A Never Ending Game of Charades

We have a new game at our house.  It is not a fun game, and we don't play it because we want to, but we play it all the time.  Actually, I should amend that statement.  The parents don't play it because they want to.  Ruby loves to play this new game, and this is why we play it incessantly.

Instead of talking to us when she wants something, Ruby has decided that she would rather act out whatever she wants to have or do, charades style, with only humming and grunting allowed.  And no matter how many times we say "Just tell us!" she will never say it out loud, because clearly that would be breaking some sort of kid rule.

She especially likes to play annoying charades with us whenever she wants something to eat.  I have finally and successfully figured out the Ruby-charade-move for peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but it has not been easy.  Most of her moves involve wildly flailing her arms in the air and giggling and it is very hard to distinguish between "I want to eat a cracker" and "I want to go outside and ride my bike."

The worst of it is when she is actually upset about something but will not say what it is.  With tears in her eyes she will gyrate her arms maniacally in an attempt to tell me that Edward has bonked her on the head, and when I have no idea what she is trying to say she will get more and more upset until I finally guess exactly what Edward has bonked her with.  "He hit you with a car?  No?  A block?  No?  His bear?  JUST TELL ME!  AAARRRGGGHHHH!"

As phases go, this one is particularly annoying, because it makes it very hard to communicate, so I hope it ends soon.  On the other hand, if she keeps at it she might just get very very good at it and be the world charade champion someday, and what kind of parent would I be to dash those dreams?  A normal, tired, and frustrated one, that's what kind.

Music and Sports

It is Olympics season again.  This is good news for nearly everyone in the world, but not for me.  I hate the Olympics.  All of my favorite shows are pre-empted in favor of hours upon hours of boring people running around or hopping up and down.  The Olympics are a global celebration of everything that I generally do not like, and what I generally do not like is organized sports.

I have been angry and bitter about sports ever since I was a kid.  As a musician, I constantly heard, and saw firsthand, the stories of music programs in schools being cut and sports programs being built up.  Almost universally, sports programs were being nourished and grown while music was seen as optional.  Orchestras disappear, opera companies fold, and the NFL has the highest rated programs on television.  To me, it seemed horribly unfair.

I used to get into arguments with people about music and sports, and my position was that every culture has music, but not every culture has football.  Music is a part of the fabric of the universe, built into the laws of physics and performed by man and animal alike.  To compare any silly game to something as beautiful and profound as music was ridiculous to me.  But I have come to realize that my argument was flawed.  While every culture may not have football, every culture has sport.  Games and tests of strength and skill are also a part of what makes us human, just as much as music.  I just connect with music in a way that I could never connect with sports.

Maybe it's just because I was never very good at sports.  I have to at least consider the fact that perhaps I am biased due to the fact that I am a good musician, but couldn't get a ball to go through a hoop to save my life.  But actually, when I think about it, I actually like sports.  Sports are fun!  What I don't like are organized sports.  To me, there is plenty of fun to be had when a bunch of people get together for a relaxed game of softball, or frisbee, or basketball, or really anything.  What I don't enjoy is when people actually care if I catch the ball or not.

I spent many a gym class being glared at angrily because I had failed to catch the ball, or spike the ball, or pass the ball, or fill-in-the-blank the ball, and all I could think was "Seriously?  It's GYM CLASS!  It doesn't matter!"  But it mattered to those kids, and I was not a popular pick for teams in my high school gym classes.  I suppose it is the difference between singing in your volunteer church choir and being in the Met Opera Chorus.  Sometimes you do it for fun, and sometimes you do it professionally.  With music, I want to be a professional, but with sports I want to be in the community chorus.  No offense to some of the truly excellent church choirs and community choruses that are out there.

The other thing that I truly don't get about sports is the desire to watch them.  Why on Earth would I want to watch a bunch of people on TV playing a fun game, when I could be playing it myself?  This makes no sense to me.  But in a way I feel the same way about music.  There is hardly a show that I go to where I don't wish I was somehow a part of it.  I hear recitals and think "I could sing that."  I would rather be performing than watching.

I suppose there is something to be said for watching people who are truly excellent at something at the top of their game.  It's why I go to hear great singers, and why people watch the Olympics I guess, but the final piece of why these international games do nothing for me is that if you're not there in person, it loses most of what makes it exciting.  Watching an orchestra perform on television can in no way compare to being at an orchestra concert, and to me sports are the same.  I love baseball.  I am going to be singing at Fenway Park in less than a week, and I am super excited!  But I don't watch baseball on television.  It is boring.  The thrill of being at a game cannot be captured by cameras.  I would rather go to a local game and watch a farm team play than see an amazing game on TV.

So my position on sports has evolved.  I have to come to realize that music and sports are two sides of the same coin.  You can watch a group of people, who have been practicing together for a long time, attempt to perform something amazing together, and that describes both sports and music.  So in the end what makes me mad is not that sports are so popular, but that music is not.  Why are athletes paid so much more than musicians?  Why does the Superbowl rule the ratings, but the Met broadcasts on PBS do not?  Why are there team stickers on every other vehicle in America, but music programs are being cut from schools?  I don't know the answer, but I do know that I won't be watching any Olympics, not as a protest in hopes of creating a Music Olympics, but because watching sports on TV is boring.

Tenor Dad Goes Bowling

Kids love bowling.  This is a true fact, and even though my kids had never been bowling before, I knew that they would love it.  Because they are kids.  And kids love bowling.

They have played Wii bowling before, and they loved that.  They also have played home bowling using a rubber ball and some empty one liter bottles, and they loved that too.  But there is nothing cooler for a kid than to go to a bowling alley, put on some old worn out shoes, and hurl a ball as hard as they can down a lane, watching it for several minutes as it slowly makes its way down into one or more of the pins.

I don't know why I never took them sooner.  Bowling was clearly going to be Edward's favorite game of all time, because it involves his two favorite activities, throwing and smashing.  I can't tell you the number of times a day I have to tell him "No Edward, don't throw that at your sister," or "No no Edward!  Don't smash your sister!"  But finally, instead of getting a time out for such behavior, he is getting cheers and hugs!  Actually, now that I think about it, maybe we should not have been encouraging the whole bowling thing...

One of the great things about bowling alleys these days is that they can assign bumpers to different players and the bumpers just come up automatically.  When I was a kid, you either got those long inflatable bumpers, or else the metal rails that they had to pull out, and everyone on your lane was stuck with them, making the adults not want to ever bowl with you.  But here in the future we had a great time.  Simone and I had no bumpers on our turns, and when it was the kids' turns, the bumpers just robotically appeared out of the floor!

Ruby was doing pretty well with the bumpers and didn't really need much help, but Edward was having trouble, even with the lightest balls.  He would basically just drop the ball onto the lane and it would slowly meander down towards the pins, making a few pits stops for snacks and potty breaks along the way, and then if you were lucky, it would arrive at the end near the pin area, possible knocking down a pin, or possibly rolling slowly into a pin, bouncing off, and then rolling backwards back down the lane towards the bowlers.

For a while I was trying to smack the ball with my hand as Edward dropped it, giving it a little more oomph, but it was hard to reach it a lot of time, so I decided to start kicking the ball down the lane as he was dropping it.  This was bad for two reasons.  The first reason is that it really hurts.  Bowling balls are hard and heavy and you should not kick them.  The second reason is that it makes the manager of the bowling alley come over to see what is going on with all the ball kicking.  Luckily the guy offered Edward something that I didn't even know existed: a bowling push ramp!

A bowling push ramp is just what it sounds like.  It is a wooden ramp with a ball track down the front, and kids can put their balls on the top and push them down the ramp, thus ensuring that the balls have enough speed to reach the pins at the end of the lane.  Edward loved the bowling ramp.  Ruby was also quite fond of the ramp, and we as parents were very happy to have the ramp as a distraction, because by halfway through the second game everybody was getting tired.  Edward wanted to bowl every turn and would often sneak up behind you while you were about to bowl and throw a ball in your direction.  The ramp thankfully ended that.

So my advice to anybody with little kids is, take them bowling, but only play one game.  Two games is way too many, at least until they are a little older.  But while they are young, take advantage of the opportunity for them to release their destructive energy at a safe target.  And get the ramp.

How Ruby Got a New Bike

Yesterday I decided to do something ambitious.  I had taken the kids biking several times before, down to the lake, around the block, down the street to get slurpees, and to a couple of different playgrounds, but all of those trips were relatively short.  For some reason I got it into my head yesterday that we were going to bike all the way downtown.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the layout of Burlington, VT, all the way downtown is about two miles from my house, ending with a fairly spectacular uphill climb to Main Street.  Why I thought that we should attempt this, having probably never gone more than a half a mile round trip before, is beyond me, but like many things I have foolishly done, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

And you know, actually, it started off very well.  Edward was riding on the trail-a-bike behind me, and Ruby was riding her little two-wheeler with the training wheels (so, I guess, technically a four-wheeler), and she was really keeping up.  We made it past her school where she will attend kindergarten in the fall.  We breezed on past the gas station where they have the slurpees.  We made it all the way to the bottom of that hill, only a few blocks from our destination, without incident.

Now, I know what you are all thinking.  You are thinking that there eventually was some sort of incident getting up that hill, but the only thing that happened was that Ruby got tired and walked her bike up most of it (complaining the whole way, obviously).  But once we got to the top, she felt very proud that we had made it.  We locked our bikes up and went to the bank.  We unlocked our bikes and rode over a few more blocks (and up some more hills) to the library, where we saw a nice play put on by local children.  We went to Ben & Jerry's and got ice cream as a reward.  And then it was time to go home.

Now, Main Street is simultaneously at the top and the bottom of a huge hill.  I'm not sure how they managed to do that, but that's just how it is.  To get from the library back down to Main Street required us to ride down one very steep block, after which we would have to head west for a couple of blocks before turning down that other big hill that we had climbed in the first place.  As I turned down that one block from the library, I started picking up speed quickly, and so attempted to brake, which is not easy on a bike with only one working brake and a giant toddler strapped to the back of it.  I was concentrating so hard on trying to stop and not fly into busy traffic that it took me a moment to hear the screaming.

As I slowly slowed, I turned my head back to see Ruby coming at me way too fast and screaming for help at the top of her lungs.  It was right at this moment that I remembered that her bike had no working brakes.  Technically I knew this, but as we generally just rode back and forth to get slurpees on flat surfaces, or around the parking lot, it didn't often make itself an issue.  She certainly never complained about not having any brakes.  Well, not until that moment anyway.

She was terrified, I was terrified, and I had only seconds to figure out what to do.  There was my daughter, hurtling towards traffic at one billion miles per hour, and there I was, barely keeping myself out of traffic as well, with my son precariously balanced on the bike extension behind me.  I couldn't leap off of my bike, or Edward would fall over onto the pavement, and I didn't have time to stop my bike and get Edward off.  As she flew past me, only a few feet from the curb now, I did the only thing I could think of to do, which was to shoot my foot out and kick her bike sideways.

She flew over, Edward and I half fell over, everyone was crying, strangers rushed over to help us, but nobody was in the traffic getting run over, so at least I could feel good about that.  Some lady I don't know volunteered to hold my bike up so that I could jump off and help Ruby without Edward falling to the ground.  Another lady was helping Ruby get untangled from her bike on the sidewalk.  Actually, it was kind of embarrassing.  But, you know, thanks again, anonymous strangers.  Sorry I'm not more competent at life.

Miraculously, nobody was really hurt.  Not even scraped!  We got back on our bikes and started home.  For about two blocks.  Once we hit the top of that horrible hill home, it was very clear that we were going to be walking our bikes the rest of the way.  So it took us roughly four times as long to get home as it did to get downtown, and when we did get home everyone was exhausted and miserable.

Luckily for Ruby, I was so angry at her bike for being crappy and not having brakes that we took her out and bought her a brand new one as soon as my wife got home from work.  And Ruby loves her new bike.  It has two fully functional brakes, and as soon as we got home she started riding it around our courtyard and didn't want to ever come in again.  In fact, she is excited to try out her new brakes on that same scary hill, to make sure that they work this time.  So even though I almost got the whole family run over, at least they don't seem to be scarred for life.  Was this a parenting win?  I guess that's for their future therapists to decide.

Every Morning Like Clockwork

The worst sound that you can hear while you are in the shower is the sound of children fighting, because you know immediately that that means your shower is over. Yeah, you're still in there trying to get clean and have two seconds of peace, but that shower is now a dead man walking. The first scream sets off the countdown timer. Three...two...one... And the bathroom door bursts open.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! So-and-so did blah with the blah! Somebody hit somebody with the something!" And they don't care that you are in the shower. Children have no respect for either boundaries or privacy. They have no concept of that, because they are kids, and they don't get any of those things. Parents are always bursting into kids' rooms and bathrooms and secret hideouts demanding that all fun cease immediately, so the kids learn from this example and start doing it to the grown ups.

And it's always when you are washing your hair. They have some sort of sinister instinct about these things. Children will never argue as you are getting out of the shower. They will not pull back the shower curtain and start simultaneously shouting if you are just standing happily standing under the water. No, they will wait until your head is all soaped up, with shampoo running down your face into your eyes to engage the attack.

I've tried to change this, believe me. I wash my hair at different times, just to try to throw them off. Sometimes I jump in the shower, turn the water on, and start washing my hair right away! Doesn't matter. Somehow they know.  I can guarantee you this: if you have shampoo in your hair, you are going to see little heads peeking in on you, and they are probably upset about something.

Of course they're not always fighting.   Sometimes they like to interrupt your shower just for fun. Maybe they just miss you.  After all, they haven't seen you in over four minutes.  Maybe they want to show you something.  Perhaps they feel that you do not have enough toys in there with you, in which case they are happy to start throwing them in.  But regardless of the reason, you should know that having kids means many years of half-showers and no privacy. I'm not sure when they will stop doing this, but hopefully by the time they are teenagers.

Oboe He Didn't!

I have a few lessons on rehearsal etiquette for a certain oboe player who shall remain nameless, as I do not know his name.  We were never properly introduced.  In fact, my first contact with him was when he stopped our rehearsal last week in the middle of the piece and said "I can't play with him behind me.  You need to move him."  Yes, I was standing behind him and singing my solos.  And no, he didn't like it.

That in itself wouldn't be so bad.  That seems like something we could all laugh about later.  The problem was, it kept happening.  This guy stopped rehearsal over and over again, for reasons ranging from the plausible to the ridiculous.  Any time he didn't like the tempo, he would stop the rehearsal.  Any time he felt that one of his colleagues was doing something wrong, he would be shouting to the conductor to stop everything.  And he was often wrong.

During one memorable exchange with the soprano soloist, he repeatedly accused her of slowing down her triplets (which she was doing, but on purpose and with the conductor) and causing everyone to be off in an entrance two bars later (which was impossible since she just had two whole notes tied together for those bars and could not be slowing everyone down).  The thing was, Mr. Oboe was the one slowing down in those two bars, but he would not hear of it, and in the increasingly heated debate he managed to be quite rude to a lovely young woman in a matter which was really none of his business.

Honestly, it doesn't even matter if he was right or wrong.  I totally understand the desire to have everything go well and be awesome, and it can be incredibly frustrating when you are performing with colleagues who are not up to snuff, but there is a time and place to address these things.  If you are the conductor, that time and place is in the middle of rehearsal.  If you are not the conductor, then shut your pie hole.  You are free to mention to the conductor at the break, or after rehearsal, that you think everyone sucks except for yourself, and then that conductor is then free to either agree or disagree, and then makes changes as they feel appropriate.

And I will even give you one interruption.  If you really feel that the tempo is way too wrong for you to play, it is within your rights as a performer to ask the conductor to change it.  Once.  And the conductor can do it or not, but you just can't keep interrupting for the same thing.  Nor can you tell singers or other players what to do.  Because it makes them hate you.  You also might look around and see if anyone else is talking and interrupting.  To be fair, different organizations have different cultures, and it might be the kind of place where each entrance, dynamic, and tempo is decided on by committee.  But if no one else is stopping the music in the middle of a measure to gripe about the flute player or the cellist, then you probably shouldn't either.

Rehearsals are complicated things.  They often involve large numbers of people trying to do something together, and when the kitchen is full of cooks it is very hard to get anything done.  The relationship between the conductor and each individual performer is a special one, and if you are not standing in front of everyone else waving a stick, then let the person who is doing that do their job.  Like the president, you might not agree with everything that they do, but please at least respect the office.

Why Do Killers Have Three Names?

On Thursday night, at a midnight screening of the new Batman film "The Dark Knight Rises," 12 people were murdered and over 50 were injured by a psychopath with a bunch of guns and some gas bombs.  The person who is currently in custody for these crimes was identified as local student James Holmes.  That is, until the press figured out his middle name.  Now the suspect is identified as James Eagan Holmes.

So why does he suddenly have three names?  I suppose if my name were James Holmes, I would be pretty happy at the sudden name change.  The last thing I would ever want is to be confused with a mass murderer.  So, to all the John Booths and Lee Oswalds out there, you're welcome.  But is that the only reason that the most famous killers of our time are commonly referred to by their full names?

Well, John Wilkes Booth was an actor, and he used his full name, or variations of it, in his profession, and so it is only natural that we would use his three names.  If Neil Patrick Harris started assassinating people, it would be silly to start calling him "Neil Harris."  So there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for the use of his full name.  As for Lee Harvey Oswald, I'm not sure exactly why he got three names.  In this radio interview he did in 1963, he was repeatedly referred to as "Lee Oswald."  The Harvey got stuck in there later on I guess.

James Earl Ray, Mark David Chapman, John Wayne Gacy, Jared Lee Loughner, and now James Eagan Holmes.  It's almost a tradition at this point to give our national murders three names.  But not always.  What about Timothy McVeigh?  Or Ted Kaczynski?  Why don't they get three names?  Is it because they used bombs instead of guns?  What is the pattern here?  And do you even know the names of the kids from Columbine?  I don't, off the top of my head, although I'm sure it is just a few googly clicks away.  Ah, yes.  Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold.  But they were minors, so maybe that's different.

Does anyone know the real reason for this?  Why do we give our killers three names?  If it's just to avoid confusion with normal folks, maybe we should force celebrities to do this too.  Like poor Michael Bolton in the movie "Office Space," I'm sure there are many people out there who wish that they did not share a name with a celebrity.  There is a very angry, 56-year-old Justin Bieber out there somewhere, I'm sure of it.  And if it is just random, well...that's weird.  There must be an answer.  Please leave said answer in the comments below.  Thanks.

If It Weren't For the Cats...

Here are the ways in which my life would have been completely improved today if I didn't have any cats.

I wouldn't have woken up to find the floor covered with water.  I don't know what cats' problem is, but they are not content to drink water out of a bowl or any other type of container.  They must first bat at it with their paws and then knock it all over the floor before it is ready for drinking.  And if you leave any water out in a cup, like Edward's water cup from last night, you can bet that it will also be all over the floor in the morning.

I wouldn't have had to begin my day by cleaning cat pee off of the linoleum.  Somebody apparently thought they were done going before they really were, so there was a spotted trail of urine leading away from their box this morning that I got to clean up.  Edward was trying to step in it, but at least I prevented that from happening.

I wouldn't have had to chase any cats through the courtyard.  Edward decided that Mousey ought to go outside today, or at least he decided that the door ought to be open, and Mousey decided that she ought to go outside today.  Either way, I had to hunt her down, corner her in some bushes, and then drag her back into the house as she clawed the crap out of my shoulder.  It is in our lease that we cannot have outdoor pets, so sorry cat, you have to come back in.  Stop scratching me, jerk.

Speaking of the door being open, I would have loved to leave the door open this morning and let the breezes come in and the kids go out and play in the courtyard, but if I leave the door open, the cats will escape, so the door has to stay closed.  This means that if the kids want to go outside and play, I have to go sit out and watch them, which I don't mind sometimes, and sometimes I want to play with them too, but other times I want to do the laundry and have them be outside, which is not really possible, because I have cats.

I also would not step out of the shower onto kitty litter, crunch cat food into powder every time I walk into the kitchen, or exclusively wear fur-covered clothes.  In fact, this morning I am having a hard time thinking of anything positive about...awwwwww, yeah, you are cute aren't you?  You little fuzzy-fuzzy-wuzzy-head!  Come here and sit in my lap!  Good kitty.

Children and the Death of Ego

If there's one thing that your children will quickly take from you, it is your ego.  They are straight shooters who tell it like it is, and even if they don't always understand what they are saying, you can be sure that when you have a conversation with a child, it will be stripped of pretense and social niceties.  Sure, they may throw in a "please" or a "thank you," but be warned; children are very blunt.

The other day we were all riding in the car together when a commercial came on the radio.  It said "Attention women with a muffin top: do you need to lose at least 40 pounds?  Then call today for a free trial of..."  Ruby then said "Mama, do you think you should call them?  Do you need that?"

Two days ago I had just gotten out of the shower, which was my children's cue to barge in and harass me.  As I was trying to dry myself off, Edward took a baby hairbrush and started brushing me with it.  Ruby, ever the helpful one, told him "Edward, try brushing up on his back.  There's more hair there!"

I have been told over and over again by my children that I am fat, old, hairy, bald, smelly, and gross.  They call 'em like they see 'em, and the worst part is, I generally cannot disagree with them, because they are usually right.  It is very humbling to have children.  The only consolation we have is that when it gets to be too much, we can always turn their powers of observation onto people even older and crumblier than we are.  Their grandmothers.

First Night in a Big Boy Bed

It had to happen eventually.  As much as we wanted to contain our two-year-old in a crib forever, we knew the time would come when we would have to unleash him on the world, sleeping unrestrained in a big boy bed.  Since I have been having back problems, and lifting him in and out of the crib seemed to be in the back pain category, I decided that yesterday would be the day.

When Ruby switched from a crib to a bed, we had no problems with the transition.  In fact, we hardly noticed there was a transition.  She seemed not to be aware that the crib walls had come down, and she stayed in her bed until we came to get her every naptime and every morning.  My wife and I would laugh and wonder when the first day would be that we would see her little face peeking out from a doorway unexpectedly.  And that day was a long time in coming.  She was perfectly content to stay in her bed.  We put her there, and she stayed until someone got her out, crib or no crib.  But we knew that Edward was going to be different.

For starters, Ruby never tried to escape from her crib.  I don't think it ever occurred to her that she might want to get out and wreak havoc.  This occurs to Edward all the time.  I often go into his room to find him with one foot sticking out the top of the crib.  Luckily it was too high for him to get out of, but I knew he was trying.  Therefore, I also knew that as soon as I took the crib walls down and converted it into a toddler bed, he would be escaping as soon as possible.

As I unscrewed and rescrewed and attached and banged away at his bed yesterday, Edward watched with fascination.  He was so excited, and when I had finally finished he climbed into his new bed and asked for a bottle of milk.  I had to tell him that his nap time was not for several more hours, but he was not deterred.  Less than an hour later I found him back in the bed, asking for milk again.

This boded well, I thought.  He seemed to want to be in the bed, and didn't seem to want to get out of it and escape.  When nap time did finally come around, he jumped into his bed enthusiastically and went right to sleep.  Fabulous news!  And when he woke up two hours later, we heard the door open and saw him at the top of the stairs looking sleepy with a confused smile on his face, as if he couldn't believe that he had just woken up and gotten out of bed, just like that!

When bedtime came, we put him down with his bottle and hoped for the best.  What we didn't take into account was that there was now a sister in the room with him.  We said goodnight, closed the door, and waited approximately two seconds.  It was at this time that the thumping and screaming started.  Ruby burst from the room complaining that Edward was jumping on her, and Edward ran around in his Superman jammies (with cape) laughing maniacally.

We gave him another bubba and put him back down, with the same results.  In the end we had to move Ruby to our room until Edward fell asleep, which he did quickly with his distraction removed.  When we went to bed we moved Ruby out of our bed and back into her's and went to sleep.  And then, bright and early, we were awoken to the sounds of violence, because Edward had gotten up at 6 and decided to jump up and down on Ruby while she was sleeping.

So it's a work in progress.  Ruby asked us to put the bars back up on his crib, or else move her to different room, but we're not going to do that.  The genie is out of the bottle, and Edward loves his new bed.  It's just going to take some time to adjust.  And to ensure that he doesn't jump on me in the night, I might just add some crib bars to my bed and see how that goes.

My Butt Ultrasound

If there's one thing I have noticed about being a parent, it's that your children slowly destroy you over time, both mentally and physically.  My latest symptom of parenthood is that I have started to have back pain, so I've been seeing a chiropractor for the past couple of weeks.  Their diagnosis?  Carrying around a 40 pound two-year-old all day every day is very bad for you.

One of the services that my chiropractor offers is a 10-minute massage before your adjustment, and it was suggested to me that I ought to take advantage of this, and so on Friday I walked into the place ready for my massage.  Now, I have only had one other professional massage before in my life, and it was a very awkward story that I will tell you about some other time, but let's begin by saying that I didn't really know what I was doing.

I was ushered into the room by my masseuse, who told me she would leave the room for a moment so I could change.  She walked out, closed the door, and left me wondering, "Change into what?"  I looked around for some sort of special massage robe or something, but I was in an empty room with just a table that had a small towel on it.  I debated with myself; what should I do?  I sat there with my hand on the door for a minute or two, going back and forth as to whether or not I was going to leave the room, hunt down the masseuse, embarrass myself, and ask what the heck I was supposed to change into, or just sit there and look like an idiot when she came back and I had not "changed."

I eventually decided to be proactive, so I left my assigned room and roamed the hallway looking for the young woman who was going to be doing my massage.  I eventually found her at the sink, washing her hands.  I asked what I was supposed to change into, and she smiled and told me to just take my shirt off and make sure my pants were loose enough for her to get into.  Or something like that.  So I went back into my room, took off my shirt and belt, undid my shorts button, and got myself lying face down on the table.

My main problem was my tendency to hold Edward on the same side all the time, so my pelvis was crooked, and the pain had spread down to my glutes (that is doctor talk for "butt").  The massage went fine, with not too much glute action, and after she was finished she told me to just stay on the table until the chiropractor came in.  This was weird, because I generally did not have my adjustments done with my clothes off, but I did what I was told and just lay there for five minutes or so, being nervous.  Side note: when you are laying on a table half dressed and worrying, five minutes seems much longer.

When the chiropractor did enter the room, she seemed surprised and asked me to put my clothes back on.  I jumped up quickly and scrambled to get re-dressed, and after a short awkward moment we proceeded as usual.  She asked how I had been doing, and I told her that I had continued to have pain in my butt glutes.  She commented that my muscles seemed very tense, even after my massage, so she recommended that I have an ultrasound.  This was confusing to me, as I was not pregnant, but since all of my troubles did originate with my wife's having a giant baby that I was required to carry around all the time, I decided to go with it.

I was led into a different room, where I was met by my masseuse again, and this time I got to leave my clothes mostly on, although I had to lift my shirt up and hike my shorts down, plumber/skater style.  Once I was lying face down again, I felt a freezing cold goo being squirted all over my hindquarters, which was actually quite refreshing last Friday, as we were in the middle of a heat wave.  Once I was properly gooed, I felt some sort of wand rubbing around my butt, producing the strangest sensation.  It was heating up my deep muscle tissue, and yet the gel on my skin was still ice cold.  It was like being in a microwave.  I was hot and cold at the same time, Katy Perry style.

Once it was all over, she wiped the goo off of my butt and I was on my way.  It was an odd experience, but I have to say, my pain has mostly disappeared.  Now I just have the normal back pain, which hopefully will go away soon too.  If Edward would just stop wanting me to pick him up all the time, I would be doing a lot better.  I will try to talk to him about this, because as much fun as it was the first time, I don't know that I want another butt ultrasound any time in the near future.

Lighthouse Tour of Portland, Maine

This past weekend the family and I headed north east to Maine to visit my father.  Normally when we visit him we don't go out and do things.  We stay home and hang out.  This time, however, we had pre-planned a trip to Portland to see some lighthouses.  This is a great family activity, because lighthouses are awesome and kids love them.

It was a forty minute drive from my Dad's house to South Portland where we began our search, and our first stop was the Portland Head Light.  Technically in Cape Elizabeth, this lighthouse is one of the biggest tourist attractions in Maine, which means there were at least 10-20 other people there.  Luckily we still got a good parking spot and made our way over to the actual lighthouse.

We couldn't go inside the actual lighthouse, although we could have gone into the adjacent building for a fee.  We opted to just stay outside and walk around, until the fog horn started going off in our ears.  At that point we hit the gift shop for some gummy lobsters and other exciting souvenirs.  The other cool thing about this lighthouse was that it had some cool observation spots in the nearby hills, so we climbed around those for a while too until we decided we wanted to find another lighthouse.

Our next stop was just up the shore at the Spring Point Ledge Light.  It is possible to climb up this one, but you have to be 55" tall to do it, due to the ladders and whatnot that you have to get up.  Since we had two small children with us that couldn't do it, we didn't do it either.  But it was still a pretty neat looking lighthouse from the ground.  And someone was having a wedding on the grounds as well, so we decided we would crash it and get free lunch.  Sadly, it seemed to be more of a dinner thing, so we didn't get any food as they weren't set up yet.

The coolest thing about this lighthouse, besides the interesting shape, is that it sits at the end of a breakwater that is extremely fun to climb around on.  Just getting out to the lighthouse became its own adventure.  Ruby made it all the way out with only a little help, and all the way back by herself.  Edward tried very hard to make us let him do it himself too, but with only a little success. 

Our last stop was the Bug Light, more properly called the Portland Breakwater Lighthouse.  They call it the Bug Light because it is tiny and very cute, much like most bugs you will meet.  This one was also at the end of a breakwater of sorts, but much smaller and so smooth that Edward really could walk it on his own.

There are a few other lighthouses in the area, but some are out on islands and inaccessible (Ram Island Light) and some are just in other places, like those at Two Lights State Park, and we were tired so we went home.  But even just outside of the Portland area there are plenty of other lighthouses to find, so we will definitely have something to do the next time we head up to Maine for a visit.  And hopefully next time it won't be so hot.  I'm thinking fall or winter...

Eat Your Damn Cheese

If you don't have kids, you may not realize exactly how annoying and frustrating they can be.  Or maybe you do, and that's why you don't have kids.  But if you don't know, allow me to enlighten you.

Almost every day for the past few years Ruby has had either a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or a bologna and cheese sandwich for lunch.  Of course there are exceptions, but I don't think I am exaggerating to say that Ruby has had hundreds of sandwiches that include a slice of good old fashioned, processed American cheese.  Until last week when she informed me that she hated American cheese.

Okay, I get that tastes change, and American cheese isn't really the Cadillac of cheeses, so that in itself was not a big deal to me.  Luckily, we had some decent provolone on hand, and when she tasted that she declared it to be good and her new favorite kind of cheese.  Fast forward to the next shopping trip.  For the first time in years I do not even buy American cheese.  I buy only provolone.

I'm sure you can all guess what happened next.  I proudly presented Ruby with a bologna and provolone sandwich, only to be told that provolone cheese was gross and she hated it and where was the old cheese and ewwwwwww.  To which I replied, "Tough luck.  You wanted it.  Eat your cheese."  And you know, to her credit, she did.

Advice For a Traveling Opera Singer

For those of you thinking about the life of a traveling opera singer (or for those of you already immersed in that world), I wanted to pass along a few tips I have picked up over the years that might make your experience a little easier.  Certainly everyone has their own ways and habits, so don't feel that you have to follow all of my suggestions, but no matter who you are, it is not easy to be on the road all the time and away from home.  Even George Clooney got tired of it in "Up in the Air," and that guy was never home!

1) Sleeping
For me the hardest thing about traveling is trying to sleep in so many strange places.  New bed, new surroundings, new sounds, new everything, and it can be hard to get a good night's sleep.  The first thing that I quickly learned is to bring my own pillow.  There's nothing worse than staying at a host's house or on a friend's couch and having to struggle all night to get comfortable on a throw pillow or an armrest.  Sure, sometimes they have super memory foam feather cloud heavenly softness pillows, but you can't be sure of that, so bring your own, just in case.  Unless you normally use your couch's armrest to sleep on.  In that case you'd probably better leave it at home.

My biggest breakthrough in the world of extra-domestical slumber is my sleeping mask.  For so many years I would be staying somewhere, sleeping peacefully, completely unaware that at 5:45 AM a beam of sunlight would blast directly through the far window in the hallway directly into my eyeball.  We opera singers have awesome schedules.  We work late, and we sleep late.  But other people have boring 9-5 jobs and often times turn lights on in the house as early as 8:30!  8:30!  Since you are an opera singer, you know that there is no reason to ever be awake before ten, and a sleeping mask will assist you in this goal.  Sure it was a little weird at first, but now I never travel without one.  The human body is programmed to wake up with the light, but the superhuman opera body does what it wants, and it wants to sleep in.

2) Food
Listen carefully, because this is an important tip.  You cannot east fast food all the time, or you will literally turn into the fat lady who sings, and then it will be over.  It is important for you to eat good food while you are on the road.  If you are staying with a host family, it may be possible for you to mooch off of them most of time and eat all of their food, but even if they get wise to this, you should at least be able to get a little fridge space for making your lunches.  As a general rule, try to only eat out only once a day, or, if you are super broke, zero times per day. 

If you are in a hotel or something, it may be that you do not have a fridge or any way to cook food.  In this case, mooching becomes even more important.  Here's a useful tip: board members love opera singers!  They will want to have you over for dinner.  Depending on how large the board/volunteer pool is, you might get free dinner every night you are there!  And when all else fails, you can live on pop tarts, ramen noodles, and PB&J for weeks.

3) Fun
One common mistake that singers make when they are on the road is they spend all of their time being boring.  Do not make this error.  Time away from your usual routine means you can actually have fun!  Catch up on some reading or watch entire runs of shows on Hulu or Netflix in a matter of days!  Create music videos about your favorite beverage!  There's no telling what you can get done in your time off from rehearsals!

Above all, do not miss the opportunity to check out the local offerings of whatever place you happen to be in.  Maybe they just have one local bar that you can spend every night in, or maybe they have the Space Needle, I don't know.  The point is, there is stuff to do wherever you are, and you are not going to experience it sitting in your room huddled over your Gianni Schicchi score.

I hope these tips are helpful.  I have plenty more if you want them.  I am a veritable vat of wisdom.  If you have more travel questions for me, ask away!  Good luck, and happy traveling!

Television Binging

People don't watch television the same way they used to.  We buy whole seasons of shows on DVD, or on some cases whole series.  We have every episode of something streaming on Hulu or Netflix, and even while shows are actually being broadcast people complain if there are repeats or a week off with no new episodes.  We like to consume our television shows all at once, as if we were watching some movie dozens of hours long rather than individual episodes of a longer-running serialized program.  Even when the shows themselves are not intended to be one overarching story, we still sit and watch 6 episodes of Seinfeld in a row and totally immerse ourselves in that world.

The other day my wife sent me this article, explaining exactly why, in that author's opinion, this is not a good thing.  It was especially funny to us because, having just recently finished watching every episode of 30 Rock in a row, we had moved on Breaking Bad, the very show the author was pointing at and telling us not to binge on.  I read the article having just watched 4 episodes of Breaking Bad in a row, and it made me feel kind of guilty.

The main crux of the article, if you don't care to read it, is that when people create these shows they are created with the goal of each episode standing alone, and sometimes half the fun of these shows is how engaged your mind gets in trying to process or figure out what you have just seen in between episodes.  It brought to mind the time I watched the entire first season of Lost on DVD and then had to agonizingly wait between episodes and seasons for the mysteries and secrets to unravel.  That week in which I watched the whole first season was glorious, but it is also true that I spent so much time thinking about the show, posting on message boards, creating excel spreadsheets, and otherwise obsessing about what the heck the island was, that I had a totally different, and equally wonderful, experience over the following five years.

I have thought a lot about this over the past couple of days.  I don't want to diminish my viewing experience by cramming it all into my brain so fast that I can't process it!  On the other hand, without the binging I might not have stuck with some great shows.  My wife watched the Lost pilot originally and wasn't into it, but a few episodes in, once we got our first John Locke episode, there was no possible way that this was not going to be my favorite show of all time.  We also watched the first episode or two of The Office when it came on and thought it was horrible.  We later sped through the first subpar season on DVD in an evening and were able to dive into the truly excellent season 2.  Actually the same thing happened with Parks and Recreation, arguably the funniest thing I am watching on actual TV right now.

When we started watching 30 Rock we had a similar problem.  We watched a few episodes on Netflix and I posted on Facebook, asking my friends when it actually got funny or good.  We had heard so many good things about it, but it was not holding our interest at all.  Thankfully we stuck with it and now we love it, thanks to binging.  So my revised advice is that binging is okay at the beginning.  I think if you want to spend a night or two blowing through episodes of something and really getting into it, that is only a good thing, but after that maybe it might be nice to slow it down.  If I had only watched one episode of Breaking Bad I might not have stuck around for more, but, having binged once, I am happy to watch them one or two at a time and let them really sink in now.  I'm hooked.  And who knows?  Maybe with this new system we could get a couple of shows going at once, but only watch one episode of each of them per night.  24, Weeds, Battlestar Galactica, Mad Men, now the question becomes: which shows to choose?

Uncle Bear

I don't know exactly at what point Ruby's favorite toy became her teddy bear, but once it happened there was no looking back.  A gift from her aunt and uncle at her baptism, the bear slowly but surely moved up the ranks to emerge as the number one toy in Ruby's life.  When she got old enough to talk and name her toys, she created a family out of the top toys, which were the bear and her two foxes.  Daddy Bear, Mommy Fox, and Ruby Fox became a family, to be joined later by Baby Bear.  Ruby loved them all, but Daddy Bear was the one she took with her in the car, to sleep over at Grammy's, and basically everywhere else she went.

Now, I can't say for sure whether the bear is just the most awesome bear ever, or if it is only because Ruby loves him so much, but once Edward came along it became very clear that he wanted that bear.  Whenever Ruby was cuddling with Daddy Bear, Edward wanted to cuddle him too.  If Ruby left him on the floor for a moment, Edward would snatch him up and Ruby would freak the heck out because Edward was touching her favorite special toy.  This caused a lot of conflict in our family.

Now, I will let you in on a little parenting secret here.  When the foxes emerged as favorite toys, we went to the store and bought extras.  If Ruby ever lost her fox, we were not prepared to handle the ensuing devastation, so we always had a backup fox ready to go.  But we didn't buy Daddy Bear.  We didn't know where he was from, or how to get a second one, so we just prayed really hard that Daddy Bear would stay with us and intact at all times.  So far so good.  Now, if we did have an extra bear, we would have just given it to Edward so that we could delay the lesson in sharing and private property for another day.  Or if he had decided the foxes were his favorite, we would have given him a backup fox.  But sadly, we just spent a lot of time breaking up fights.

Well, as it happens we discovered another Daddy Bear this weekend.  Now, we are way past the point of replacing Daddy Bear, since his neck is all stretched out, most of his stuffing has moved down to his bum, his fur is matted and worn, and he has several scars from where we have stitched him up.  A brand new bear would not fool anyone in this family, even if we said he'd had a bath.  But we are not past the point of giving Edward his own bear so that he will stop attacking his sister constantly.

Ladies and gentlemen, meet Uncle Bear.  Daddy Bear's brother has come to live with us, and our plan actually worked.  Edward has not attacked Ruby or tried to steal her bear even once since we picked up Uncle Bear at the store.  However, Ruby has decided that she needs two bears now and spends all of her time trying to play with both of them.  So, all in all I would say that parenting is really hard and you should not buy your children anything.  Either that or buy ten of everything.

The Architects Of Our Own Destruction (The Family Hike)

We are the architects of our own destruction.  This is what I reminded my wife of yesterday as we trekked back down the trail at the end of our disastrous family hike.  Battered, bruised, bitten, beaten, and bleeding, it was hard to remember why we thought this was a good idea in the first place, but of course everything that had happened had been set into motion by...well, us.

We obviously had no idea what we were getting ourselves into when we chose the short (1.3 miles) trail that was described online as easy, flat, and perfect for families of all ages.  I guess that may have been true once, but more on that later.  This trail sounded so appealing, and we were so ready to drag our kids out into nature for more family physical activity, that we packed a picnic lunch and drove over to the trail head.

It started off quite innocently.  I carried the backpack full of food and Simone carried the backpack full of Edward.  I'm sure he could have walked, but he walks so slow, and it was getting to be lunch time, so we wanted to hike up quickly and then let him toddle his way slowly back down after we ate.  Ruby, of course, was fine walking on her own.  And by fine I mean "way ahead of us at all times shouting for us to hurry up."  I remember when I used to be fast and fit and have energy.  I think that was just before I had children.

Well, the trail was certainly flat and easy at first, but that didn't last long.  This particular trail that we were on ran through a forest, and last week there had been kind of an epic storm that had knocked down trees all over town.  Apparently this included our trail, as huge trees were down all over the path.  I don't mean small blockages here, I am talking "almost no way to get through" kinds of trees.  There were at least four or five huge trees down that we had to navigate over, under, around, and through.

The biggest problem with getting over these trees was that my wife had our son strapped to her back, which made it very difficult to balance, crawl, and otherwise safely get through.  As she was climbing over the first huge downed tree, she lost her footing coming down the other side and slid down, scraping all the skin off of the front of her legs.  It looked extremely painful.  Luckily my wife is a trooper and we continued on to the next obstacle.

While we were making our way through the forest we started regretting our lack of bug spray.  Or at I least I did.  My co-family members did not seem to be bothered by insects, whereas I had swarms of them all over me, apparently mistaking me for the bug cafeteria.  By the time we got to the top of the overlook I was covered with itchy bites, my wife was in pain and scraped up, and Edward had been scratched across the face with a tree branch and was also bleeding.  Time for lunch!

Having made it to end of the trail, we pulled out all the stuff we had brought for lunch, opened our Cokes, unwrapped our sandwiches, and started to take a bite.  This was Ruby's cue to tell us that she had to go to the bathroom really really bad.  Simone went off to teach her how to pee in the woods, which did not go very well judging from what I saw walking back out of the trees afterwards.  Ruby's skirt was soaked through and through, and my wife also seemed to have been peed on somehow.  I don't think I need to tell you that Simone was not having best hike at this point, which made it even worse when she sat down and knocked her full Coke over onto her sandwich.

Amazingly enough we were able to get a decent family picture at the top before we started our descent, so we will be able to convince future generations that this family outing was not a complete disaster.  As we slowly trudged back down the path we were happy that at least a few of us were not bleeding, but that changed when Ruby stopped to show us her toe which she had stabbed on a stick or something.  At least this time Edward was walking, which made it easier to get by the trees in our path.  Actually, he seemed better at hiking than any of us by that point.

We did eventually make it back to the car, with Edward back in the backpack sleeping for the last bit.  Ruby had somehow gotten a bug bite on the bottom of her foot which she was very upset about and everyone was sore and exhausted.  And we did it all to ourselves.  No, we had no way of knowing about the downed trees making the trail more difficult, and we can't control the bugs or the accidents, but we decided to go on the hike.  I guess what I'm trying to say is, we are all headed for destruction anyway (if you have even been on a family outing  you know what I'm talking about), so you might as well be doing something fun while it happens.  Life is like Gozer the Gozerian, and we always get to choose the form of the destructor.  When all is said and done, I'm glad that when everything fell apart we at least had some nice scenery.

They Grow Up Too Fast

Every parent knows that their child is growing up too fast; this is just a fact of life.  I am never surprised to encounter my own feelings of loss when one of my children moves on to a new phase in life or outgrows something that I still enjoy.  What did surprise me was that my five year old daughter seems to share the same sentiments.

Yesterday, on our way back from the store, Ruby told me that Edward was growing up too fast.  I asked her what she meant and she told me that he was getting to be three too fast, and he should just stay at two.  Pressing her further, I asked what "three year old things" he was doing too fast, and she responded with "talking."

Now, for those of you just joining us, Edward has a speech delay and has been way behind the talking curve for most of his life.  He is starting to catch up, but when I think of something he is way ahead in developmentally, talking is not what comes to mind!  I tried to explain this to Ruby, and that's when she told me exactly what was upsetting her.  She missed the way Edward used to call Elmo "Melmo."  Now he can say Elmo just fine, and Ruby was sad because, as she put it, "He's just not as cute anymore."

I totally get that feeling.  I feel that way all the time!  I miss all sorts of cute things that both of my children used to do, but don't do anymore.  How funny that one of my children could feel that way about the other.  It was at this time that I made the huge parental mistake of telling Ruby that she also used to say cute baby things that I missed.  She took that as her cue to speak only in baby talk for the next half an hour or so, despite my explaining to her that when five year olds do it, it is not cute, it is obnoxious.

The point of it all, I suppose, is that you really have to enjoy every phase as it comes, even if it sounds very cliché.  Sure, there may be parts of every age that you enjoy less than others, but the day will come when you will miss what you no longer have, so you will want to take comfort in the knowledge that you enjoyed every moment as much as it is humanly possible to enjoy any moment that includes a smelly diaper.

Today Should Not Be Thursday

I just wanted to take a quick minute to inform you all of the absurdity of today being a weekday.  Thursday, of all days!  That makes no sense!  Yesterday my wife had the day off, we went to a parade, visited with friends and family, and attended a barbecue in the evening.  If that doesn't sound like a Saturday, then I don't know what does.  And yet here we are, pretending to go about our business like yesterday was a Wednesday!  Ridiculous!

I can't think of any good reason why I should have to do any of my normal weekday stuff today.  And where is my wife?  Why is she at work?  Lame!  I blame the person who decided to allow holidays to happen in the middle of the week.  I may not have a job now, but I have had many in the past, and I know that when your week is interrupted in the middle, it throws everything off.  Why even go to work on weeks like that?  It makes no sense!  There is a reason many businesses give the Friday after Thanksgiving off.  Most people just take it off anyway, and those that don't are just phoning it in.  So why make them come in?  And today is like that.

Therefore, I declare that today is Sunday.  Please everyone leave work immediately (specifically my wife) so that we can all have a fun day off and I don't have to do any boring Thursday things.  Do we not live in a democracy!?  Did we not just celebrate that fact all day yesterday, on New Saturday?!  Then let us put it to a vote!  All Americans!  Please cast your vote!  Shall we work today like it is a Thursday, or shall we brunch and laze about like it is a Sunday?  I say we let the majority rule on this one.

Happy Birthday America!

Today is our nation's birthday.  Happy Birthday America!  Now, I have a lot of feelings about this country.  Some of them are positive, and some of them are negative.  I know a lot of people will take today as an opportunity to explain to you exactly what is wrong with this country, and they are probably correct in their complaints.  But I also have a lot of friends and family members, and I have a lot of positive and negative feelings about most of them as well.  It seems to me that on someone's birthday, you try not to mention everything that is wrong with them and why they ought to change.

So in that spirit, I will withhold any feelings I have about why this country may not be 100% awesome.  There is plenty of time for that tomorrow.  Today, I say to America, "Congratulations!  You made it another year!"  America is a fine place to live and does a lot of great things for its citizens.  Thanks for being a pal, America.  Have a round on me.  You deserve it!  To the United States!  The best country a guy could live in.  May your 237th year be even more fulfilling than your 236th.  And a pinch to grow an inch.  Now where's the cake?

The Impact of Smart Phones on Bananas

Last year I read an article that said that kids these days don't know that when you point to your wrist it means you want to know what time it is.  Supposedly this is due to the fact that they no longer wear watches; they check the time on their phones.  This is very annoying, because now how am I going to get the time if I am surrounded by young people and I have forgotten to put on my watch?  What can I point to?  Obviously speaking to young people is impossible, since they only talk in weird texting language.  "OMG, I totally heart that!" and the like.

This got me to thinking.  What other signals will young people soon not be able to understand due to their horrible affliction of stupid youth?  And then it hit me.  The tried and true, classic for a reason, previously untouchable banana phone.  Clearly, when you want to play "phone," and there is only produce available, you grab a banana phone.

But phones don't look like that anymore!  They are all flat and boxy now.  Children need a new food item for when they play phone.  And so I have come up with a perfect solution.  World: I give you the potato phone.

Potatoes look way more like my iPhone than bananas do!  It only makes sense that they be introduced to the children of the future as the perfect new phone substitute.  They also have far more surface area than a banana, so it is much easier to text and access all of your apps on a potato.

There is also the issue of the hand signals, but I haven't quite figured that one out.  Clearly holding the sign language letter "y" against your ear will not work for much longer.

I tried just using the flat palm of my hand to indicate that I wanted someone to call me on their smart phone, but it kind of just looked like I was super excited about a nap.

Hopefully this issue will not affect us as soon as the banana issue, due to the current proliferation of "Call Me Maybe" videos in which participants (including famous young person Justin Bieber) use the classic hand sign to indicate that they wished to be called, but consider yourself warned.  The day is coming when we will need a new hand gesture for telephones.  Start thinking about it, and if you come up with a good one, let me know.

Jury Rigging A Window Air Conditioning Unit For A Non-Compatible Window

Since the dawn of time, when prehistoric cave people were comfortably splayed out on slabs of cool rock in their retro cave dwellings, mankind has known one inalienable fact: you can't sleep when it's too dang hot.  While this has never been a problem for Vikings or Eskimos, it has become something of a problem for those of us living in post-climate change tropical Vermont.

As I may have mentioned previously, the place I am currently living in does not have central air.  It also does not have outer air, sideways air, decentralized air, or any other type of useful air except for the really hot summery kind that is required for breathing.  In the past when I have lived in such places, the solution was to put up window units for house-cooling purposes, but we don't have the right kind of windows here for that either.  Window air-conditioners rely on the window panes that slide up and down to hold them in place, whereas we have those windows that you crank to make them open out.

This clearly creates a problem when one is trying to sleep in a room that is in the 80's (temperature-wise, not style decade-wise), because fans just don't cut it when even the outside temperature isn't dipping much below 79.  There really is only one solution, and that solution is: somehow force your window units to work with your obnoxious windows.

The first thing you need, is to figure out a replacement for that window pane that is absent from your window, but is supposed to be holding the unit in place so that it does not fall out of your third story bedroom window and kill one of your neighbors.  This was easily accomplished by sticking a 2x4 across the top of the air conditioner.  No way it is falling out now, unless my cats bumps it or something, and that seems very unlikely.

The next problem is that there is now a giant gaping hole where there ought to be a pane of glass, through which all of the cool air is escaping.  This was quickly solved with a big piece of plywood.  Now our bedroom is functional and classy.  But there were still cracks in the system.  Air was escaping.  A new solution was needed.  Tape!

As you can see, using my simple technique, you too can have a bedroom that is stylish, comfortable, and affordable, no matter what type of windows you have.  Happy summer everyone, and keep cool!