If you have been reading my blog regularly (hi Mom!) then you may know that my laptop died a horrible death just before I came to New York. It was very bad timing, and I was kind of freaking out about it. This blog entry is a tribute to my wonderful friends, who are the reason I am now sitting in front of not one, not two, but three laptops!
Awesome friend number one: Ed
Ed not only helped me get all my data out of my old laptop, he is also the one who bought me the tenordad.com domain name and pointed it at my blog. This is super awesome of him. There is literally no way I can ever repay him for saving my data, but I hope some day, to repay him figuratively. Naming my son after him does not seem enough.
Awesome friend number two: Eric
Eric was the first person to say, "Hey, I have an old laptop I never use. It is horrible and useless, would you like it?" That was awesome of him because, old and horrible or not, laptops are expensive. They are a pretty big investment, and we keep a lot of ourselves on our computers. He warned me that it would not really play video or run modern programs, but hey, it got me online, and that was all I really needed to do in New York anyway.
Awesome friend number three: Simone
Ok, yes, I am married to her, but she is still my friend, and she is still awesome. She let me borrow her little netbook (which is much faster than our home computer, so it actually is a big sacrifice!) to take with me. It has no CD drive, and is not meant for running big programs, but it plays video! Between Simone's speed, and Eric's removable media, I figured I was set.
Awesome friend number four: Mark
I had a voice lesson and told him about my computer woes when he asked if I was recording the lesson. He then proceeded to get out his almost brand new laptop, and gave it to me on extended loan. He said that soon after he got it, he switched to Mac and he doesn't use the HP laptop at all anymore. The understanding is that if he does need it while I'm here, I am only a few blocks away and I will bring it over. This is so awesome I can't even stand it. It is super fast AND has a CD drive! And tons of other cool stuff! I am blogging on it right now! It's probably better than the laptop I had that broke!
So thank you to all my wonderful friends who have helped me out in some way or another. Many of you have done other things for me that I haven't mentioned in this blog, but I am supremely grateful to have such giving and caring friends and family. I love you all. Now if only the apartment here had internet.....
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
The Man Without Beer
The first beer I ever had was at a frat party in college. It came out of a cheap keg, and it tasted the way I imagined pig urine would taste. I had two sips and quickly put my red plastic cup down on a bookshelf and went looking for something else to cleanse my mouth of the foul taste. I then told people I did not like beer. "Oh no," they told me, "you just had some really cheap disgusting beer. Real beer is much better."
The second beer I ever had was given to me by my friend Josh on my 21st birthday. He felt very strongly that I should at least have one drink on that particular day, even though I was generally not interested in drinking. I don't remember the brand, but it was your standard beer that one might see advertised during the Superbowl and, presumably, a step up from frat party piss beer. I had two sips, and then poured the rest out. It didn't taste like piss persay, more like general yuck. I decided that I, in fact, did not like beer, but was again told by friends that I had not truly tasted top of the line beer, and surely I would change mind in the future.
The third, and final, beer that I ever had was in Germany at Oktoberfest. I had just finished singing a concert in Vienna, and my flight didn't leave until late the next evening. I had an extra day really, so some friends and I took a train to Munich and we quickly found the festivities. They were shocked and horrified that I was at Oktoberfest in Munich and was not going to have a beer. So I gave in. I said to myself, "This is some of the best beer in the world. If I don't like THIS beer, then I really don't like beer."
If I ever have a fourth beer, I'll let you know.
The second beer I ever had was given to me by my friend Josh on my 21st birthday. He felt very strongly that I should at least have one drink on that particular day, even though I was generally not interested in drinking. I don't remember the brand, but it was your standard beer that one might see advertised during the Superbowl and, presumably, a step up from frat party piss beer. I had two sips, and then poured the rest out. It didn't taste like piss persay, more like general yuck. I decided that I, in fact, did not like beer, but was again told by friends that I had not truly tasted top of the line beer, and surely I would change mind in the future.
The third, and final, beer that I ever had was in Germany at Oktoberfest. I had just finished singing a concert in Vienna, and my flight didn't leave until late the next evening. I had an extra day really, so some friends and I took a train to Munich and we quickly found the festivities. They were shocked and horrified that I was at Oktoberfest in Munich and was not going to have a beer. So I gave in. I said to myself, "This is some of the best beer in the world. If I don't like THIS beer, then I really don't like beer."
If I ever have a fourth beer, I'll let you know.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Mexican Coke Pong
So last night I went out for a few beers with some folks from the opera. Except there was one problem: I don't drink. The first question I got was "oh, are you a Mormon?" When I told them that I was not, they struggled to understand why I don't drink. And my answer (I don't like it) is generally not satisfying.
I have been drunk before. I have had a casual drink before, but the last drink of alcohol that I had was at my bachelor party, over seven years ago. Usually I either pass out immediately, or else I get really sad and start crying. Neither of these things makes for a fun evening for me.
Also, to me, alcohol tastes a little like poison. I have yet to encounter a drink that does not taste better without the alcohol in it. I can't count the number if times people have said to me "Here, try this, you can't even taste the alcohol!". But then, I think, why not have the drink without the alcohol in it? And the answer is, because the point IS the alcohol, isn't it?
Today, on a break at rehearsal, we were all discussing beer pong. And I have played beer pong before, I just didn't drink the beer. My drink of choice is Coca-Cola imported from Mexico (with real sugar, instead of corn sugar). But people who are drinking do not trust people who are not. So can't we just all not drink once in a while? Tomorrow night, my place, food, fun, and some Mexican Coke Pong!
I have been drunk before. I have had a casual drink before, but the last drink of alcohol that I had was at my bachelor party, over seven years ago. Usually I either pass out immediately, or else I get really sad and start crying. Neither of these things makes for a fun evening for me.
Also, to me, alcohol tastes a little like poison. I have yet to encounter a drink that does not taste better without the alcohol in it. I can't count the number if times people have said to me "Here, try this, you can't even taste the alcohol!". But then, I think, why not have the drink without the alcohol in it? And the answer is, because the point IS the alcohol, isn't it?
Today, on a break at rehearsal, we were all discussing beer pong. And I have played beer pong before, I just didn't drink the beer. My drink of choice is Coca-Cola imported from Mexico (with real sugar, instead of corn sugar). But people who are drinking do not trust people who are not. So can't we just all not drink once in a while? Tomorrow night, my place, food, fun, and some Mexican Coke Pong!
Monday, September 27, 2010
An Open Letter to the Girl Behind Me on the Megabus
Dear Girl Behind Me on the Megabus,
I am very sorry for talking on the phone during our bus ride together. In my defense, this was my first Megabus trip and I was a little confused. I use my phone on the bus all the time, but those are shorter bus rides, with people getting on and off all the time. The Megabus is more like a train, where we are all trapped together for a long time. I hate when people have long conversations on the train, so again, I apologize.
Of course many other people on the bus made phone calls as well, but again I will grant you that I am louder than most people. It's not my fault! It's a combination of vocal training and genetics (blogs about my mother forthcoming). So I can see why I was singled out as the troublemaker.
Your comments were very helpful. First you let me know that you are a fellow Christian by shouting the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. You also told me how little interest anyone else had in my goddamned conversation. As I mentioned earlier, this was news to me, so thank you for cluing me in.
I would like to apologize for then raising the volume of my conversation after your very clear request for me to get the hell off of my phone. That was my bad.
In conclusion, I would just like to say that your mother would be very proud of how you handled yourself, and I certainly will not be using my phone on the bus again, except for maybe texting and/or beating you over the head.
Love, Tenordad
I am very sorry for talking on the phone during our bus ride together. In my defense, this was my first Megabus trip and I was a little confused. I use my phone on the bus all the time, but those are shorter bus rides, with people getting on and off all the time. The Megabus is more like a train, where we are all trapped together for a long time. I hate when people have long conversations on the train, so again, I apologize.
Of course many other people on the bus made phone calls as well, but again I will grant you that I am louder than most people. It's not my fault! It's a combination of vocal training and genetics (blogs about my mother forthcoming). So I can see why I was singled out as the troublemaker.
Your comments were very helpful. First you let me know that you are a fellow Christian by shouting the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. You also told me how little interest anyone else had in my goddamned conversation. As I mentioned earlier, this was news to me, so thank you for cluing me in.
I would like to apologize for then raising the volume of my conversation after your very clear request for me to get the hell off of my phone. That was my bad.
In conclusion, I would just like to say that your mother would be very proud of how you handled yourself, and I certainly will not be using my phone on the bus again, except for maybe texting and/or beating you over the head.
Love, Tenordad
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Google Scribe
So google has this new thing out called Google Scribe. It takes auto-complete to a whole new level. Scribe purports to know what you are thinking and will fill in whole words and phrases based on what you have previously typed. You can play with it yourself here:
http://scribe.googlelabs.com/
Now personally, I often find auto-complete to be very annoying. Last night my wife texted me to find out if my bus was on time. In fact, it was early, so I wrote back "I'm in the cab. See you in 20 minutes.". Only apparently "cab" is not a real word, so it substituted "can" without my noticing. Definitely not what I was trying to convey.
Anyway, as a writer I was a little concerned that Scribe now knows what I am going to write before I do. Why do you even need me anymore? Well, I'll let you be the judge of who's the better writer. Here, completely unedited, us a story told by Google Scribe. I provided the first words of each sentence. Let me know if I should hand over the blogging reins to a computer program or not.
Once upon a time in the future there will be a great way to get a good deal of the day and night to make sure that the following conditions are met and the application of the law of the land and the people who are not in the same way as the first step to doing all this and more on Facebook and Twitter friends visit your site and allow you to cancel the purchase within seven working days after. Then the following are the most common cause of death in the United States and Canada and the United States and Canada and the United States and Canada. Suddenly the door opened and a man of the match and the new one is a little bit of a problem with the web site of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States and Canada and the United States and Canada. Billy Joel Lyrics are found on the web site. After the first year of the first and second ends of the earth and the sun is shining and the sky is completly gray and white matter of the present invention is to provide a login for this account as well as the ability to make a difference in the lives of the people. Finally, the last of the three major credit bureaus and other outside agencies to provide a login for this account. Dr. John Z. Ayanian JZ Knight and are used to determine the effect of the drug in the treatment of the subject areas below. The end.
http://scribe.googlelabs.com/
Now personally, I often find auto-complete to be very annoying. Last night my wife texted me to find out if my bus was on time. In fact, it was early, so I wrote back "I'm in the cab. See you in 20 minutes.". Only apparently "cab" is not a real word, so it substituted "can" without my noticing. Definitely not what I was trying to convey.
Anyway, as a writer I was a little concerned that Scribe now knows what I am going to write before I do. Why do you even need me anymore? Well, I'll let you be the judge of who's the better writer. Here, completely unedited, us a story told by Google Scribe. I provided the first words of each sentence. Let me know if I should hand over the blogging reins to a computer program or not.
Once upon a time in the future there will be a great way to get a good deal of the day and night to make sure that the following conditions are met and the application of the law of the land and the people who are not in the same way as the first step to doing all this and more on Facebook and Twitter friends visit your site and allow you to cancel the purchase within seven working days after. Then the following are the most common cause of death in the United States and Canada and the United States and Canada and the United States and Canada. Suddenly the door opened and a man of the match and the new one is a little bit of a problem with the web site of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States and Canada and the United States and Canada. Billy Joel Lyrics are found on the web site. After the first year of the first and second ends of the earth and the sun is shining and the sky is completly gray and white matter of the present invention is to provide a login for this account as well as the ability to make a difference in the lives of the people. Finally, the last of the three major credit bureaus and other outside agencies to provide a login for this account. Dr. John Z. Ayanian JZ Knight and are used to determine the effect of the drug in the treatment of the subject areas below. The end.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Ah, New York, I love it here!
Things I have seen this week:
1) A man sitting on the street with a sign that said "Hungry Jew," yelling "Shalom! Hey, how bout some food!? Shalom!"
2) A woman going down on a guy in a car parked outside the apartment I am staying in. The car was pulled about half over, and half still blocking the street. This seems to have been a very sudden decision, and my staring in disbelief did not deter either of them.
3) A busy Hispanic man taking trash out of my building being stopped by a middle aged white woman. "So, I have a sofa I have to get out of my apartment. When does the trash come to pick up something like that?"
"Next Friday," he replied.
"THIS Friday? or NEXT Friday?"
"This Friday. In two days."
"Well, I don't know how I'm going to get the sofa out of my apartment."
"Ok."
"I mean, I JUST don't KNOW how I'm going to get it OUT!"
"Uh huh."
"Sooooo....."
"Soooooooo....."
Man, that is so classy. I don't know why he didn't just help her. I mean, she cleared her throat several times and was obviously glaring at him in disgust. How could he fail to pick up on these clear signals?
4) Two men clap fighting on the subway. One man (obviously crazy) was harassing another guy, so a third guy steps in and asks him to stop. This of course infuriated the crazy man, who stood up and said he would drop the guy right there, and then clapped his hands for emphasis. This caused the brave defender to explain that no, he would in fact drop HIM, and clapped for emphasis. I guess, maybe, to show what powerful hands he had? Or maybe they were applauding each other? Anyway, the fight went something like this:
"I will drop you right here boy!" (clap)
"No, I will drop you!" (clap)
"I will f*** you up!" (clap)
"I'd like to see you f***ing try!" (clap)
etc, etc, etc. Actually it was very entertaining. I wanted to start dancing and throwing in a little beatbox.
5) A young guy, unable to decide if he wanted to get on a subway train or not. So he just stood in the doorway. Unfortunately for him, he had set his suitcase down behind him. The doors closed on him and he couldn't open them again far enough to either get himself out or his suitcase in. Although, to be honest, I have seen this happen on the DC metro too. I guess crazy/stupid is universal. It obviously runs in my family anyway. Thanks New York, for making me feel right at home.
1) A man sitting on the street with a sign that said "Hungry Jew," yelling "Shalom! Hey, how bout some food!? Shalom!"
2) A woman going down on a guy in a car parked outside the apartment I am staying in. The car was pulled about half over, and half still blocking the street. This seems to have been a very sudden decision, and my staring in disbelief did not deter either of them.
3) A busy Hispanic man taking trash out of my building being stopped by a middle aged white woman. "So, I have a sofa I have to get out of my apartment. When does the trash come to pick up something like that?"
"Next Friday," he replied.
"THIS Friday? or NEXT Friday?"
"This Friday. In two days."
"Well, I don't know how I'm going to get the sofa out of my apartment."
"Ok."
"I mean, I JUST don't KNOW how I'm going to get it OUT!"
"Uh huh."
"Sooooo....."
"Soooooooo....."
Man, that is so classy. I don't know why he didn't just help her. I mean, she cleared her throat several times and was obviously glaring at him in disgust. How could he fail to pick up on these clear signals?
4) Two men clap fighting on the subway. One man (obviously crazy) was harassing another guy, so a third guy steps in and asks him to stop. This of course infuriated the crazy man, who stood up and said he would drop the guy right there, and then clapped his hands for emphasis. This caused the brave defender to explain that no, he would in fact drop HIM, and clapped for emphasis. I guess, maybe, to show what powerful hands he had? Or maybe they were applauding each other? Anyway, the fight went something like this:
"I will drop you right here boy!" (clap)
"No, I will drop you!" (clap)
"I will f*** you up!" (clap)
"I'd like to see you f***ing try!" (clap)
etc, etc, etc. Actually it was very entertaining. I wanted to start dancing and throwing in a little beatbox.
5) A young guy, unable to decide if he wanted to get on a subway train or not. So he just stood in the doorway. Unfortunately for him, he had set his suitcase down behind him. The doors closed on him and he couldn't open them again far enough to either get himself out or his suitcase in. Although, to be honest, I have seen this happen on the DC metro too. I guess crazy/stupid is universal. It obviously runs in my family anyway. Thanks New York, for making me feel right at home.
Friday, September 24, 2010
On the Banks of Manhattan
I got paid today! Well, I got a per diem check anyway. This is good, as I only had $7 left, and I'm hungry. I went straight to my trusty Suntrust ATM that I had used last year, so I could deposit my check. But it wasn't there. I tried to locate an ATM online, but New York isn't even a choice in the pull down menu! Suntrust has disappeared from New York entirely!
Well, luckily I have an ING account as well, and for months they have been sending me e-mails about their ING cafe in Manhattan, so I thought I would go there. But it is actually just a cafe. There is no banking to be had there at all. I called them, and they explained I could mail a check to them and have the money within a week. But I am hungry now!
The nice ING lady suggested I find a Wal*Mart and cash my check there, but I am allergic to Wal*Mart, so I did what I should have done in the first place. I called my wife. I have very rarely had any sort of problem that she can't fix within 90 seconds, and this was no different.
You see, there are no Suntrusts in Vermont. And there are no bank-themed pastry areas in Vermont. So we were going to have to find a new bank anyway. There is one bank that is heavily prevalent in both Vermont and Manhattan, and that is TD bank. I had actually never heard of them until today, but they were very helpful. Within minutes I had a new account, my check cashed, and money in my pocket. So why am I still blogging? It's dinner time!
Well, luckily I have an ING account as well, and for months they have been sending me e-mails about their ING cafe in Manhattan, so I thought I would go there. But it is actually just a cafe. There is no banking to be had there at all. I called them, and they explained I could mail a check to them and have the money within a week. But I am hungry now!
The nice ING lady suggested I find a Wal*Mart and cash my check there, but I am allergic to Wal*Mart, so I did what I should have done in the first place. I called my wife. I have very rarely had any sort of problem that she can't fix within 90 seconds, and this was no different.
You see, there are no Suntrusts in Vermont. And there are no bank-themed pastry areas in Vermont. So we were going to have to find a new bank anyway. There is one bank that is heavily prevalent in both Vermont and Manhattan, and that is TD bank. I had actually never heard of them until today, but they were very helpful. Within minutes I had a new account, my check cashed, and money in my pocket. So why am I still blogging? It's dinner time!
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Cover Rehearsals
So I have now had two days of rehearsals here in New York City. I'm a cover, which, for those of you not in the know, is basically an understudy. What it means for rehearsals is that I sit behind the people who are singing, and listen. I follow along in my score to make sure I know everything, but mostly I just sit.
So why am I so tired? Man, but I feel completely exhausted! I have gotten more sleep (albeit on a couch) than I usually do. I have had zero children to watch all day. My job is basically to sit in a chair all day and listen to awesome singers perform. I should not be tired.
Maybe it's all the walking. I have a 25-30 minute walk to the theater every morning, and then the same walk back in the evening. Anywhere I go, I walk. Oh sure, I could take the subway, but I like walking, and besides, they haven't paid me yet. Subways are not free. I'm happy to have the exercise, but it may be why I am so tired lately.
Or it could be the terror. The horrifying fear that I will show up to a rehearsal and have to sing something. "But Tenordad," you say, "don't you want to sing? Don't you love all music and hope every day to be able to sing something?" No. Of course not. First of all, no one actually calls me Tenordad, so cut that out. Second of all, singers do not like singing. Singers like being paid, and they like staying up really late, and most of them like drinking. There are not many career paths that offer all of this, along with the ability to sleep in really late, so singing seems to be the way to go. Ok, I'm kidding about that last part. They could also be bartenders.
No, of course I would love to be able to sing the role that I have been preparing for months, but there is that funny bit of fear as a cover. We don't get the same coachings and staging rehearsals that the principal singers do. We have to listen to the directions, and internalize them, rather than being able to properly rehearse, over and over again. We have to be as prepared to go on stage as anyone else, but with less help. Every day you think "I hope they don't ask me to sing," at the same time as "Please let me sing!" That's stressful! That can tire you out! But actually, I think it's just been the walking.
So why am I so tired? Man, but I feel completely exhausted! I have gotten more sleep (albeit on a couch) than I usually do. I have had zero children to watch all day. My job is basically to sit in a chair all day and listen to awesome singers perform. I should not be tired.
Maybe it's all the walking. I have a 25-30 minute walk to the theater every morning, and then the same walk back in the evening. Anywhere I go, I walk. Oh sure, I could take the subway, but I like walking, and besides, they haven't paid me yet. Subways are not free. I'm happy to have the exercise, but it may be why I am so tired lately.
Or it could be the terror. The horrifying fear that I will show up to a rehearsal and have to sing something. "But Tenordad," you say, "don't you want to sing? Don't you love all music and hope every day to be able to sing something?" No. Of course not. First of all, no one actually calls me Tenordad, so cut that out. Second of all, singers do not like singing. Singers like being paid, and they like staying up really late, and most of them like drinking. There are not many career paths that offer all of this, along with the ability to sleep in really late, so singing seems to be the way to go. Ok, I'm kidding about that last part. They could also be bartenders.
No, of course I would love to be able to sing the role that I have been preparing for months, but there is that funny bit of fear as a cover. We don't get the same coachings and staging rehearsals that the principal singers do. We have to listen to the directions, and internalize them, rather than being able to properly rehearse, over and over again. We have to be as prepared to go on stage as anyone else, but with less help. Every day you think "I hope they don't ask me to sing," at the same time as "Please let me sing!" That's stressful! That can tire you out! But actually, I think it's just been the walking.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Blogs on a Plane 2: Not on a Plane
I don't think he made his connecting flight. But who knows? Maybe they held the plane for him. At any rate, I had finally made it to New York. Now I just had to figure out how to get from LaGuardia to my wife's uncle's apartment in Manhattan. I looked up the bus and subway routes on my trusty iPhone and went outside, where my bus was waiting for me right there. Fortunately, the bus only took change, and not dollars, so I couldn't get on.
I say fortunately, because it was around this time that I remembered that I had checked a bag. I never check bags when I fly, but it's hard to fit 8 weeks into a carry on. I went in to find a change machine, and there was my lonely suitcase, circling the baggage claim area like a sad vulture. I grabbed my luggage, got $3 in quarters and sat down to wait for the next bus.
I actually managed to get to Simone's uncle's office without a hitch, other than when I got there he had no idea I was coming. "I thought you were coming in October," he said. Oh well. I got the keys and then made the ridiculously stupid decision to walk from there to the apartment. Across Central Park. Carrying 3 suitcases. In loafers.
It only took me an hour, and when I arrived I wanted to pass out and/or die, but I decided on a shower instead. This was when I opened my suitcase to find two things. The first was a lovely note from the TSA letting me know that they had inspected my bag and repacked it. The second was that my Costco-sized shampoo bottle, which I had sealed in two ziploc bags and wrapped repeatly with packing tape and then stuffed into some pants, had been removed from said packaging, and had poured out all over my suitcase.
The shampoo was now also all over me, and the floor of the apartment. I definitely owe Simone's uncle a new roll of paper towels (or two). I got most of it mopped up and into the kitchen sink, at which point I made the fatal error of turning on the water.
Now, I don't know if any of you have ever used shampoo before, but it tends to get a bit sudsy when sprayed with water. The sud monster quickly grew out of control, so I grabbed for the sprayer next to the faucet. Sadly, I picked it up by the squeezer and sprayed myself in the face with water, which was now also pooling on the kitchen floor. This was not how I had envisioned my shower.
I eventually got everything cleaned up, although my suitcase still has puddles of shampoo on the bottom, and I am still excited to be here. New York is an exciting place with adventures to be had around every corner. Specifically the corner of Simone's uncle's apartment.
I say fortunately, because it was around this time that I remembered that I had checked a bag. I never check bags when I fly, but it's hard to fit 8 weeks into a carry on. I went in to find a change machine, and there was my lonely suitcase, circling the baggage claim area like a sad vulture. I grabbed my luggage, got $3 in quarters and sat down to wait for the next bus.
I actually managed to get to Simone's uncle's office without a hitch, other than when I got there he had no idea I was coming. "I thought you were coming in October," he said. Oh well. I got the keys and then made the ridiculously stupid decision to walk from there to the apartment. Across Central Park. Carrying 3 suitcases. In loafers.
It only took me an hour, and when I arrived I wanted to pass out and/or die, but I decided on a shower instead. This was when I opened my suitcase to find two things. The first was a lovely note from the TSA letting me know that they had inspected my bag and repacked it. The second was that my Costco-sized shampoo bottle, which I had sealed in two ziploc bags and wrapped repeatly with packing tape and then stuffed into some pants, had been removed from said packaging, and had poured out all over my suitcase.
The shampoo was now also all over me, and the floor of the apartment. I definitely owe Simone's uncle a new roll of paper towels (or two). I got most of it mopped up and into the kitchen sink, at which point I made the fatal error of turning on the water.
Now, I don't know if any of you have ever used shampoo before, but it tends to get a bit sudsy when sprayed with water. The sud monster quickly grew out of control, so I grabbed for the sprayer next to the faucet. Sadly, I picked it up by the squeezer and sprayed myself in the face with water, which was now also pooling on the kitchen floor. This was not how I had envisioned my shower.
I eventually got everything cleaned up, although my suitcase still has puddles of shampoo on the bottom, and I am still excited to be here. New York is an exciting place with adventures to be had around every corner. Specifically the corner of Simone's uncle's apartment.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Blogs on a Plane
I'm on a plane. A very small plane. The kind you have to walk across the runway to. The kind that holds fewer passengers than the city bus. The kind that could be mistaken for a mosquito or other small bug. They just told us that we're going to be held on the runway for at least 35 minutes. Hooray.
The guy sitting next to me just told me that he does not like computers and he has never used one. I told him that this is actually my phone (yes, I'm blogging from my phone) and he said that phones are for calling people, and what I have is a computer. He is giving me a confused, disapproving glare as I type this.
I also forgot to mention, when describing the plane, that when the flight attendant was giving us the safety speech, the intercom kept cutting out and the lights are flickering. This does not fill me with confidence. Why, oh why did I have to watch "Lost" so much? I half expect to see duct tape on the wings and hear someone turning a crank at the front of the plane to start it up.
The reason I am on the plane in the first place, is that I am off to New York! Rehearsals for "A Quiet Place" start tomorrow morning. I just said goodbye to my family, but I'm trying not to think about that. I don't want mister 19th century over here to see me crying. I wish he'd brought a book or something. I don't think he is enjoying my blog.
I'm going to go review my score for the zillionth time in preparation for tomorrow, but if anyone at the control tower is reading this, my seatmate only has 30 minutes to make his connection to Bangor, so if you could get us in the air, that would be great. Thanks.
The guy sitting next to me just told me that he does not like computers and he has never used one. I told him that this is actually my phone (yes, I'm blogging from my phone) and he said that phones are for calling people, and what I have is a computer. He is giving me a confused, disapproving glare as I type this.
I also forgot to mention, when describing the plane, that when the flight attendant was giving us the safety speech, the intercom kept cutting out and the lights are flickering. This does not fill me with confidence. Why, oh why did I have to watch "Lost" so much? I half expect to see duct tape on the wings and hear someone turning a crank at the front of the plane to start it up.
The reason I am on the plane in the first place, is that I am off to New York! Rehearsals for "A Quiet Place" start tomorrow morning. I just said goodbye to my family, but I'm trying not to think about that. I don't want mister 19th century over here to see me crying. I wish he'd brought a book or something. I don't think he is enjoying my blog.
I'm going to go review my score for the zillionth time in preparation for tomorrow, but if anyone at the control tower is reading this, my seatmate only has 30 minutes to make his connection to Bangor, so if you could get us in the air, that would be great. Thanks.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Ruby Park
When I was a kid, one of the coolest things to me was crossovers. I still remember the anti-drug Saturday morning special that teamed Garfield with the Smurfs. It had everyone from Alf to the Muppet Babies in it, and it blew my little 11 year old mind. About a year ago I got the idea that I wanted to create a similar experience for my daughter.
It started as a sketch on the paper tablecloth at Macaroni Grill. I was drawing some Muppets for her, and I added some other Disney characters as well. That's when the memory of every cool crossover event I'd ever seen came rushing into my head. That comic where Spider-Man met Superman, those times the Happy Days folks showed up to hang out with Laverne and Shirley, and even those recent ABC commercials featuring many characters from their most popular shows living in the same house.
I quickly began to make a list of every character that Ruby liked at the time and decided to paint a picture of all of them hanging out together. It wasn't long before I realized that there were far too many characters for one picture, so I would either have to turn her ceiling into a grand fresco, or else split the project into more than one picture. The thought of just using fewer characters never occurred to me (until just now, actually).
I bought paints and canvases. I made a mock-up on the computer of how I wanted the finished project to look. And then I let it sit for months. Sadly, this is a problem I often have. I've got plenty of ideas, but not that much follow through for large side projects. In fact, I can't believe I'm still blogging, two weeks after having the idea.
Eventually I decided that I ought to get started, and I penciled in the characters for the first painting. My new idea was that it could be a continuing work of art, and if I put all the youngest skewing characters in the first one, someday she could take it down and replace it with one of Hannah Montana in a hot tub with Nancy Drew, watching The Jonas Brothers play volleyball with Edward and Jacob.
It was going to be a surprise, but it was a little too big to hide for long, so of course Ruby wanted to know what I was doing, and more importantly, what Big Bird was doing with Handy Manny and the Doodlebops. I told her they were all having a picnic in the park, and it was her idea to name it Ruby Park. And then she demanded that there be a sign that said Ruby Park. And suddenly she had her own list of who ought to be coming to the party.
I had planned on doing three pictures, but when she realized I had not included any princesses, I realized there would have to be four to start. I finished the fourth picture last night, just in time for me to leave for New York tomorrow morning. I hope she thinks of me when she sees them on her wall. I hope she someday realizes how much love and hard work went into such a huge undertaking for someone who had never before put brush to canvas. But most of all, I hope she thinks they're ridiculously cool.
It started as a sketch on the paper tablecloth at Macaroni Grill. I was drawing some Muppets for her, and I added some other Disney characters as well. That's when the memory of every cool crossover event I'd ever seen came rushing into my head. That comic where Spider-Man met Superman, those times the Happy Days folks showed up to hang out with Laverne and Shirley, and even those recent ABC commercials featuring many characters from their most popular shows living in the same house.
I quickly began to make a list of every character that Ruby liked at the time and decided to paint a picture of all of them hanging out together. It wasn't long before I realized that there were far too many characters for one picture, so I would either have to turn her ceiling into a grand fresco, or else split the project into more than one picture. The thought of just using fewer characters never occurred to me (until just now, actually).
I bought paints and canvases. I made a mock-up on the computer of how I wanted the finished project to look. And then I let it sit for months. Sadly, this is a problem I often have. I've got plenty of ideas, but not that much follow through for large side projects. In fact, I can't believe I'm still blogging, two weeks after having the idea.
Eventually I decided that I ought to get started, and I penciled in the characters for the first painting. My new idea was that it could be a continuing work of art, and if I put all the youngest skewing characters in the first one, someday she could take it down and replace it with one of Hannah Montana in a hot tub with Nancy Drew, watching The Jonas Brothers play volleyball with Edward and Jacob.
It was going to be a surprise, but it was a little too big to hide for long, so of course Ruby wanted to know what I was doing, and more importantly, what Big Bird was doing with Handy Manny and the Doodlebops. I told her they were all having a picnic in the park, and it was her idea to name it Ruby Park. And then she demanded that there be a sign that said Ruby Park. And suddenly she had her own list of who ought to be coming to the party.
I had planned on doing three pictures, but when she realized I had not included any princesses, I realized there would have to be four to start. I finished the fourth picture last night, just in time for me to leave for New York tomorrow morning. I hope she thinks of me when she sees them on her wall. I hope she someday realizes how much love and hard work went into such a huge undertaking for someone who had never before put brush to canvas. But most of all, I hope she thinks they're ridiculously cool.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
HAPPY TLAPD!
Arrrrrrrgh. Today be a special day. A day ta celebrrrate all things Pirrrratey! Ta starrrrt the day, I woke up arrrrrly and shivered me timbers right overrrr to the showarrrrrrgh. I put on me Sunday best, surrrely I did. Then, I hopped into me carrrrrrrgh. Churrrrch 'tis only a few leagues away, so it wasn't very farrrrgh.
I'm in the choiarrrrrrgh. Twas many a bonny lass twas at this service, I tell yer. Those soprrranos and altos be truly above parrrrrgh. Jason "Kiss o' Death" Kissel sat down at the pianarrrgh. The music was of a pleasing sorrrt, so nobody had ta walk the plank. Just when we thought twas going ta be a fine day, Alison "Keel" Halsey stepped up to the altarrrrrgh. Not surrre what she were talkin' about, but Yo Ho, it sounded like she wanted to add a Starrrrrghbucks to the churrrch. Ahoy, but wouldn't that be somethin'. Last week she wanted the churrrrch to be more like a barrrrrgh.
When the saaaarghvice was ovarrrgh, therrre was a lovely reception fer ol' Kiss o' Death Kissel. He's a mighty fine orrrrganist; a true shining starrrrgh. On the way back ta me ship, I stopped by fer some gruel at Chipotle, and grabbed meself a burritarrrrrgh. Now, after I swab the deck, I kin sit back, relax and watch some pirrratey shows I saved on my DV Arrrrrrgh. I can harrrdly wait until next Septembarrrrrgh.
Happy Talk Like a Pirate Day everrrrybody!
I'm in the choiarrrrrrgh. Twas many a bonny lass twas at this service, I tell yer. Those soprrranos and altos be truly above parrrrrgh. Jason "Kiss o' Death" Kissel sat down at the pianarrrgh. The music was of a pleasing sorrrt, so nobody had ta walk the plank. Just when we thought twas going ta be a fine day, Alison "Keel" Halsey stepped up to the altarrrrrgh. Not surrre what she were talkin' about, but Yo Ho, it sounded like she wanted to add a Starrrrrghbucks to the churrrch. Ahoy, but wouldn't that be somethin'. Last week she wanted the churrrrch to be more like a barrrrrgh.
When the saaaarghvice was ovarrrgh, therrre was a lovely reception fer ol' Kiss o' Death Kissel. He's a mighty fine orrrrganist; a true shining starrrrgh. On the way back ta me ship, I stopped by fer some gruel at Chipotle, and grabbed meself a burritarrrrrgh. Now, after I swab the deck, I kin sit back, relax and watch some pirrratey shows I saved on my DV Arrrrrrgh. I can harrrdly wait until next Septembarrrrrgh.
Happy Talk Like a Pirate Day everrrrybody!
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Origin of the Feces
Those of you with weak stomachs may want to click away now, for today my topic of discussion is: (cue diabolical music)......poopy diapers! This is on my mind because Baby Edward has just recently started on the solid foods and, as they say, what you eat is what you excrete. At least they should say that. It's kind of catchy.
Being on an all liquid diet for the first five months of his life, you can imagine the kind of diaper fun there is to be had. I did not enjoy this phase. We've had several five-alarmers, usually at other people's houses (or church), where, let's just say the water table rose above ground level and there was some flooding. And you can't sandbag poop.
Naturally I thought, 'Boy, won't it be nice when he starts eating real food and we don't have to deal with this crap (literally) anymore.' This is because, as part of evolution, nature makes us forget things about diapers. If we remembered in great detail the various stages of diaper duty that come with babies, the human race would quickly die out. We would have to turn over the keys to our civilization to the dolphins, because they do not wear diapers.
Solid food diapers seem like a much better idea in theory. They are more contained and less likely to inflict themselves on strollers, church pews, and visiting relatives. Unfortunately, instead of going from a liquid to a soft solid-like state, they often require chisels and putty scrapers to remove. The only way to really be sure that the baby is poop-free after one of these diapers is to place them in a blast furnace, but we don't have a blast furnace, so instead I have to use anywhere between five and infinity+1 baby wipes, and scrub so hard I feel like I am scrubbing away most of the baby's butt. By the way, scrubbing your butt with baby wipes does not make any of it go away, trust me.
Now that we are in phase two of the doody duty, I am longing for phase three, in which we begin potty training. But if I really think about it, that is crazy. Potty training is not fun, it is horrible. Nobody likes it, it's actually messier than diapers for a while, and probably causes trauma for life. For the parents. So why would I hope for that? Why don't I remember how icky every step of the way is on the corner of Diaper Drive and St. Potty Place? I don't know. I guess you can ask Darwin about that.
Being on an all liquid diet for the first five months of his life, you can imagine the kind of diaper fun there is to be had. I did not enjoy this phase. We've had several five-alarmers, usually at other people's houses (or church), where, let's just say the water table rose above ground level and there was some flooding. And you can't sandbag poop.
Naturally I thought, 'Boy, won't it be nice when he starts eating real food and we don't have to deal with this crap (literally) anymore.' This is because, as part of evolution, nature makes us forget things about diapers. If we remembered in great detail the various stages of diaper duty that come with babies, the human race would quickly die out. We would have to turn over the keys to our civilization to the dolphins, because they do not wear diapers.
Solid food diapers seem like a much better idea in theory. They are more contained and less likely to inflict themselves on strollers, church pews, and visiting relatives. Unfortunately, instead of going from a liquid to a soft solid-like state, they often require chisels and putty scrapers to remove. The only way to really be sure that the baby is poop-free after one of these diapers is to place them in a blast furnace, but we don't have a blast furnace, so instead I have to use anywhere between five and infinity+1 baby wipes, and scrub so hard I feel like I am scrubbing away most of the baby's butt. By the way, scrubbing your butt with baby wipes does not make any of it go away, trust me.
Now that we are in phase two of the doody duty, I am longing for phase three, in which we begin potty training. But if I really think about it, that is crazy. Potty training is not fun, it is horrible. Nobody likes it, it's actually messier than diapers for a while, and probably causes trauma for life. For the parents. So why would I hope for that? Why don't I remember how icky every step of the way is on the corner of Diaper Drive and St. Potty Place? I don't know. I guess you can ask Darwin about that.
Friday, September 17, 2010
In Choir
Last night was my last choir rehearsal at the First and Franklin Street Presbyterian Church (on neither first, nor franklin streets, by the way). This was the start of my third season singing with them, and a terrible time to leave. Sunday the 19th will be my last Sunday with the choir, just one week before the re-opening extravaganza of the newly refurbished sanctuary on the 26th.
I've made a lot of friends in the choir over the past few years, and I still don't think it's hit me that I won't be seeing them every week. They gave me a lovely send off, with snacks, haikus about me, and a tee shirt with my folder number on it. Of course, as my folder number seems to change every time I go to rehearsal, one can never be sure. This is a choir with a sense of humor.
Oh, how I will remember them all fondly! There's Donald Juedes, whose name is an anagram for "Old Dude Jeans," which is appropriate because that's what he wears to church every Sunday. In fact, we recently had to make a no-jeans policy, although I can't say for sure that he was the reason (but I THINK he was).
And then the choir lady, Liz McFarlane, who makes snacks for people, always keeps us in line at rehearsals, and has tattoos in places that I am not allowed to see. She also was my first follower on this blog, so I'd better not say anymore about her.....
I would like to say something about our bass section leader, John McLucas, but as he is generally in Italy instead of at rehearsal, I don't know that much about him.
I could go on forever. Caitlin Vincent always shows up a few minutes late, despite living literally across the street from the church. We have our bearded wonder, Jim Harvey, who is clearly bi-sectional, switching between bass and tenor every other anthem. And Bill McCullough is a whole section unto himself! I am also quite fond of our alto section leader, soprano Emilie Hodgin, although I don't think her sister likes me.
I'm kind of out of time and space, but there really is no other way to describe how quirky and wonderful these people are, and how much I'm going to miss them. As I write this, I am realizing how many of these blog entries have been about endings. I hope that soon, there will be just as many about beginnings.
I've made a lot of friends in the choir over the past few years, and I still don't think it's hit me that I won't be seeing them every week. They gave me a lovely send off, with snacks, haikus about me, and a tee shirt with my folder number on it. Of course, as my folder number seems to change every time I go to rehearsal, one can never be sure. This is a choir with a sense of humor.
Oh, how I will remember them all fondly! There's Donald Juedes, whose name is an anagram for "Old Dude Jeans," which is appropriate because that's what he wears to church every Sunday. In fact, we recently had to make a no-jeans policy, although I can't say for sure that he was the reason (but I THINK he was).
And then the choir lady, Liz McFarlane, who makes snacks for people, always keeps us in line at rehearsals, and has tattoos in places that I am not allowed to see. She also was my first follower on this blog, so I'd better not say anymore about her.....
I would like to say something about our bass section leader, John McLucas, but as he is generally in Italy instead of at rehearsal, I don't know that much about him.
I could go on forever. Caitlin Vincent always shows up a few minutes late, despite living literally across the street from the church. We have our bearded wonder, Jim Harvey, who is clearly bi-sectional, switching between bass and tenor every other anthem. And Bill McCullough is a whole section unto himself! I am also quite fond of our alto section leader, soprano Emilie Hodgin, although I don't think her sister likes me.
I'm kind of out of time and space, but there really is no other way to describe how quirky and wonderful these people are, and how much I'm going to miss them. As I write this, I am realizing how many of these blog entries have been about endings. I hope that soon, there will be just as many about beginnings.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Umbilical Cables
So as I mentioned the other day, my laptop is dead. This is not really acceptable, as it contains a lot of data that is not otherwise backed up. Luckily, the problem is not with the hard drive, and it seems that the hard drive data is fine. I should be able to get it back. My problem is that I probably know about 70% as much as I should in order to do this.
First I ordered a cable online that should connect my Serial ATA hard drive to my desktop via USB. Yeah, that only made about 70% sense to me too. The cable came in the mail today and I got my hard drive out and it was quickly evident that these items were not compatible. The box said it was compatible with a 2.5" Serial ATA hard drive. My hard drive SAID it was a 2.5" Serial ATA hard drive. Why didn't it work.
Aha! Turns out I have a 2.5" Serial ATA RIGHT ANGLE hard drive. So I went down to Best Buy and got an enclosure kit that the guy there said would work. But he lied. Once again, it is not compatible with the right-angledness of my stupid hard drive.
So I went online and searched and searched and searched. Nothing. What is going on!? I KNOW if I took it to Best Buy and gave them $400 they could get my data off. I know such tools exist. Are they a secret? Am I not geeky enough to be on the squad? Do I need the secret handshake? Best Buy does sell a right angle cable, but only for the info part of the drive, not the 15 pin power source, and I need both. Walmart (of all places) does seem to have the cable I need and if I rush order it it can be picked up by me in the store on Tuesday. But I will be in New York on Tuesday.
This whole stupid brouhaha has really made me think about how much I depended on my laptop and the files it is currently hiding from me. It's like a big piece of my life is gone. My mp3s and photos are backed up, because before "the crash" they were what I viewed as most important. And they are, and thank goodness I have them. But, my videos are not backed up. Ruby as a baby, trips we took, as well as picture I had transferred from my phone, all gone. All the music I had ever arranged or written, scanned music and arias, games I was in the middle of, and all sorts of other files are now beyond my reach. Even on a slightly smaller scale, all the passwords to websites I had saved and now cannot remember. I feel cut off from half of my life. And that's sad. I don't want to depend on my computer that much. But even more sad, mostly, I just want it back.
First I ordered a cable online that should connect my Serial ATA hard drive to my desktop via USB. Yeah, that only made about 70% sense to me too. The cable came in the mail today and I got my hard drive out and it was quickly evident that these items were not compatible. The box said it was compatible with a 2.5" Serial ATA hard drive. My hard drive SAID it was a 2.5" Serial ATA hard drive. Why didn't it work.
Aha! Turns out I have a 2.5" Serial ATA RIGHT ANGLE hard drive. So I went down to Best Buy and got an enclosure kit that the guy there said would work. But he lied. Once again, it is not compatible with the right-angledness of my stupid hard drive.
So I went online and searched and searched and searched. Nothing. What is going on!? I KNOW if I took it to Best Buy and gave them $400 they could get my data off. I know such tools exist. Are they a secret? Am I not geeky enough to be on the squad? Do I need the secret handshake? Best Buy does sell a right angle cable, but only for the info part of the drive, not the 15 pin power source, and I need both. Walmart (of all places) does seem to have the cable I need and if I rush order it it can be picked up by me in the store on Tuesday. But I will be in New York on Tuesday.
This whole stupid brouhaha has really made me think about how much I depended on my laptop and the files it is currently hiding from me. It's like a big piece of my life is gone. My mp3s and photos are backed up, because before "the crash" they were what I viewed as most important. And they are, and thank goodness I have them. But, my videos are not backed up. Ruby as a baby, trips we took, as well as picture I had transferred from my phone, all gone. All the music I had ever arranged or written, scanned music and arias, games I was in the middle of, and all sorts of other files are now beyond my reach. Even on a slightly smaller scale, all the passwords to websites I had saved and now cannot remember. I feel cut off from half of my life. And that's sad. I don't want to depend on my computer that much. But even more sad, mostly, I just want it back.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Hershey Park
Blog the Tenth: in which junk is eaten, pants are peed, and prizes are won
This past weekend we made our third and final attempt to get to Hershey Park. We had plans to go with a friend of my wife and her daughter, but it has been a comedy of errors trying to actually see those plans through. Our first attempt was in August. My family and I had driven about two thirds of the way there when we got a text saying the friend's daughter was sick and they couldn't make it. Well, we had already bought our tickets online, and we were almost there, but amusement parks are not much fun for two adults with an assortment of children. Three adults means one can watch the kids while the other two go on a roller coaster. Two adults means one can hold the baby while the other one takes Ruby on the Frog Hopper.
So we decided to go to Chocolate World instead. It's right next door to Hershey Park, it's free, and we all had a fun time. We agreed with the friend that we would instead go Labor Day weekend, but for some reason that ended up not working either. At least we were not halfway there when we nixed attempt number two. That left us with only one weekend left, and we already had our non-refundable tickets, so we were going, with or without friends.
On the hundred minute drive, Simone informed me that her friend had to work in the morning, but they would be there by 1 pm. Fine. This meant we could do a few rides, maybe check out ZooAmerica, and have lunch before an afternoon full of rides for kids AND adults. On our way to ZooAmerica we passed the Bizzy Bees. Ruby really wanted to ride them, so we said ok. She got on, looking happy. Then the ride started. We knew the look. We knew the dance. We knew the screams. This was not going to end well for the Bizzy Bee located directly under her. The ride operator did not seem to think that impending puddles were a good enough reason to stop the ride so, when the ride ended, I took Ruby on a search for a new pair of pants.
Hershey Park has a very limited selection of children's pants, and they don't even sell underwear at all! This seems very shortsighted to me. Maybe next summer, if I don't have any singing gigs, I'll set up an underwear stand inside the park. I bet I'll make a fortune. I don't think this was the Bizzy Bees' first rainy season.
We decided to have lunch and then head over to ZooAmerica. This was when we got the text that, due once again to circumstances beyond their control, Simone's friends would not be coming. So we ate some more junk food. By the end of the day we had eaten corn dogs, italian sausages, curly fries, cotton candy, fried dough, cheeseburgers, and gotten 257 refills of Dr. Pepper in our souvenir cup. It may have been 258; I kind of lost count after refill number four.
The fact that Simone and I could no longer go on any rides was a little disheartening, but we were able to adjust our expectations for the day and ended up having a great time. Ruby went on tons of rides, but her greatest dream was to ride the ferris wheel at night so she could see all the lights of the park from way up high. We had considered doing, this, but that was in plan #1. We were now in plan #2, and very tired of watching Ruby ride things for another 2 hours till sunset was not all that appealing. We had already been at the park for over seven hours.
Suddenly, a way out! One of the rides turned its lights on! "Ruby, look! The lights are coming on! It must be night time! Let's get to the ferris wheel!" Well, she was very excited and we started our trek all the way across the park to where the ferris wheel was hiding in the back corner. The sign said no handheld infants allowed, so one of us had to stay behind with the baby. Ruby picked me to ride with her, so we got into the longest line we had seen all day. After we had waited for a short while I started to get bored, and took a picture of the ferris wheel:
This past weekend we made our third and final attempt to get to Hershey Park. We had plans to go with a friend of my wife and her daughter, but it has been a comedy of errors trying to actually see those plans through. Our first attempt was in August. My family and I had driven about two thirds of the way there when we got a text saying the friend's daughter was sick and they couldn't make it. Well, we had already bought our tickets online, and we were almost there, but amusement parks are not much fun for two adults with an assortment of children. Three adults means one can watch the kids while the other two go on a roller coaster. Two adults means one can hold the baby while the other one takes Ruby on the Frog Hopper.
So we decided to go to Chocolate World instead. It's right next door to Hershey Park, it's free, and we all had a fun time. We agreed with the friend that we would instead go Labor Day weekend, but for some reason that ended up not working either. At least we were not halfway there when we nixed attempt number two. That left us with only one weekend left, and we already had our non-refundable tickets, so we were going, with or without friends.
On the hundred minute drive, Simone informed me that her friend had to work in the morning, but they would be there by 1 pm. Fine. This meant we could do a few rides, maybe check out ZooAmerica, and have lunch before an afternoon full of rides for kids AND adults. On our way to ZooAmerica we passed the Bizzy Bees. Ruby really wanted to ride them, so we said ok. She got on, looking happy. Then the ride started. We knew the look. We knew the dance. We knew the screams. This was not going to end well for the Bizzy Bee located directly under her. The ride operator did not seem to think that impending puddles were a good enough reason to stop the ride so, when the ride ended, I took Ruby on a search for a new pair of pants.
Hershey Park has a very limited selection of children's pants, and they don't even sell underwear at all! This seems very shortsighted to me. Maybe next summer, if I don't have any singing gigs, I'll set up an underwear stand inside the park. I bet I'll make a fortune. I don't think this was the Bizzy Bees' first rainy season.
We decided to have lunch and then head over to ZooAmerica. This was when we got the text that, due once again to circumstances beyond their control, Simone's friends would not be coming. So we ate some more junk food. By the end of the day we had eaten corn dogs, italian sausages, curly fries, cotton candy, fried dough, cheeseburgers, and gotten 257 refills of Dr. Pepper in our souvenir cup. It may have been 258; I kind of lost count after refill number four.
The fact that Simone and I could no longer go on any rides was a little disheartening, but we were able to adjust our expectations for the day and ended up having a great time. Ruby went on tons of rides, but her greatest dream was to ride the ferris wheel at night so she could see all the lights of the park from way up high. We had considered doing, this, but that was in plan #1. We were now in plan #2, and very tired of watching Ruby ride things for another 2 hours till sunset was not all that appealing. We had already been at the park for over seven hours.
Suddenly, a way out! One of the rides turned its lights on! "Ruby, look! The lights are coming on! It must be night time! Let's get to the ferris wheel!" Well, she was very excited and we started our trek all the way across the park to where the ferris wheel was hiding in the back corner. The sign said no handheld infants allowed, so one of us had to stay behind with the baby. Ruby picked me to ride with her, so we got into the longest line we had seen all day. After we had waited for a short while I started to get bored, and took a picture of the ferris wheel:
As you can see, they had just turned the lights on. By the time we got to the end of the line, an hour later, the ferris wheel looked like this:
Ruby had gotten her wish. We rode the ferris wheel and saw all the lights of the park lit up while Simone played Skee Ball and tried to win Ruby a bear to no avail. When we finally found Simone she had just $1.50 left. Enough for three games of Skee Ball. All you needed was 5 tickets for a small bear. I solemnly dropped two quarters into the machine and picked up my first ball. I won two tickets that first game, and two tickets the second game. Two quarters left. And then, something miraculous happened. I skeed like I have never skeed before. Six tickets! Enough for the ten ticket MEDIUM bear! Well, let me tell you, I felt so good it was like winning a large bear.
We walked out of the park happy that night. Simone and I both had a feeling of accomplishment from winning games and making it to the end of the day, and Ruby had a new bear and a new pair of creamsicle colored shorts from the 30% off wall.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Too Little For Skittles
My laptop died yesterday. I mean really died. It is getting power, but it won't turn on. I've tried to start it plugged in without the battery, I've let it sit for hours and tried again. I took the entire thing apart, screw by screw, and re-seated every component, but still it lies there, silently, mockingly blinking it's power light at me and doing little else.
I was going to blog about something else, but that entry went down with all the rest of my files, so instead I present you this poem, inspired today as Baby Edward stares hungrily at his sister's snack.
Too Little For Skittles - by Baby Edward Hall, as telepathically told to his father on September 14th, 2010.
I was going to blog about something else, but that entry went down with all the rest of my files, so instead I present you this poem, inspired today as Baby Edward stares hungrily at his sister's snack.
Too Little For Skittles - by Baby Edward Hall, as telepathically told to his father on September 14th, 2010.
TOO LITTLE FOR SKITTLES
My Daddy says I'm too little for Skittles.
Somehow that doesn't seem right.
My Daddy says I'm too little for Skittles,
But I have two teeth that can bite!
I tried to tell him I'm ready for candy.
I flashed him my cutest face.
Still Daddy says I'm too little for Skittles!
I've gotta get my own place.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Tonal Eclipse
I am leaving for New York one week from tomorrow. This is partly exciting, and mostly terrifying. The exciting parts are the fault of my agent, my voice teacher, and my family. The terrifying parts are the fault of Leonard Bernstein.
I suppose he thought, since it was his last show, that he could write whatever he wanted and nobody would say much about it. Of course, that was not entirely true. In fact, the show was panned when it premiered and it was suggested to Mr. Bernstein that he might want to rethink it. I guess he decided the best way to fix somnething that nobody liked was to give them more of it. He made it even longer and put in many more difficult notes for me to learn.
The part I have been steadfastly poring over for the past few months is the part of Francois. The cruelest role of all. Not only am I trying to learn trios where each of the three of us is in their own key, but my character, being French-Canadian, slips back and forth from English to French every few words, often mid-sentence. This, my friends, is musical torture.
I have the piece "memorized," which is to say I can sing the whole thing through by myself in the shower. However, when presented with the orchestra or, heaven forbid, other singers, finding a note becomes less High Opera and more Choose-Your-Own-Adventure. So today, and for the rest of the week, I will be sitting with my iPod, listening to the recording over and over again, trying desperately to come in either on time, or on the right note, or if my Fairy Godmother is in the room, both. But don't worry about me. I've been in worse shape than this with less time before. That's the joy of the theater; it's terrible until it's not. And I have a week to go.
I suppose he thought, since it was his last show, that he could write whatever he wanted and nobody would say much about it. Of course, that was not entirely true. In fact, the show was panned when it premiered and it was suggested to Mr. Bernstein that he might want to rethink it. I guess he decided the best way to fix somnething that nobody liked was to give them more of it. He made it even longer and put in many more difficult notes for me to learn.
The part I have been steadfastly poring over for the past few months is the part of Francois. The cruelest role of all. Not only am I trying to learn trios where each of the three of us is in their own key, but my character, being French-Canadian, slips back and forth from English to French every few words, often mid-sentence. This, my friends, is musical torture.
I have the piece "memorized," which is to say I can sing the whole thing through by myself in the shower. However, when presented with the orchestra or, heaven forbid, other singers, finding a note becomes less High Opera and more Choose-Your-Own-Adventure. So today, and for the rest of the week, I will be sitting with my iPod, listening to the recording over and over again, trying desperately to come in either on time, or on the right note, or if my Fairy Godmother is in the room, both. But don't worry about me. I've been in worse shape than this with less time before. That's the joy of the theater; it's terrible until it's not. And I have a week to go.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Pre-Format Anxiety
I have a DVD player. I use it almost daily. I have a huge collection of DVDs, all sorted nicely in their tower shelves. When I watch movies at home I exclusively watch them on my DVD player, or saved on the DVR. I can even watch Netflix movies on my Wii now, by putting in a special DVD. So why in the world am I staring at a giant stack of VHS tapes and wondering what to do with them?
I am currently packing up my house, preparing to move, and in doing so I have unearthed a number of "treasures" that I forgot existed. I hadn't forgotten about my VCR of course; it's still there at the bottom of my entertainment center. It's not plugged in though, and I haven't used it in years. When I found the boxes of video tapes in the basement, I had two immediate and competing instincts.
1) Look, more crap to throw away. I'm going to need a bigger garbage bag.
2) Wow! Look at all these great videos! I will save them forever because I love them! And they love me!
The first thing I did was to hook up the VCR and start watching the tapes that were not labeled. Mostly old reruns of 'The Simpsons' that I'd saved when I decided I wanted to save all of the episodes in the series. These were easy to throw out, as I now have most of them on DVD. Bam! Straight in the trash!
Next were all the musicals I was in from high school, things I had filmed in college, and other personal and unique videos. These were definitely for the save pile. Maybe I could convert them to DVD later and enjoy them in a modern way.
Finally, the actual movies, bought and paid for. Almost all of them I had purchased again on DVD, so I put them to the side, in their own pile. And that should have been that. But here they all are. What should I do with these VHS tapes? They are in fine condition, but who would ever want them? eBay? Craigslist? Yard Sale? Trash Can?
Somehow I can't bring myself to just toss them out. Maybe Ruby can use them for building blocks. Maybe I can make a cabinet out of them. I don't know. Why can't I just throw them away?! I have no idea. If I leave them in the house, will the new owners appreciate them? (No) Does anyone still own and actively use a VCR? (My Mom) Wait, that's it! I'm sure my Mom would LOVE some episodes of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cartoon that I got as a present when I was in 5th grade! (No)
Ultimately, I will probably throw them out, but I'm going to leave them in their stack for now. They are old friends of mine, so the least I can do for them is stay their execution until we move. And if anyone wants any VHS movies, let me know.
I am currently packing up my house, preparing to move, and in doing so I have unearthed a number of "treasures" that I forgot existed. I hadn't forgotten about my VCR of course; it's still there at the bottom of my entertainment center. It's not plugged in though, and I haven't used it in years. When I found the boxes of video tapes in the basement, I had two immediate and competing instincts.
1) Look, more crap to throw away. I'm going to need a bigger garbage bag.
2) Wow! Look at all these great videos! I will save them forever because I love them! And they love me!
The first thing I did was to hook up the VCR and start watching the tapes that were not labeled. Mostly old reruns of 'The Simpsons' that I'd saved when I decided I wanted to save all of the episodes in the series. These were easy to throw out, as I now have most of them on DVD. Bam! Straight in the trash!
Next were all the musicals I was in from high school, things I had filmed in college, and other personal and unique videos. These were definitely for the save pile. Maybe I could convert them to DVD later and enjoy them in a modern way.
Finally, the actual movies, bought and paid for. Almost all of them I had purchased again on DVD, so I put them to the side, in their own pile. And that should have been that. But here they all are. What should I do with these VHS tapes? They are in fine condition, but who would ever want them? eBay? Craigslist? Yard Sale? Trash Can?
Somehow I can't bring myself to just toss them out. Maybe Ruby can use them for building blocks. Maybe I can make a cabinet out of them. I don't know. Why can't I just throw them away?! I have no idea. If I leave them in the house, will the new owners appreciate them? (No) Does anyone still own and actively use a VCR? (My Mom) Wait, that's it! I'm sure my Mom would LOVE some episodes of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cartoon that I got as a present when I was in 5th grade! (No)
Ultimately, I will probably throw them out, but I'm going to leave them in their stack for now. They are old friends of mine, so the least I can do for them is stay their execution until we move. And if anyone wants any VHS movies, let me know.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
9 Years Ago Today
I woke up as usual and took the metro to downtown Washington, DC, ready to start my day at Chorus America. It was a fairly quiet Tuesday morning. My roommates were on their honeymoon in Canada, so I had the house to myself and I felt pretty relaxed. The first I heard that anything was wrong, was actually from my friend Preethy, who was in India at the time. I was doing some data entry and had a chat window open so that I could say good night to her and she could say good morning to me.
Preethy told me that a plane had hit one of the twin towers. It was all over the news in India. I generally did not watch the news while at work, so this was indeed, news to me. I pulled up some websites and saw the pictures, and I thought to myself, "Wow, that's horrible," the same way I think it's horrible when I read about other plane crashes, or that a bus has blown up in the middle east somewhere. Just another daily tragedy on the news.
Then the second plane hit. It took a few minutes for this to really sink in. Could two planes really have both accidentally hit the towers? Did the control tower have a computer glitch that altered their flight patterns? Was there an alcoholic pilots anonymous convention in town? No, it seemed like this was a premeditated act. This was more than another tragedy on the news. Someone was attacking New York.
Then the plane hit the Pentagon. I remember very clearly feeling terrified. My boss was in a meeting and everybody else was far too responsible to be opening chat windows and news websites. I was the only one in my office that knew. I got up slowly and knocked on my bosses door. I went in and said, with tears in my eyes, "One of the twin towers just fell, and the Pentagon is burning." She gave me a very strange look, and said she'd be out in a minute. I spread the news to the rest of the office and soon we were all gathered around the conference table with a battery powered radio, listening to the news. We sat there until around noon, and then decided that people were free to go do what they needed to do. Most of them stayed in the office. They lived in Virginia, and all the bridges had been closed, so there was nowhere for them to go anyway. I left.
I ran out into the streets to find chaos. Police and military were everywhere. Every road was lined with cars; nobody was moving. People on the sidewalks were running and crying and trying to make phone calls. I didn't have a cell phone at the time, and all the lines were jammed anyway. I had tried to call my mother earlier, to let her know I was ok, but I couldn't get through. I decided to chance it and take the metro. Luckily, everyone was terrified of the metro that day, sure that it was a prime target for terrorists. The trains were running just fine, and I was the only one on my car. When I got off the metro at the Waterfront station, I could see the smoke from the Pentagon, rising across the river. In fact, I lived on the water directly across from the Pentagon. This was not comforting. I stared at the smoke for a while, and then went inside, sat on my couch, and watched the news for hours, feeling totally numb.
The next day I was filled with rage. I was ready to march down to a recruitment office, grab a gun, and head overseas to kill terrorists. This was a knee-jerk reaction, and after a week or so I calmed down, but sadly our country did not. Millions of Americans felt the same way I did that day, and the government exploited those feelings of fear and anger to start a war that had nothing to do with the terrorist attacks.
Obama ended that war two weeks ago, but don't be fooled into thinking that our troops have left, or that there will be no more America deaths in Iraq. This world is a messy place, and it got a lot messier on that day nine years ago.
As I reflect today on 9-11 and everything that has happened since, I am reminded of the Benjamin Franklin quote, "They who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety." I know to some people, security is the most important thing, but I really do see it to be true that the safer you are, the less free you are. I see it in the smallest ways, in the way that the more we strap the baby into something, the less he can move. I see it in the biggest ways, in the way that I can't brush my teeth for the weekend if I fly somewhere with only a carry-on. Ok, I still brush my teeth, but you get my meaning.
I think the phrase "then the terrorists win" is something of a joke these days. "If you don't (fill in the blank), then the terrorists win!" It's a punchline, but think for a minute. What do the terrorists really want? What would make them really win? They want us to be scared. They want us to have less freedom. They would really like us to start a huge war with the middle east, costing thousands, or millions or lives. So let's go get those terrorists, but I feel, to honor those who died nine years ago, that life has to go on, and that we all need to be free.
Preethy told me that a plane had hit one of the twin towers. It was all over the news in India. I generally did not watch the news while at work, so this was indeed, news to me. I pulled up some websites and saw the pictures, and I thought to myself, "Wow, that's horrible," the same way I think it's horrible when I read about other plane crashes, or that a bus has blown up in the middle east somewhere. Just another daily tragedy on the news.
Then the second plane hit. It took a few minutes for this to really sink in. Could two planes really have both accidentally hit the towers? Did the control tower have a computer glitch that altered their flight patterns? Was there an alcoholic pilots anonymous convention in town? No, it seemed like this was a premeditated act. This was more than another tragedy on the news. Someone was attacking New York.
Then the plane hit the Pentagon. I remember very clearly feeling terrified. My boss was in a meeting and everybody else was far too responsible to be opening chat windows and news websites. I was the only one in my office that knew. I got up slowly and knocked on my bosses door. I went in and said, with tears in my eyes, "One of the twin towers just fell, and the Pentagon is burning." She gave me a very strange look, and said she'd be out in a minute. I spread the news to the rest of the office and soon we were all gathered around the conference table with a battery powered radio, listening to the news. We sat there until around noon, and then decided that people were free to go do what they needed to do. Most of them stayed in the office. They lived in Virginia, and all the bridges had been closed, so there was nowhere for them to go anyway. I left.
I ran out into the streets to find chaos. Police and military were everywhere. Every road was lined with cars; nobody was moving. People on the sidewalks were running and crying and trying to make phone calls. I didn't have a cell phone at the time, and all the lines were jammed anyway. I had tried to call my mother earlier, to let her know I was ok, but I couldn't get through. I decided to chance it and take the metro. Luckily, everyone was terrified of the metro that day, sure that it was a prime target for terrorists. The trains were running just fine, and I was the only one on my car. When I got off the metro at the Waterfront station, I could see the smoke from the Pentagon, rising across the river. In fact, I lived on the water directly across from the Pentagon. This was not comforting. I stared at the smoke for a while, and then went inside, sat on my couch, and watched the news for hours, feeling totally numb.
The next day I was filled with rage. I was ready to march down to a recruitment office, grab a gun, and head overseas to kill terrorists. This was a knee-jerk reaction, and after a week or so I calmed down, but sadly our country did not. Millions of Americans felt the same way I did that day, and the government exploited those feelings of fear and anger to start a war that had nothing to do with the terrorist attacks.
Obama ended that war two weeks ago, but don't be fooled into thinking that our troops have left, or that there will be no more America deaths in Iraq. This world is a messy place, and it got a lot messier on that day nine years ago.
As I reflect today on 9-11 and everything that has happened since, I am reminded of the Benjamin Franklin quote, "They who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety." I know to some people, security is the most important thing, but I really do see it to be true that the safer you are, the less free you are. I see it in the smallest ways, in the way that the more we strap the baby into something, the less he can move. I see it in the biggest ways, in the way that I can't brush my teeth for the weekend if I fly somewhere with only a carry-on. Ok, I still brush my teeth, but you get my meaning.
I think the phrase "then the terrorists win" is something of a joke these days. "If you don't (fill in the blank), then the terrorists win!" It's a punchline, but think for a minute. What do the terrorists really want? What would make them really win? They want us to be scared. They want us to have less freedom. They would really like us to start a huge war with the middle east, costing thousands, or millions or lives. So let's go get those terrorists, but I feel, to honor those who died nine years ago, that life has to go on, and that we all need to be free.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Nature vs. Nurture vs. Au Naturel
Raising two kids, watching them grow, I often wonder: "How am I doing as a parent?" "How do my decisions affect Ruby and Edward's development?" "How long will they be in therapy over this?" And I often end up thinking about how they would be in a different household, with different parents. Would they essentially be the same people, or would their personalities be totally different? If Ruby grew up in colonial times, or in North Korea, how would that affect her.
I don't know if there's any way to tell for sure if her sense of humor, so similar to mine, is genetic, or if she learned it from hanging out with me all day. But I do know that some of who she is was there from the day she was born. I have proof.
From day one, Ruby hated being swaddled. She could not wiggle and squirm out of those receiving blankets fast enough. We didn't think too much of it at the time. We tried to wrap her for months, but eventually we just gave up. As she grew, she continued to shun blankets, cuddling, and all other forms of swaddling. At night these days, she sleeps with no sheets, no blankets, and, if she has her way, no jammies. She likes to be, as she says, a Nudey Ruby.
But Nudey Ruby is not just for bedtime. Oh no. Nudey Ruby is everywhere. I mentioned yesterday that every room of the house has some of her underwear in it. This is because we cannot keep it on her. Any excuse to get her clothes off and there they go, onto the floor. It was funny at first, before she started going outside to greet neighbors.
One day last month, as is our morning routine, I put her on the couch with a bubba and turned on Mickey Mouse so I could run up and take a shower. As I was in the shower, I could have sworn I heard the door open and I thought I heard voices, although it could have been the television. I quickly got out, dried myself off and threw my clothes on. I went downstairs to see Nudey Ruby standing in the living room.
"Did you open the door?" I asked.
"Oh yeah," she said smiling. "Some ladies were here and they asked if Mommy was home, but don't worry. I told them she was at work and would be home at 5 o'clock!"
I'm still waiting for child protective services to show up. To this day I have no idea who those ladies were, or what they thought of the naked girl, seemingly home alone all day. And no matter how hard I try, I cannot get that girl to keep her clothes on. And that is all her.
I don't know if there's any way to tell for sure if her sense of humor, so similar to mine, is genetic, or if she learned it from hanging out with me all day. But I do know that some of who she is was there from the day she was born. I have proof.
From day one, Ruby hated being swaddled. She could not wiggle and squirm out of those receiving blankets fast enough. We didn't think too much of it at the time. We tried to wrap her for months, but eventually we just gave up. As she grew, she continued to shun blankets, cuddling, and all other forms of swaddling. At night these days, she sleeps with no sheets, no blankets, and, if she has her way, no jammies. She likes to be, as she says, a Nudey Ruby.
But Nudey Ruby is not just for bedtime. Oh no. Nudey Ruby is everywhere. I mentioned yesterday that every room of the house has some of her underwear in it. This is because we cannot keep it on her. Any excuse to get her clothes off and there they go, onto the floor. It was funny at first, before she started going outside to greet neighbors.
One day last month, as is our morning routine, I put her on the couch with a bubba and turned on Mickey Mouse so I could run up and take a shower. As I was in the shower, I could have sworn I heard the door open and I thought I heard voices, although it could have been the television. I quickly got out, dried myself off and threw my clothes on. I went downstairs to see Nudey Ruby standing in the living room.
"Did you open the door?" I asked.
"Oh yeah," she said smiling. "Some ladies were here and they asked if Mommy was home, but don't worry. I told them she was at work and would be home at 5 o'clock!"
I'm still waiting for child protective services to show up. To this day I have no idea who those ladies were, or what they thought of the naked girl, seemingly home alone all day. And no matter how hard I try, I cannot get that girl to keep her clothes on. And that is all her.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Requiem for a Bathroom
Thank you all for coming today to celebrate the life of one of the finest rooms I've ever had the pleasure of knowing, the Spider-Man Bathroom. It had a good, albeit short life, and I hope we can all remember the good times we had there. You might call it the conversation piece of the house, you might call it nerdy and weird, or you might call it awesome and hilarious. However you felt about it, you can't deny, it was unique.
I remember when we first bought this house. It was April 2006. Everyone was buying houses, and mortgages were given to poor people, homeless people, and stray cats. The value of your home is only going to up up up, they told us. Better buy now before no one will be able to afford a house! So I quit my job, enrolled in grad school, Simone got pregnant and we bought a house. A house with TWO bathrooms!
It started out fairly small. A Spider-Man soap dish, some Spider-Man towels, that sort of thing. Then my mother made Spider-Man curtains, and it started to take on a life of its own. I got a Spider-Man toilet seat. I put up Spider-Man shelves. I filled those shelves with every Spider-Item I could find. By the time I was finished (can one ever truly be "finished" with something of this nature) it was a wonder to behold.
And now it's gone.
Today Ruby and I spent the morning packing up my comic books. Edward spent the morning pooping repeatedly, but that's another story. As we filled my long boxes with a collection I started over twenty years ago, I thought about the bathroom again. You see, packing up my comics has been something I've been doing for years. I moved practically every year growing up, and then college, and a string of apartments, and then even into this house. Packing comics feels good, like we're starting something new.
But packing up the Spider-Man Bathroom, that was different. I don't know where we're going next, but there's no guarantee it will provide me with an extra bathroom to deface as I please. The Spider-Man bathroom may be in a box for a long time. And not only that, the Spider-Man Bathroom has never been anywhere else. It is exclusive to this house, to this home. More than what was on the walls, it WAS the walls. Now that the room is empty, except for Ruby's underwear (and honestly, there is not a room in this house that does not have Ruby's underwear hiding on the floor somewhere), it stands as reminder that in a few weeks I will be leaving this house, and I won't be coming back. I don't think the fact that we are moving was really real to me until the Spider-Man Bathroom came down.
So let's raise a glass to the coolest, nerdiest, lamest, most awesome room in my house. You will be missed, Spider-Man Bathroom, and you will never be forgotten.
I remember when we first bought this house. It was April 2006. Everyone was buying houses, and mortgages were given to poor people, homeless people, and stray cats. The value of your home is only going to up up up, they told us. Better buy now before no one will be able to afford a house! So I quit my job, enrolled in grad school, Simone got pregnant and we bought a house. A house with TWO bathrooms!
It started out fairly small. A Spider-Man soap dish, some Spider-Man towels, that sort of thing. Then my mother made Spider-Man curtains, and it started to take on a life of its own. I got a Spider-Man toilet seat. I put up Spider-Man shelves. I filled those shelves with every Spider-Item I could find. By the time I was finished (can one ever truly be "finished" with something of this nature) it was a wonder to behold.
And now it's gone.
Today Ruby and I spent the morning packing up my comic books. Edward spent the morning pooping repeatedly, but that's another story. As we filled my long boxes with a collection I started over twenty years ago, I thought about the bathroom again. You see, packing up my comics has been something I've been doing for years. I moved practically every year growing up, and then college, and a string of apartments, and then even into this house. Packing comics feels good, like we're starting something new.
But packing up the Spider-Man Bathroom, that was different. I don't know where we're going next, but there's no guarantee it will provide me with an extra bathroom to deface as I please. The Spider-Man bathroom may be in a box for a long time. And not only that, the Spider-Man Bathroom has never been anywhere else. It is exclusive to this house, to this home. More than what was on the walls, it WAS the walls. Now that the room is empty, except for Ruby's underwear (and honestly, there is not a room in this house that does not have Ruby's underwear hiding on the floor somewhere), it stands as reminder that in a few weeks I will be leaving this house, and I won't be coming back. I don't think the fact that we are moving was really real to me until the Spider-Man Bathroom came down.
So let's raise a glass to the coolest, nerdiest, lamest, most awesome room in my house. You will be missed, Spider-Man Bathroom, and you will never be forgotten.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Lady Gaga vs. Super Mario
Many of my friends went to see Lady Gaga in concert last night. Many more of them wished they could have seen Lady Gaga in concert last night. I hate that stupid Alejandro song, but otherwise I have enjoyed her music and the fact that she dresses like a Hayao Miyazaki movie on crack. But then I discovered something sinister that no one seems to have picked up on.....
Ruby and I love to play Wii together. She holds her controller right side up at least 30% of them time and if I make sure to kill all the bad guys before they get to her, sometimes she can even get to the ends of levels by herself. Her favorite game to play is the New Super Mario Brothers for the Wii. She is always the blue toad and I am always Mario, and when someone else plays with us, they have to be "Buh-weejee." The point of this game is to save the princess from Bowser and his evil children. This is where the scary part comes in. Hold on to your hats.
I'm pretty sure that Bowser is Lady Gaga's father, and that her whole rise to fame and pop superstardom is only part of an elaborate plan to keep Mario from rescuing Princess Peach.
The pictures speak for themselves.
Ruby and I love to play Wii together. She holds her controller right side up at least 30% of them time and if I make sure to kill all the bad guys before they get to her, sometimes she can even get to the ends of levels by herself. Her favorite game to play is the New Super Mario Brothers for the Wii. She is always the blue toad and I am always Mario, and when someone else plays with us, they have to be "Buh-weejee." The point of this game is to save the princess from Bowser and his evil children. This is where the scary part comes in. Hold on to your hats.
I'm pretty sure that Bowser is Lady Gaga's father, and that her whole rise to fame and pop superstardom is only part of an elaborate plan to keep Mario from rescuing Princess Peach.
The pictures speak for themselves.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
A Day in the Life
I woke up this morning, as usual, with no concrete plan for the day, other than
1) Pack
2) Learn Music
3) Don't Lose the Children
This didn't go well. I only managed to do one of those three things. To start with, today was, for all intents and purposes, a Monday. I know it was a Tuesday, but come on, it was a Monday. Monday is the day when Simone goes back to work after having been home all weekend. This means it is the day when the baby screams all day and Ruby whines for Mommy constantly.
Edward woke up the instant Simone closed the door on her way to work. This was not good for tired Daddy, who had been up too late deciding to become a blogger. We trudged downstairs and began our Monday morning ritual of cuddling and shouting. I put him in the Johnny Jump-Up. I put him in the Jungle Swing. I gave him tummy time on the floor. I held him on my lap. I sat him up in the Bumbo. None of this made him happy, because every time Edward would start to relax, he would do a quick check to see if I had breasts, instantly realize he had been fooled and that Mommy was still at work, and start screaming again.
I finally got him to sleep in his swing approximately 23 seconds before Ruby came thundering down the stairs at the top of her lungs. Item 3 on my to do list was suddenly seeming more and more optional. But Ruby is pretty easy in the morning. Give her a bubba (milk heated in the microwave for 30 seconds), put on Mickey Mouse Clubhouse or Sesame Street, and make sure she has her Disney Princess Gummi-Vitamin. No problem. I even got to take a shower!
It was then decided that we should start on the packing, so we took a bunch of stuff off of some shelves, but we really hadn't packed anything when Ruby suggested we go feed the goats and ducks and cows. The goats and ducks and cows have been a favorite activity of ours since Ruby was old enough to walk, and it occurred to me that we might not have the chance to go see them again, so I caved in, stopped the "packing," and loaded the kids in the car.
The goats and ducks and cows live just outside of the White Marsh shopping area, and it's always fun to stop for a few minutes and feed them some bread. The cows were not out today, but the goats and ducks were very hungry and, soon enough, so were we. Costco seemed much closer than home, so we headed there for some pizza, and by the time we got home it was after 3 o'clock.
This was supposed to be Edward's naptime, but as I mentioned previously, not on Mondays. On Mondays (or Mondays Tue) this is Edward's yelling time. He finally fell asleep at 4:30. So much for packing, but at least maybe I could learn some music today. I sat down at the piano, opened my Bernstein score, and then simultaneously realized two things:
1) Simone would be home in less than half an hour
2) Someone had apparently detonated a bomb in my living room
I have, after over seven years of marriage, finally realized a very important and unchangeable direct correlation between Simone's mood and state of the living room when she gets home from work. Bernstein would have to wait. It was quickly explained to Ruby that, at 5 o'clock, any toys still on the floor would be thrown into the trash. She started on the toys, I started on the dishes.
We made it, just barely. Simone walked in the door as Ruby was putting the last pieces of her princess puzzle into their box. Ruby shouted "Mommy, wait, we're not ready for you yet!" but I assured her that the puzzle was safe. I sank down into my chair, having not packed a single box or learned a single note, but the children were still here and relatively fine; a successful day. Maybe now that Simone was home I could get something done. She walked into the room exhausted from a long day at work, looked at me, and said "What's for dinner?" Now I am making tacos.
1) Pack
2) Learn Music
3) Don't Lose the Children
This didn't go well. I only managed to do one of those three things. To start with, today was, for all intents and purposes, a Monday. I know it was a Tuesday, but come on, it was a Monday. Monday is the day when Simone goes back to work after having been home all weekend. This means it is the day when the baby screams all day and Ruby whines for Mommy constantly.
Edward woke up the instant Simone closed the door on her way to work. This was not good for tired Daddy, who had been up too late deciding to become a blogger. We trudged downstairs and began our Monday morning ritual of cuddling and shouting. I put him in the Johnny Jump-Up. I put him in the Jungle Swing. I gave him tummy time on the floor. I held him on my lap. I sat him up in the Bumbo. None of this made him happy, because every time Edward would start to relax, he would do a quick check to see if I had breasts, instantly realize he had been fooled and that Mommy was still at work, and start screaming again.
I finally got him to sleep in his swing approximately 23 seconds before Ruby came thundering down the stairs at the top of her lungs. Item 3 on my to do list was suddenly seeming more and more optional. But Ruby is pretty easy in the morning. Give her a bubba (milk heated in the microwave for 30 seconds), put on Mickey Mouse Clubhouse or Sesame Street, and make sure she has her Disney Princess Gummi-Vitamin. No problem. I even got to take a shower!
It was then decided that we should start on the packing, so we took a bunch of stuff off of some shelves, but we really hadn't packed anything when Ruby suggested we go feed the goats and ducks and cows. The goats and ducks and cows have been a favorite activity of ours since Ruby was old enough to walk, and it occurred to me that we might not have the chance to go see them again, so I caved in, stopped the "packing," and loaded the kids in the car.
The goats and ducks and cows live just outside of the White Marsh shopping area, and it's always fun to stop for a few minutes and feed them some bread. The cows were not out today, but the goats and ducks were very hungry and, soon enough, so were we. Costco seemed much closer than home, so we headed there for some pizza, and by the time we got home it was after 3 o'clock.
This was supposed to be Edward's naptime, but as I mentioned previously, not on Mondays. On Mondays (or Mondays Tue) this is Edward's yelling time. He finally fell asleep at 4:30. So much for packing, but at least maybe I could learn some music today. I sat down at the piano, opened my Bernstein score, and then simultaneously realized two things:
1) Simone would be home in less than half an hour
2) Someone had apparently detonated a bomb in my living room
I have, after over seven years of marriage, finally realized a very important and unchangeable direct correlation between Simone's mood and state of the living room when she gets home from work. Bernstein would have to wait. It was quickly explained to Ruby that, at 5 o'clock, any toys still on the floor would be thrown into the trash. She started on the toys, I started on the dishes.
We made it, just barely. Simone walked in the door as Ruby was putting the last pieces of her princess puzzle into their box. Ruby shouted "Mommy, wait, we're not ready for you yet!" but I assured her that the puzzle was safe. I sank down into my chair, having not packed a single box or learned a single note, but the children were still here and relatively fine; a successful day. Maybe now that Simone was home I could get something done. She walked into the room exhausted from a long day at work, looked at me, and said "What's for dinner?" Now I am making tacos.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Pilot
Some days it feels like I have no life. Other days it feels like I have way too many lives, all vying for my complete attention and each feeling somewhat unsatisfied. I suppose my life, or lack thereof, doesn't change much from day to day, it's just my perception of it. For instance, yesterday I was not considering becoming a blogger, and yet here I am at 11:05 pm on Labor Day 2010, sitting at my computer in a "Mountain Dew Throwback"-fueled dither, typing away and trying to take stock of things.
And how did it come to this, you may ask?
Yesterday evening I attended a party with my family. It was a reunion of sorts, with members of the church choir I sang with for several years in Washington, DC before I moved to Baltimore. At the party I broke the news to everyone that not only was I going to be in New York until Thanksgiving, singing with New York City Opera, but I was not going to be coming back at all. Instead, my wife Simone and I are moving the family up to Vermont, back to where we both grew up. We were told "Good Luck," and "Don't Go." I heard "We'll miss you," and "You're crazy," but above all I heard three words from everyone in attendance. "Keep in Touch."
Keep in touch. Huh. What does that mean anymore? My father writes long, handwritten letters to an extensive list of friends he's had for decades. My youngest sister Carolyn, who just turned sixteen, probably isn't going to get back to you at all if you don't text her. Does keeping in touch mean linking my foursquare account to my twitter feed, so that you can all see how often I go to the grocery store? (Already done, by the way...) I suppose that keeping in touch, for the most part these days, means facebook status updates and the occasional e-mail or personal message for those times when posting a link on their walls really won't cut it. In fact, I was ready for that to be the case.
But then I thought again about the people at that party. Most of them don't use facebook. The ones that do certainly don't use it as their primary means of communication. So what to do? I don't have the time or desire to hand write forty letters a month, nor do I want the only time these people hear from me to be two lines in a holiday card every December.
And then it really hit me. I'm not just leaving behind the people I sang with years ago. I'm leaving behind the people I sing with NOW. I'm leaving behind my friends from grad school, and my church choir. I'm leaving behind the opera chorus and all the neighbors on my street. How can I possibly keep in touch with those people too?
Hence, the blog. Now, as far as I can tell, there are two things people want to hear from me about: what I'm up to singing wise, and what hilarious things my children have said or done lately. In fact, it is these two very facets of my life that are pulling me in different directions at all times. I plan to dedicate some of my blog entries to my singing career. I will indeed be in New York very soon, and there will be much to share I'm sure. I also plan to dedicate some of my entries to my family, and my children. Ruby is turning 3 and a half next week, and Edward is five months old and already getting into trouble. I have no doubt that they will be keeping me busy for the rest of my life.
I hope that this blog will allow me to "keep in touch" with the many friends and family that I have all over this country and rarely get to see. I also hope that this blog with help me to make sense of the two lives I lead and maybe provide me with some clarity after the fact. I hope it will be much funnier than this entry. I hope it will be better written. I hope it gets better every time. But mostly I hope that you enjoy it.
And how did it come to this, you may ask?
Yesterday evening I attended a party with my family. It was a reunion of sorts, with members of the church choir I sang with for several years in Washington, DC before I moved to Baltimore. At the party I broke the news to everyone that not only was I going to be in New York until Thanksgiving, singing with New York City Opera, but I was not going to be coming back at all. Instead, my wife Simone and I are moving the family up to Vermont, back to where we both grew up. We were told "Good Luck," and "Don't Go." I heard "We'll miss you," and "You're crazy," but above all I heard three words from everyone in attendance. "Keep in Touch."
Keep in touch. Huh. What does that mean anymore? My father writes long, handwritten letters to an extensive list of friends he's had for decades. My youngest sister Carolyn, who just turned sixteen, probably isn't going to get back to you at all if you don't text her. Does keeping in touch mean linking my foursquare account to my twitter feed, so that you can all see how often I go to the grocery store? (Already done, by the way...) I suppose that keeping in touch, for the most part these days, means facebook status updates and the occasional e-mail or personal message for those times when posting a link on their walls really won't cut it. In fact, I was ready for that to be the case.
But then I thought again about the people at that party. Most of them don't use facebook. The ones that do certainly don't use it as their primary means of communication. So what to do? I don't have the time or desire to hand write forty letters a month, nor do I want the only time these people hear from me to be two lines in a holiday card every December.
And then it really hit me. I'm not just leaving behind the people I sang with years ago. I'm leaving behind the people I sing with NOW. I'm leaving behind my friends from grad school, and my church choir. I'm leaving behind the opera chorus and all the neighbors on my street. How can I possibly keep in touch with those people too?
Hence, the blog. Now, as far as I can tell, there are two things people want to hear from me about: what I'm up to singing wise, and what hilarious things my children have said or done lately. In fact, it is these two very facets of my life that are pulling me in different directions at all times. I plan to dedicate some of my blog entries to my singing career. I will indeed be in New York very soon, and there will be much to share I'm sure. I also plan to dedicate some of my entries to my family, and my children. Ruby is turning 3 and a half next week, and Edward is five months old and already getting into trouble. I have no doubt that they will be keeping me busy for the rest of my life.
I hope that this blog will allow me to "keep in touch" with the many friends and family that I have all over this country and rarely get to see. I also hope that this blog with help me to make sense of the two lives I lead and maybe provide me with some clarity after the fact. I hope it will be much funnier than this entry. I hope it will be better written. I hope it gets better every time. But mostly I hope that you enjoy it.
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