to attend this year, but the fourth one is a ceremony for two dudes,” my response would be, "Sweet! Our gift can be beer."
Many critics of same sex marriage fear the next form of unions that states will recognize will be between people and animals. First of all, I can't begin to imagine how insulting that is to gay people. Two consenting adults marrying each other is just one step away from an adult marrying the thing that chews on my socks and pees in the yard? And keep in mind, if that thing – my dog – pees in the yard, he’s behaving himself.
But secondly, if people do start marrying animals, I'm fully on board with it. If we get a stack of invitations that include three gay weddings, four celebrity weddings, and one wedding in which Led Zepplin will reunite to play at the reception, I’m still looking most forward to a human/animal ceremony. The only thing I can think of that might create a better story to tell afterwards would be a human/food wedding (see the post immediately below this one).
You’re probably thinking to yourself, "But if you got an invitation from someone who was marrying an animal, wouldn't you be concerned for that person's mental health?" Of course I would, which is why I hope that invitation would come from one of my wife's friends.
Let’s face facts – we all love weddings and we’ll always go to weddings. We’ll tell the bride how beautiful she looks and how happy we are for her (or him) and the groom. We’ll smile and take pictures and wish them a lifetime of joy and togetherness. But the only thing that people are thinking while they’re watching the ceremony is, “There better be an open bar or I’m gonna cut somebody.”
So if weddings suddenly become a bit more captivating by featuring a man marrying an orangutan or a ham sandwich, what’s the harm in that? It’s all about that person’s happiness.
And my entertainment.
Weddings are fascinating. Not so much to watch, but the fact that they’re so popular. They’ve existed forever, but people still celebrate them as if the idea is brand new. And celebrate them we do. In this country alone they're a $5 trillion a month industry. Over the course of human history, weddings fall only slightly behind the wheel in terms of overall approval rating.
You’d think by now weddings would be more like getting an HD TV. If you don’t have an HD TV at this point, you probably get a lot of confused looks and demeaning comments from those around you (I’m not the only one who suffers through these, right?). Sadly, that part is similar to getting married. If you reach a certain age without marrying, then people start to think something’s wrong. However, no matter how long people think you need to “hurry up and get married,” they will treat you like royalty when the big day finally comes.
Once you get an HD TV, though, could you envision inviting 200 of your closest friends and family members to your house to see it, and expect them to bring gifts? Would you rent or buy clothes for the occasion? Even if you offered them free food and booze, would they attend your HD TV party? Only if you invited people to watch the Super Bowl on your HD TV could you get, maybe, 30 people to come over, but they would still somehow watch the Super Bowl if your HD TV didn’t exist. Probably on their own HD TV.
And yet weddings have this weird hold over us. Look at the Royal Wedding earlier this year. All of England stopped what it was doing to watch it, not to mention way more Americans than what should have. If that many people are going to watch a wedding, shouldn't they do so because they expect to see something different? Like a monkey performing the ceremony, the bridesmaids and groomsmen being replaced by convicts who were brought up on charges of arson and public indecency, or the attendees being divided up not according to whether they know the bride or groom, but by playground basketball rules – shirts and skins.
Granted, weddings haven’t looked exactly the same over the decades. Destination weddings became really popular for a while and are still the preference for a significant number of people. More recently, wedding parties have been taping themselves doing choreographed dances and uploading the videos to the Internet, though this is done so much now that it feels like it’s been going on since the mid-80s. Despite these changes to the procedure, the end result is still the same. Which is why I think more and more states, like New York, are legalizing gay marriage.
You probably think it has something to do with our evolution as a society, and the desire to grant people equal rights no matter their sexual preference. Well, that might have a little something to do with it. But I think it has more to do with all of us just wanting to see some variety. Especially now during the height of wedding season.
I guarantee at least one member of the New York Senate looked at his or her colleagues during the voting process a couple of weeks ago and said, “If I have to attend one more straight wedding this summer, I’m going to shoot myself.” (It was either that or they finally buckled from the threat of celebrities who have sworn they wouldn’t marry until everyone has the right to. Granting equal rights to all mankind is a nice little motivator, but it’s no match for seeing Brad and Angelina finally tie the knot!)
Besides just the variety, think how much easier it would be to attend a gay wedding. If my wife ever says to me, “We have six weddings to attend this year, but the fourth one is a ceremony for two dudes,” my response would be, "Sweet! Our gift can be beer."
Many critics of same sex marriage fear the next form of unions that states will recognize will be between people and animals. First of all, I can't begin to imagine how insulting that is to gay people. Two consenting adults marrying each other is just one step away from an adult marrying the thing that chews on my socks and pees in the yard? And keep in mind, if that thing – my dog – pees in the yard, he’s behaving himself.
But secondly, if people do start marrying animals, I'm fully on board with it. If we get a stack of invitations that include three gay weddings, four celebrity weddings, and one wedding in which Led Zepplin will reunite to play at the reception, I’m still looking most forward to a human/animal ceremony. The only thing I can think of that might create a better story to tell afterwards would be a human/food wedding (see the post immediately below this one).
You’re probably thinking to yourself, "But if you got an invitation from someone who was marrying an animal, wouldn't you be concerned for that person's mental health?" Of course I would, which is why I hope that invitation would come from one of my wife's friends.
Let’s face facts – we all love weddings and we’ll always go to weddings. We’ll tell the bride how beautiful she looks and how happy we are for her (or him) and the groom. We’ll smile and take pictures and wish them a lifetime of joy and togetherness. But the only thing that people are thinking while they’re watching the ceremony is, “There better be an open bar or I’m gonna cut somebody.”
So if weddings suddenly become a bit more captivating by featuring a man marrying an orangutan or a ham sandwich, what’s the harm in that? It’s all about that person’s happiness.
And my entertainment.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
The Next Logical Marriage Step
"Welcome, welcome. We are gathered here today to celebrate the joining together of Lyle and Bella in matrimony. We are privileged to bear witness to this grand occasion; this formal expression of true love. And we are privileged that so many have come before them to help pave the way for a union such as theirs to exist. When the nuptials between a man and a block of cheese can be officially recognized by the state of Delaware, it truly is a blessing. Many critics of same sex marriage have long feared that once gay and lesbian partnerships were afforded the same rights as a man and a woman's, then the next logical progression would be the uniting of man and beast. But nope. Turns out it's food.
"And how truly wonderful that is, especially for Lyle and Bella. For these two lovebirds, today is a very, very Gouda day. Ha! Forgive me. That's just a little cheese wedding humor. So let us begin. Lyle, please take Bella's hand."
Lyle picks up the block of cheese from a deli tray held by the Maid of Honor, his disappointed sister.
"Lyle and Bella have chosen to write their own vows. Lyle, when you're ready, we'll let you begin."
Lyle looks intently at the cheese.
"From the moment I first saw you in the display at Trader Joe's, I knew you were the one over all others. The way your cheddary sheen glistened next to the sausages and assorted chips and pretzels. Asiago, Feta, Colby, Gorgonzola - they all paled in comparison. As well as White Cheddar, for obvious reasons. More heralded cheeses didn't capture my heart either, like the snooty Swiss or the belligerent American. Sure, it was hard not to be tempted by the Mozzarella, but she's not really the type you settle down with.
"So I whisked you away, and we spent three glorious days watching the Food Network together. You even forgave me for the night I spent with those slices of Pepper Jack. For that and so many other reasons, I promise to never let you mold or pair you with inferior snack food. I will never turn you into whiz," Lyle pauses to collect himself as he begins to choke up, "and stuff you in a CAN!"
Many of those gathered at the ceremony awkwardly stare at the ground and scratch the back of their heads.
"And I will never insult you by baking a certain cake with your namesake and serving it to dinner guests. I will, however, tout your semi-hard texture, your non-offensive aroma, and your ability to enhance any situation involving beer or bread or bacon. I will keep you by my side during every meal, whether it be the finest occasion or simply eating breakfast in the car on my way to work. In short, I will cherish you for all the rest of my days."
"How lovely," the notary says. “Now for Bella's vows."
The cheese says nothing. A faint cough can be heard from the back.
"Excellent. Now for the rings. Lyle, please place Bella's ring on her... well, on her."
Lyle places an oversized onion ring around the cheese.
“Now repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed,” the notary says.
“With this ring, I thee wed.”
"Now Bella, please place Lyle's ring on his finger."
Lyle's sister rolls her eyes and reaches in to place the ring on his finger.
“Repeat after me. With this ring, I thee…”
“You know what, I think we’re good,” Lyle interrupts.
"Very well. The rings symbolize Lyle and Bella's commitment to one another; their pledge to live as one. And with that, you are officially wed. So by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!"
Amidst applause, Lyle kisses the cheese. Gasps replace the clapping as he then takes a bite.
"Well, looks like the groom is a little overcome by the proceedings," the notary nervously laughs.
Lyle takes a larger bite out of his new bride, this time while growling like a large jungle cat.
"Uh... ok. Let's see, the couple asked me to let everyone know there will be a reception with lots of wine and crackers at the West Valley Bingo Hall on the corner of 9th and Mellwood in roughly 30 min..."
Lyle shoves the remaining hunk of cheese into his mouth while emitting a loud, guttural moan.
"Sir, please. There are children present."
The crowd looks on in horror as Lyle brushes his hands on his jacket and wipes his mouth with his tie.
"Well, then," the notary says. "Thank you all for joining us."
"And how truly wonderful that is, especially for Lyle and Bella. For these two lovebirds, today is a very, very Gouda day. Ha! Forgive me. That's just a little cheese wedding humor. So let us begin. Lyle, please take Bella's hand."
Lyle picks up the block of cheese from a deli tray held by the Maid of Honor, his disappointed sister.
"Lyle and Bella have chosen to write their own vows. Lyle, when you're ready, we'll let you begin."
Lyle looks intently at the cheese.
"From the moment I first saw you in the display at Trader Joe's, I knew you were the one over all others. The way your cheddary sheen glistened next to the sausages and assorted chips and pretzels. Asiago, Feta, Colby, Gorgonzola - they all paled in comparison. As well as White Cheddar, for obvious reasons. More heralded cheeses didn't capture my heart either, like the snooty Swiss or the belligerent American. Sure, it was hard not to be tempted by the Mozzarella, but she's not really the type you settle down with.
"So I whisked you away, and we spent three glorious days watching the Food Network together. You even forgave me for the night I spent with those slices of Pepper Jack. For that and so many other reasons, I promise to never let you mold or pair you with inferior snack food. I will never turn you into whiz," Lyle pauses to collect himself as he begins to choke up, "and stuff you in a CAN!"
Many of those gathered at the ceremony awkwardly stare at the ground and scratch the back of their heads.
"And I will never insult you by baking a certain cake with your namesake and serving it to dinner guests. I will, however, tout your semi-hard texture, your non-offensive aroma, and your ability to enhance any situation involving beer or bread or bacon. I will keep you by my side during every meal, whether it be the finest occasion or simply eating breakfast in the car on my way to work. In short, I will cherish you for all the rest of my days."
"How lovely," the notary says. “Now for Bella's vows."
The cheese says nothing. A faint cough can be heard from the back.
"Excellent. Now for the rings. Lyle, please place Bella's ring on her... well, on her."
Lyle places an oversized onion ring around the cheese.
“Now repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed,” the notary says.
“With this ring, I thee wed.”
"Now Bella, please place Lyle's ring on his finger."
Lyle's sister rolls her eyes and reaches in to place the ring on his finger.
“Repeat after me. With this ring, I thee…”
“You know what, I think we’re good,” Lyle interrupts.
"Very well. The rings symbolize Lyle and Bella's commitment to one another; their pledge to live as one. And with that, you are officially wed. So by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!"
Amidst applause, Lyle kisses the cheese. Gasps replace the clapping as he then takes a bite.
"Well, looks like the groom is a little overcome by the proceedings," the notary nervously laughs.
Lyle takes a larger bite out of his new bride, this time while growling like a large jungle cat.
"Uh... ok. Let's see, the couple asked me to let everyone know there will be a reception with lots of wine and crackers at the West Valley Bingo Hall on the corner of 9th and Mellwood in roughly 30 min..."
Lyle shoves the remaining hunk of cheese into his mouth while emitting a loud, guttural moan.
"Sir, please. There are children present."
The crowd looks on in horror as Lyle brushes his hands on his jacket and wipes his mouth with his tie.
"Well, then," the notary says. "Thank you all for joining us."
Friday, June 10, 2011
The (Weiner) Gate Bursts Open
I know, I know, he’s doing it again. You don’t have to tell me, I’m the one in all the pictures.
Let me just start by apologizing on his behalf. I know he’s already done that, but I feel like I need to say it too. Make no mistake, though, I’m not apologizing for me. It’s not like I had a choice in the matter. You think he looked down and asked, “Hey Oscar, you alright with this?” before he thrust me into the spotlight? For that matter, do you think he’s ever asked me that before the camera bulbs start flashing?
Of course this isn’t the first time he’s passed around pictures of me, don’t be naïve. Ask his mom how many times she got a call from the principal. Polaroids weren’t even his preferred method back in the day. His true joy was having me make a live appearance. Frog dissection day in Biology class, Wiffle Ball day in gym class, and don’t forget the day his English class finally got to the “Et tu, Brute?” line in Julius Caesar. Believe me, you people aren’t seeing anything that hasn’t long ago passed through the halls of James Madison High.
And take it easy with all the jokes, will you? If you want to poke fun at him for all his preening or terrible decision making, go right ahead. But wherever you come down on the argument concerning my stature, please keep it to yourself. All I can say is, “It is what it is.” (By the way, I coined that phrase. I was left with little choice given all the times he answered the door, unencumbered by clinging cotton briefs, to a pack of giggling co-eds.) I admit I’m no Greg Oden, but then I’m no Brett Favre either.
And speaking of celebrities who conveniently are no longer in the news – Arnold Schwarzenegger, have I got a bone to pick with you. I can’t believe a couple of photos of me have knocked you completely out of the news. You impregnated your maid! You have a son that’s been running around for 14 years that nobody knew was yours!! If you were still in office, I wouldn’t have even made page 12 of The New York Post. You probably won’t agree with this at the moment, but you are one lucky s.o.b.
(Sigh). I apologize for being a little testy.
As for the media, let me offer you a tip: enough with using “gate.” Every scandal is a gate. Try some creativity! You could have a field day with this story. He Tweeted the pictures of me, right? So if you must use gate, why not TWeinergate? And weren’t a couple of the pictures taken with a mobile phone camera? So how about you introduce every new segment with, “And now for more sordid details on the Weinermobile story.” Coming up with something more clever than Weinergate shouldn’t be that… what’s the word I’m looking for? Difficult? That doesn’t sound right. At any rate, you get my point.
One last thing: he wasn’t yanking your chain when he said he’d never met any of the women that he talked to online. That’s the truth. He doesn’t even like women. Whoops! I think I’ve said too much.
Let me just start by apologizing on his behalf. I know he’s already done that, but I feel like I need to say it too. Make no mistake, though, I’m not apologizing for me. It’s not like I had a choice in the matter. You think he looked down and asked, “Hey Oscar, you alright with this?” before he thrust me into the spotlight? For that matter, do you think he’s ever asked me that before the camera bulbs start flashing?
Of course this isn’t the first time he’s passed around pictures of me, don’t be naïve. Ask his mom how many times she got a call from the principal. Polaroids weren’t even his preferred method back in the day. His true joy was having me make a live appearance. Frog dissection day in Biology class, Wiffle Ball day in gym class, and don’t forget the day his English class finally got to the “Et tu, Brute?” line in Julius Caesar. Believe me, you people aren’t seeing anything that hasn’t long ago passed through the halls of James Madison High.
And take it easy with all the jokes, will you? If you want to poke fun at him for all his preening or terrible decision making, go right ahead. But wherever you come down on the argument concerning my stature, please keep it to yourself. All I can say is, “It is what it is.” (By the way, I coined that phrase. I was left with little choice given all the times he answered the door, unencumbered by clinging cotton briefs, to a pack of giggling co-eds.) I admit I’m no Greg Oden, but then I’m no Brett Favre either.
And speaking of celebrities who conveniently are no longer in the news – Arnold Schwarzenegger, have I got a bone to pick with you. I can’t believe a couple of photos of me have knocked you completely out of the news. You impregnated your maid! You have a son that’s been running around for 14 years that nobody knew was yours!! If you were still in office, I wouldn’t have even made page 12 of The New York Post. You probably won’t agree with this at the moment, but you are one lucky s.o.b.
(Sigh). I apologize for being a little testy.
As for the media, let me offer you a tip: enough with using “gate.” Every scandal is a gate. Try some creativity! You could have a field day with this story. He Tweeted the pictures of me, right? So if you must use gate, why not TWeinergate? And weren’t a couple of the pictures taken with a mobile phone camera? So how about you introduce every new segment with, “And now for more sordid details on the Weinermobile story.” Coming up with something more clever than Weinergate shouldn’t be that… what’s the word I’m looking for? Difficult? That doesn’t sound right. At any rate, you get my point.
One last thing: he wasn’t yanking your chain when he said he’d never met any of the women that he talked to online. That’s the truth. He doesn’t even like women. Whoops! I think I’ve said too much.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
We'll Be Fine As Long As They Don't Unionize
For almost 18 months, my wife and I have owned a house. It’s not our first home, but it is our first house. With a yard. In a neighborhood. Which means a good portion of the people running around the neighborhood are kids. Most of them seem like normal, well-rounded people. Only two have given me cause to be concerned about the future.
I recently learned about the ambition of one of the neighborhood kids – the 7-year-old girl across the street. Her name is Kate and she knocked on our door on a Wednesday evening and asked if she could walk our dog for some money. She needed to make some cash so she could save up for a violin or some shoes or a couple of other things (she hadn’t really decided on just one thing yet). Begrudgingly, I said “sure.”
I say begrudgingly because I didn't know how much would be appropriate to pay her. Or how often she would expect to receive payment for walking the dog. Or if this would impede my ability to pay the mortgage. Kids seem to make a lot more money these days for doing, well, nothing. I know parents who’ve given their kids shares of Google for losing their first baby tooth. When I lost my first baby tooth, the tooth fairy left me a pamphlet on how to avoid gingivitis.
So, to buy myself (pun intended) some time to figure out how to handle this, I told Kate to come back on Saturday to walk the dog. From her reaction, she must have thought there was a pretty decent chance I was going to say, “No, you can’t walk my dog” because she threw her hands in the air and ran back across the street cheering as if her school had permanently cancelled math class (you know how girls are with math). After she left, I decided I would have her walk Moose, the dog, up and down our street one time and for this I would pay her a hearty $5.
Moose doesn’t exactly mirror his namesake. He weighs somewhere between 8-9 lbs. and is whiter than the line at a Rush Limbaugh book signing. Given his size, Kate probably wouldn’t lose control of him, but he’d make her work at it, and being only 7 years old, there’s always the chance she’d ditch him for a bunny or a hamster (our neighborhood is overrun with stray hamsters). So, I wanted to keep the task short and simple.
She was at our doorstep by 9 a.m. on Saturday, eager and up to the task. I told her how far to take him and what she would earn upon their return. Her face lit up as she immediately imagined all the violins, violin cases, bows and lessons she could buy for $5. Unfortunately it had been raining all morning, so I asked her to come back later and walk Moose after the ground had dried; at least a few hours. Having taken everything she’s learned in school about telling time, Kate returned 20 minutes later. There was no delaying it.
Moose was eager too, either for a walk or for the meat he thought Kate had in her pockets, because he sprinted out the front door and leapt at her, scratching her leg in the process. Her enthusiasm went a little south after that. Moose’s scratch drew blood, she screamed, and my wife had to walk her back home. Surprisingly, while her enthusiasm was diminished, it wasn’t completely extinguished. Brigitte and I thought for sure the dog-walking experiment was over before it started, but through her sobs, Kate asked if she could walk Moose “a little later." Brigitte assured her that she didn’t have to walk him at all, but that violin wasn’t going to buy itself, and her mom said that Kate was also hoping to get over her fear of dogs (of course).
So after she went inside to get cleaned up, our whole family, plus Kate, took Moose for a walk. Brigitte held the leash and Kate held my four-year-old son’s hand, at his insistence (he’s got a thing for older women). Afterwards, I paid Kate $7. Part of it was to go toward a violin, part of it toward more band aids, and part of it was gratitude for not filing workman’s comp.
In case that sounds cheap, let me point out that I’d be happy to continue paying her, but she hasn’t come back. That’s ok, though. Either way, I have confidence in our future workforce.
I recently learned about the ambition of one of the neighborhood kids – the 7-year-old girl across the street. Her name is Kate and she knocked on our door on a Wednesday evening and asked if she could walk our dog for some money. She needed to make some cash so she could save up for a violin or some shoes or a couple of other things (she hadn’t really decided on just one thing yet). Begrudgingly, I said “sure.”
I say begrudgingly because I didn't know how much would be appropriate to pay her. Or how often she would expect to receive payment for walking the dog. Or if this would impede my ability to pay the mortgage. Kids seem to make a lot more money these days for doing, well, nothing. I know parents who’ve given their kids shares of Google for losing their first baby tooth. When I lost my first baby tooth, the tooth fairy left me a pamphlet on how to avoid gingivitis.
So, to buy myself (pun intended) some time to figure out how to handle this, I told Kate to come back on Saturday to walk the dog. From her reaction, she must have thought there was a pretty decent chance I was going to say, “No, you can’t walk my dog” because she threw her hands in the air and ran back across the street cheering as if her school had permanently cancelled math class (you know how girls are with math). After she left, I decided I would have her walk Moose, the dog, up and down our street one time and for this I would pay her a hearty $5.
Moose doesn’t exactly mirror his namesake. He weighs somewhere between 8-9 lbs. and is whiter than the line at a Rush Limbaugh book signing. Given his size, Kate probably wouldn’t lose control of him, but he’d make her work at it, and being only 7 years old, there’s always the chance she’d ditch him for a bunny or a hamster (our neighborhood is overrun with stray hamsters). So, I wanted to keep the task short and simple.
She was at our doorstep by 9 a.m. on Saturday, eager and up to the task. I told her how far to take him and what she would earn upon their return. Her face lit up as she immediately imagined all the violins, violin cases, bows and lessons she could buy for $5. Unfortunately it had been raining all morning, so I asked her to come back later and walk Moose after the ground had dried; at least a few hours. Having taken everything she’s learned in school about telling time, Kate returned 20 minutes later. There was no delaying it.
Moose was eager too, either for a walk or for the meat he thought Kate had in her pockets, because he sprinted out the front door and leapt at her, scratching her leg in the process. Her enthusiasm went a little south after that. Moose’s scratch drew blood, she screamed, and my wife had to walk her back home. Surprisingly, while her enthusiasm was diminished, it wasn’t completely extinguished. Brigitte and I thought for sure the dog-walking experiment was over before it started, but through her sobs, Kate asked if she could walk Moose “a little later." Brigitte assured her that she didn’t have to walk him at all, but that violin wasn’t going to buy itself, and her mom said that Kate was also hoping to get over her fear of dogs (of course).
So after she went inside to get cleaned up, our whole family, plus Kate, took Moose for a walk. Brigitte held the leash and Kate held my four-year-old son’s hand, at his insistence (he’s got a thing for older women). Afterwards, I paid Kate $7. Part of it was to go toward a violin, part of it toward more band aids, and part of it was gratitude for not filing workman’s comp.
In case that sounds cheap, let me point out that I’d be happy to continue paying her, but she hasn’t come back. That’s ok, though. Either way, I have confidence in our future workforce.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Rapture, Take Me Away
Since I will undoubtedly be one of those chosen to go up when the Rapture strikes tomorrow, I just want to wish you all good luck and let you know what kind of torment you can expect during your remaining time on Earth:
The only e-mails you’ll receive will be marked ‘urgent’ even though they couldn’t be less so.
Toddlers will sleep for no more than 45 minutes during any given 24 hour period.
The next long-running political saga that refuses to die will be Donald Trump trying to prove that his hair was born in the United States.
It’s learned that Oprah quit doing her show because she received advance notice that she would be one of the chosen ones. Those left behind, however, continue to get their fill as re-runs of her show air on every channel 24/7.
The only options that remain for pets are cats and skunks.
Airplanes will no longer have window or aisle seats. Middle seats for everyone!
Everyone also gets the same two next-door neighbors: Glenn Beck to the right, Keith Olbermann to the left. Moving doesn’t change this.
Baseball is the only sport still played and the Chicago Cubs win the World Series every year for the rest of eternity. Not a single Cubs fan gets to see them win, however, as none of them will be left behind.
The rest of the world’s view of the United States fails to improve as we elect Kid Rock as our President-for-Life.
Skunks soon top the charts as the world’s most popular pet.
Those choosing to text are forced to do so using phones that have 3-4 letters of the alphabet on each button. Then you can see what I have to deal with every time one of you f*!#ers sends me a text message.
Nearly all of the Facebook posts made by your friends who were among the chosen ones will say, “This is great, sorry you can’t be here!” The only time they take a break from this is when they post pictures of their kids.
Hard liquor will cease to exist. Anyone who orders beer will be served wine. Anyone who orders wine will be served sweat from a cow, though this is not likely to bother many of these people as few will be able to tell the difference. Soda will still exist, but no matter which brand you choose, they will all taste like Diet Sprite. And coffee will cost $150 a cup.
The only e-mails you’ll receive will be marked ‘urgent’ even though they couldn’t be less so.
Toddlers will sleep for no more than 45 minutes during any given 24 hour period.
The next long-running political saga that refuses to die will be Donald Trump trying to prove that his hair was born in the United States.
It’s learned that Oprah quit doing her show because she received advance notice that she would be one of the chosen ones. Those left behind, however, continue to get their fill as re-runs of her show air on every channel 24/7.
The only options that remain for pets are cats and skunks.
Airplanes will no longer have window or aisle seats. Middle seats for everyone!
Everyone also gets the same two next-door neighbors: Glenn Beck to the right, Keith Olbermann to the left. Moving doesn’t change this.
Baseball is the only sport still played and the Chicago Cubs win the World Series every year for the rest of eternity. Not a single Cubs fan gets to see them win, however, as none of them will be left behind.
The rest of the world’s view of the United States fails to improve as we elect Kid Rock as our President-for-Life.
Skunks soon top the charts as the world’s most popular pet.
Those choosing to text are forced to do so using phones that have 3-4 letters of the alphabet on each button. Then you can see what I have to deal with every time one of you f*!#ers sends me a text message.
Nearly all of the Facebook posts made by your friends who were among the chosen ones will say, “This is great, sorry you can’t be here!” The only time they take a break from this is when they post pictures of their kids.
Hard liquor will cease to exist. Anyone who orders beer will be served wine. Anyone who orders wine will be served sweat from a cow, though this is not likely to bother many of these people as few will be able to tell the difference. Soda will still exist, but no matter which brand you choose, they will all taste like Diet Sprite. And coffee will cost $150 a cup.
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