Wednesday, May 30, 2007

168. So...Yeah.

So it turns out (I heard it on the radio yesterday) En Vogue is coming in concert to little old Utah. Not only have I wanted to see their live act for a long time, I have heard they are fantastic performers. I saw them on SNL once (or maybe it was another sketch comedy show) and they really brought the house down. Then, nearing the end of the radio ad, the announcement said the concert is all part of a gay pride festival.

So.

I'm torn. Do I go to the show and possibly communicate the wrong message? or do I stay home and possibly never get a chance to see En Vogue live?

Where I do not have a problem with anyone's orientation, I certainly don't want to mislead anyone as to MY orientation. Showing up to the gay pride rally to see a team of superb vocalists put on a show is not necessarily my idea of a good way to communicate my love of vocal music and harmony. If anything, it would be a good way to falsely out myself. Unfortunately, getting outed is not one of those things I'd be up for since, quite frankly, I'm not even IN in the first place.

So I guess I won't get to see them live--which is sad, because I've been a fan of theirs since at least one thousand nine-hundred ninety-one (1991) or one thousand nine-hundred ninety-two (1992). Maybe Kool and the Gang will make a stop here one day too--I'll go see them. Or Lipps Inc.

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

167. Livin' Up To Your Dreams

Do you remember that episode where Jo and Tudy got into a fracas because Jo was a complete killjoy and Tudy was a little naïve? And then Natalie came to try and smooth things over, but no one could hear what she said because her insecurities were so loud. Enter Blair who came in like the Queen of Southern Money and treated the whole lot of them like convicts.

Do you remember how it ended? Mrs. Garrett had a sit-down with every one of them and told each one to grow up and treat everyone with a little respect only to go to the kitchen, down a fifth of Scotch, and hammer out a letter to Mr. Drummond about her girls and their social interpersonal ineptitude.

Yeah, me too. That one was the best.

You take the good, you take the bad
You take them both and there you have
The facts of life. The facts of life.

When the world never seems to be livin’ up to your dreams
And suddenly you’re finding out
The facts of life area all about you. You-oo-oo-oo-oo.

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

166. Carpet Swimming, Part II: The Revenge

For those of you who read my last post, here's the video proof.



Right, left, right, left, right, left, right, right, DOH!

Monday, May 07, 2007

165. Carpet Swimming

I think the wisest line I’ve ever uttered came from my recent post, number one-hundred-sixty-three (#163). So I’m going to repeat it here just in case you missed it. th. may have been the only person who saw it. Make this one of your life’s maxims, make a motivational poster of it, and put it on your wall:

“You can be a pro wrestler, or an Olympic wrestler. The difference is college.”

Back to the posting.

You may recall back in post number one-hundred-seven (#107) when I declared my inability to maintain the alive-ness of plants in and around my home. Now that spring has arrived, I’m happy to report the two trees I spoke of planting in that post are halfway alive—a better ratio than I hoped for.

Now, when I say the trees are halfway alive, you might get the impression they are struggling a bit, but you are wrong. There is no struggle. Half (1/2) of the trees are alive and the other half (1/2) are dead—so I took an average. The important thing is leaving the dead tree in the ground for the year to see if we can revive it. I mean, because wintering in our front yard should have been rejuvenating.

More important is that the First Mate is thriving—he’s growing like a weed. (Note “growing like a weed” is a stupid metaphor. I mean, weeds just grow—you don’t have to water, feed, or weed [humor me] them. They just grow there, sitting in the dirt, without regard to the care given them. Children require constant care. They require water, food, and [insert human-related word for weeding] before you can expect them to reach respectable size. In fact, leaving them in the back yard to sit in the dirt is a good way to provide yourself a little MORE work and maintenance. So when I say “growing like a weed,” don’t go thinking child-rearing is easy—the phrase should be changed to “growing like a mullet,” because the care required is precise and there’s a science to getting the end result you want.)

(Interesting note: At the time I wrote post one-hundred-seven (107), the doctor had told us the First Mate weighed about four (4) pounds, nine (9) ounces. He was born two weeks later at four (4) pounds, six (6) ounces—a difference I hadn't thought of when he was born. What kind of witch-doctory is Doctor Feel Good practicing, anyway?)

Anyway. Recently, the First Mate has begun communicating intelligently. Every time we feed him, we show him the sign-language version of the word and also the English version. That way he’ll always have two ways of communicating an idea if he chooses to talk to us. Well this past week or so, the First Mate started mimicking our signs back to us to tell us when he is hungry, or tired, or thirsty. Slowly, deliberately, he showed us the sign for food the other day—which is putting your hands behind your head and moving your hips around in a circle—and we made sure to reinforce his learning by giving him beginner’s snacks. We haven’t told him yet that they don’t really count as food because they are made of styrofoam, but he eats them just the same because he still trusts us.

The First Mate has also begun moving. I don’t mean moving in the waving-the-arms sense, I mean transporting himself across a room if he sees something he wants. I wouldn’t exactly call what he does ‘crawling,’ because ‘crawling’ would indicate some sort of normal-looking movement. More accurately, I would call it ‘Carpet Swimming’ because that’s what it is complete with turning the head up for breathing. My swimming teacher used to set a chair on the side of the pool and lie down on the chair to show us the correct swimming strokes. Well, my kid can do it right at ground level. Take that, you over-tanned, self-important swimming instructor!