I debated and debated, finally I said, "fuck it." I started writing a "book" a couple of months back, and it hasn't gotten very far. But I've decided to post my first "chapter" on here. Good chance I'll regret this at some point.
Without further adu....
Chapter 1
I woke up early the morning of my wedding was to take place, and found my way to the pool deck to watch the sunrise. We got to Mexico a few days before the big event, and for those three days, images of my life would flash every time I blinked. It was totally random, as if someone spilled a box of photos and each photo represented a vivid and lasting image. But this morning I found myself staring out over the Caribbean and the memories of how I ended up here came rushing back, as little episodes rather than flashing images. Watching out as the waves washed ashore, and the palm tree’s swayed above me, I channel surfed through the events that shaped who I was this day, and how the woman I was to marry was perfect for me in every way.
I was in second grade the first time I grew up. Some of the details are sketchy; some are as vivid that I feel I’m watching HDTV. There were frantic phone calls to my sister’s friends, my mother’s best friend Dianne came over, and I remember my mother cutting her chin on the kitchen counter as she was bent over sobbing. My older sister Jill, had runaway. This is one instance in my life where a Bon Jovi song hit close to home. She’s a little runaway.
My mother frantically called everyone she could think of, as her best friend reassured her. And the little second grader stood, I couldn’t have been more than 3 feet tall, on the linoleum covered kitchen floor in the Long Island ranch, watching everything, trying to not be something else to worry about. I retreated to the family room to get lost in a world of cardboard pictures with the funny numbers and abbreviations on the backside.
It was late spring, the end of the school year was approaching and a new baseball season was underway. Every kid loves summer, but never as much as a second grader. Learning to ride a bike, staying up late, the ice-cream man, going to the pool, cook outs ending with ketchup stained shirts and scratched knees and elbows. Chasing fire flies and getting tucked in by mom and dad every night. That’s all I should have been thinking about with summer weeks away.
“Everything’s okay,” I thought to myself, “Jill will be home soon, and we’ll all be happy.” We’re talking about a second grader, the vocabulary wasn’t all that extensive, and having everyone home, logically, meant everyone would be happy.
Dressed in Levi’s, a rugby styled shirt and thick plastic frame glasses with stringy straight hair, as I asked my teacher, Mrs. Kirk, if I could skip recess to talk to her. From first glance, Mrs. Kirk wasn’t the teacher you’d picture a kid opening up to. With coffee stained teeth, the breath to match, a crow’s nest of long black hair and a scowl that could intimidate the toughest of New Yorkers. What second grader wants to skip recess to talk to a teacher, one that resembles a real life witch? But I had to try and make sense of this, and I couldn’t allow myself to look too affected at home, where I kept my eye’s and ears open, and my mouth shut.
My parents knew I was talking to Mrs. Kirk, and I think they were proud of me for doing so. But I didn’t say much. I gave her the facts, told her I was scared, and I didn’t know what was going to happen. I’ve had that conversation at least six times in my life now. Jill’s gone, not sure why, and wondered if I’d ever see her again. Maybe she never came home the first time.
So when I got home that day from school, she had turned up. And there was yelling, doors were slammed, tears were shed, and more stats were read. In some ways, it was completely anti-climatic, yet it forever instilled and un-easiness in me. She just showed up again after being gone two days. And I always wondered when she would leave again, or if anyone else would.
Maybe she didn’t show up that day, it looked like her and wore her clothes. She may have even used the same can of Aquanet, just so she appeared to be Jill. But I learned later, when I was 17 or so, that she left a piece of herself somewhere in Long Island, in some run down house, owned by the lowest form of life. Maybe she’s still there, wondering why she went there and looking for a way out. She was there by choice, or at least she wasn’t dragged against her will.
It fits all the clichés we know, she was running with the wrong crowd and making bad choices. All of which she’s fully responsible for, even if she can’t accept it. But I’m pretty sure she never asked to be raped, and that’s what happened. Or so I’m told, and nothing hurts more than doubting your sister when she tells you something so horrendous. But the anger towards your brother, who was 16 at the time, and your father, for not ending this guy’s life, well that’s an anger that stays with you.
There was nothing better than growing up on Long Island. We lived on a cul-de-sac, which has some how shrunk by 80% since I was a kid. Right next door was my best friend, and we knew everyone on the block. I don’t know if it was the timing, but I can’t imagine any kids grow up like I did. Huntington had it’s own Central Park in Hecture Park, and we’d spend summer nights there at concerts, and the days watching ducks swim while avoiding the shit they left along the pathways.
The highlight was the 4th. Our 4th of July weekend consisted of a few families getting together for a softball game and cookout at Maplewood Elementary. One game nearly ended my life, when my father missed a hit ball that must have been aided by a laser guidance system for my stomach. My bellybutton was right at the center of a perfect black and blue replication of a softball. He insists we were in the outfield, but I remember being in the infield as he was pitching.
We went camping on the sound, took trips up to Vermont and stayed at The Tyler Place. It pains me to admit this, but it looked like the resort from Dirty Dancing. The kids were broken off into groups, and the adults had their afternoons together. There was a lake for swimming, sailing and fishing. And we stayed in little white cottages.
New York City was just a car ride away, and as a kid, it terrified me. So many people, so much going on, and this was before Rudy cleaned up the city. Being 6, and seeing homeless men asking for money after lifting their heads off of dirty newspapers-turned pillows, has a way of making the big city scary. But scary is also exciting. I only lived in New York for the first 8 years of my life, but I’ve taken it with me every where I’ve gone.
Maybe it was such a great childhood because it was so short. When something is cut short, we have a tendency to elevate our perception of how great it was. Every musician who dies while still putting out relevant music is automatically a legend, just as an artist worth increases upon an early death. I just know that most kids don’t grow up in the second grade. My sister did a lot to raise me, most of it came after the day she didn’t come home.
Up till the day Jill didn’t come home, we had a pretty tight relationship. She spent a lot of her time after school watching me, and I had fun terrifying her and her friends when they came over. Snapping bra’s, and trying to watch whatever movie they were watching. Good times for me, and I think for her. She wasn’t babysitting for fun though. My parents were having to spend time dealing some issues my older brother, Jay, was having.
July 28, 2008
July 24, 2008
2Hirp
I imagine it’s occurred to all of us, when you run into someone who knows someone from your past and you ask how they’re doing, at some point you’ve wondered the great “what if” question. I have, and then every single time the response was something generic.
Either they’ve gotten married, moved away, had a kid, haven’t changed much, or they’re still a jackass. And you walk away remembering what kind of jackass or good guy they used to be, and imagine their wives or jobs. Then you forget again, and go on with your life.
Well last night, at the sister restaurant to the pizza joint I used to work at as a 16 year old shit, I ran into someone and asked those questions. Only his response wasn’t generic. He wouldn’t say it was absolute truth, but the fact that he was hesitant to answer didn’t help settle my nerves. I asked about an old friend, and the son of my former boss, and last he heard was my old friend just recently passed away. He said something about complications from his diabetes.
That was after his initial nervous laugh, and my asking if it was something bad. He chuckled a little, and then realized I really wanted to know. So he told me, and I spent the rest of the night in shock.
At first glance, Paul and I couldn’t be more different. I was 5’3 and 120 pounds; he was 6’2 and at least 250. I was the Jewish kid from Overland Park, he was the black kid from Raytown. Mutt and Jeff, Amos and Otis maybe, or Jewpac and Biggie. We met through his father, who happened to be my boss at the pizza joint. The night I was carjacked, he was the first friend I dropped off after Naked Gun 33 1/3. The first ticket I ever received was with him, as we were driving through Raytown. The first time I remember seeing blatant racism was with him, at a Front Row Video, when the clerk who was vacuuming the store followed him wherever he went, even if it was over spots he vacuumed two or three times already while I walked around un-disturbed. I always meant to go back there and steal something. They went belly up a few years later, deserved it too.
We hadn’t seen each other since I was 19 and he happened to be up at KU for a weekend. And that was always a shame; he was a really good guy. Even though he hung around some people I wouldn’t hang around with, we just had fun going to movies, playing Sega and talking shit.
I’ve never, luckily, had a friend pass away. I had a brother in-law go, but the last thing I’d ever call him was a “friend.” And I guess I still haven’t, since I hadn’t really been friends with Paul for 12 or 13 years. I’m pretty sure this is the reality of getting old. Never mind aches and pains, or not understanding why some song is popular, or why kids dress the way they do. Aging really happens when you’re getting older and someone from your past isn’t. That and when you worry about your kids.
***
“Weeds” as taking a pretty interesting twist this season, and in doing so helped to make up for last seasons effort. Guillermo has become one of my favorite television characters in a long time, and I think I could even vote in favor of giving him a spin-off one day. Nancy has taken a much needed detour from her road to being “The Godmother” and returned more to a typical suburban soccer mom.
Albert Brooks was a great addition as the cheap, angry, asshole Jewish Grandfather. And no, “asshole Jewish” isn’t redundant, but thanks for asking. They’ve really taken all the characters out of their comfort zones. Celia has to actually work for a living, after going to jail and being someone’s bitch for a time. Doug (Kevin Nealon) lost his cush job, and now mooches off of the Botwins. Andy has become a more responsible and thoughtful jackass, and the kids have grown into efficient criminals themselves. But we are missing Conrad and Heylia, and I hope they pop up sometime soon.
Either they’ve gotten married, moved away, had a kid, haven’t changed much, or they’re still a jackass. And you walk away remembering what kind of jackass or good guy they used to be, and imagine their wives or jobs. Then you forget again, and go on with your life.
Well last night, at the sister restaurant to the pizza joint I used to work at as a 16 year old shit, I ran into someone and asked those questions. Only his response wasn’t generic. He wouldn’t say it was absolute truth, but the fact that he was hesitant to answer didn’t help settle my nerves. I asked about an old friend, and the son of my former boss, and last he heard was my old friend just recently passed away. He said something about complications from his diabetes.
That was after his initial nervous laugh, and my asking if it was something bad. He chuckled a little, and then realized I really wanted to know. So he told me, and I spent the rest of the night in shock.
At first glance, Paul and I couldn’t be more different. I was 5’3 and 120 pounds; he was 6’2 and at least 250. I was the Jewish kid from Overland Park, he was the black kid from Raytown. Mutt and Jeff, Amos and Otis maybe, or Jewpac and Biggie. We met through his father, who happened to be my boss at the pizza joint. The night I was carjacked, he was the first friend I dropped off after Naked Gun 33 1/3. The first ticket I ever received was with him, as we were driving through Raytown. The first time I remember seeing blatant racism was with him, at a Front Row Video, when the clerk who was vacuuming the store followed him wherever he went, even if it was over spots he vacuumed two or three times already while I walked around un-disturbed. I always meant to go back there and steal something. They went belly up a few years later, deserved it too.
We hadn’t seen each other since I was 19 and he happened to be up at KU for a weekend. And that was always a shame; he was a really good guy. Even though he hung around some people I wouldn’t hang around with, we just had fun going to movies, playing Sega and talking shit.
I’ve never, luckily, had a friend pass away. I had a brother in-law go, but the last thing I’d ever call him was a “friend.” And I guess I still haven’t, since I hadn’t really been friends with Paul for 12 or 13 years. I’m pretty sure this is the reality of getting old. Never mind aches and pains, or not understanding why some song is popular, or why kids dress the way they do. Aging really happens when you’re getting older and someone from your past isn’t. That and when you worry about your kids.
***
“Weeds” as taking a pretty interesting twist this season, and in doing so helped to make up for last seasons effort. Guillermo has become one of my favorite television characters in a long time, and I think I could even vote in favor of giving him a spin-off one day. Nancy has taken a much needed detour from her road to being “The Godmother” and returned more to a typical suburban soccer mom.
Albert Brooks was a great addition as the cheap, angry, asshole Jewish Grandfather. And no, “asshole Jewish” isn’t redundant, but thanks for asking. They’ve really taken all the characters out of their comfort zones. Celia has to actually work for a living, after going to jail and being someone’s bitch for a time. Doug (Kevin Nealon) lost his cush job, and now mooches off of the Botwins. Andy has become a more responsible and thoughtful jackass, and the kids have grown into efficient criminals themselves. But we are missing Conrad and Heylia, and I hope they pop up sometime soon.
July 21, 2008
Hirpasms
I like a funny bumper sticker, won’t put one on my car, but I enjoy driving behind someone with a sense of humor. I think I’ve mentioned this before, but seriously, anyone who thinks their bumper is a pulpit needs to only see the underside of a bumper. I was behind a car this weekend with the uplifting bumper sticker that read: “Pro-God, Pro-gun, Anti-Obama.” And had the “no smoking” slash over Obama’s profile, and I had this erri feeling that the brains behind the operation wanted it to be crosshairs but knew that would probably lead to a visit from the Secret Service and some other unwanted guests.
First, I love the idea that this moron is both pro-God and gun, yet anti another human. Nothing sounds more pro-God than announcing you’re against another human, one you don’t know personally.
Incase I wasn’t sure what kind of dumbass I was driving behind; there was another bumper sticker on the back of his gas guzzling SUV; “Bitter Christian clinging to my gun.” Really, maybe it’s time this guy takes a look at his religious beliefs. He’s bitter, he’s angry, and he’s okay with violence. Maybe Christ just isn’t helping as much as he’d like to think.
I know I’ve made my feelings about organized religion pretty clear, and incase you haven’t heard, I’m not a fan. But if that’s what helps someone get thru the day and lead a better life, I can’t complain. I can, however, complain till Jesus comes back when religion is used to forward someone’s agenda of hate.
***
So I caught some sort of stomach bug, and it hasn’t been fun but I’ll spare you the details. My conundrum comes from the fact that I came to work inspite of this bug, and I have some meetings I need to attend. But I’m already worrying about how to deal with the awkard situation that would occur when the “stummy” (that’s what the Kyd calls it” starts-a-bubbling.
Plenty of times I’ve seen someone excuse themselves from a meeting and run to a restroom, but they come back pretty quickly. So you know it’s a #1. I guess I don’t have much of a choice, but that adds more pressure to what’s already a pressure filled situation.
***
Friday night the Kyd had her very first sleep over. Big step right? Also a big headache. I had no idea that little girls could disagree so much, and over such silly things. Who gets to karaoke what song? The wife played referee, and was more partial than most NBA refs, but I’m still amazed that after all the squabbling, they can’t wait to see each other again. I’m told this is normal, which confirms an old belief of mine, there’s not much normal about how women act. I’m going to pay for that one.
But their kiddy drama wasn’t to be outdone by the drama of our guests’ parental units, and that’s using the term loosely. First, her dad brought her over sans shirt. Dress slacks and no shirt, 56 year old man, this isn’t a good look, especially at my front door. Then the next morning when she called her parents, the girl was informed her mom was in the hospital, and told to keep playing. Wonder if there’s any way to put more weight on a 7 year olds shoulders.
So she goes home a few hours later, and we get back to our day. Finally we decide to run an errand, and while getting into our car, we see her mother (not in the hospital) throwing her husbands clothes out onto the sidewalk outside their patio. I don’t think it was spring cleaning, not when their daughter is crying “no, don’t!”
We’re walking a thin line now. We want the girls to have fun, and we know their girl needs a break from that chaos, but we don’t want to become saviors or adoptive parents. It’s just too hard, when you’re literally right next door to that, to keep from getting sucked in.
Seeing all this up close also serves as a shitty reminder of how my nieces and nephews grew up; seeing their parents under the influence, fighting, and acting insane. That’s no way for a kid to grow up. So maybe I can’t have my dream job, deciding who gets to be a parent, and that’s fine. But give the gig to someone, just not someone with bumper stickers.
First, I love the idea that this moron is both pro-God and gun, yet anti another human. Nothing sounds more pro-God than announcing you’re against another human, one you don’t know personally.
Incase I wasn’t sure what kind of dumbass I was driving behind; there was another bumper sticker on the back of his gas guzzling SUV; “Bitter Christian clinging to my gun.” Really, maybe it’s time this guy takes a look at his religious beliefs. He’s bitter, he’s angry, and he’s okay with violence. Maybe Christ just isn’t helping as much as he’d like to think.
I know I’ve made my feelings about organized religion pretty clear, and incase you haven’t heard, I’m not a fan. But if that’s what helps someone get thru the day and lead a better life, I can’t complain. I can, however, complain till Jesus comes back when religion is used to forward someone’s agenda of hate.
***
So I caught some sort of stomach bug, and it hasn’t been fun but I’ll spare you the details. My conundrum comes from the fact that I came to work inspite of this bug, and I have some meetings I need to attend. But I’m already worrying about how to deal with the awkard situation that would occur when the “stummy” (that’s what the Kyd calls it” starts-a-bubbling.
Plenty of times I’ve seen someone excuse themselves from a meeting and run to a restroom, but they come back pretty quickly. So you know it’s a #1. I guess I don’t have much of a choice, but that adds more pressure to what’s already a pressure filled situation.
***
Friday night the Kyd had her very first sleep over. Big step right? Also a big headache. I had no idea that little girls could disagree so much, and over such silly things. Who gets to karaoke what song? The wife played referee, and was more partial than most NBA refs, but I’m still amazed that after all the squabbling, they can’t wait to see each other again. I’m told this is normal, which confirms an old belief of mine, there’s not much normal about how women act. I’m going to pay for that one.
But their kiddy drama wasn’t to be outdone by the drama of our guests’ parental units, and that’s using the term loosely. First, her dad brought her over sans shirt. Dress slacks and no shirt, 56 year old man, this isn’t a good look, especially at my front door. Then the next morning when she called her parents, the girl was informed her mom was in the hospital, and told to keep playing. Wonder if there’s any way to put more weight on a 7 year olds shoulders.
So she goes home a few hours later, and we get back to our day. Finally we decide to run an errand, and while getting into our car, we see her mother (not in the hospital) throwing her husbands clothes out onto the sidewalk outside their patio. I don’t think it was spring cleaning, not when their daughter is crying “no, don’t!”
We’re walking a thin line now. We want the girls to have fun, and we know their girl needs a break from that chaos, but we don’t want to become saviors or adoptive parents. It’s just too hard, when you’re literally right next door to that, to keep from getting sucked in.
Seeing all this up close also serves as a shitty reminder of how my nieces and nephews grew up; seeing their parents under the influence, fighting, and acting insane. That’s no way for a kid to grow up. So maybe I can’t have my dream job, deciding who gets to be a parent, and that’s fine. But give the gig to someone, just not someone with bumper stickers.
July 18, 2008
Hirp Joel
Listening to all of the Billy Joel on my iPod this morning, this guy will never get enough credit for the great songs he’s put out. Seriously, this will sound like the cheesiest thing I’ve ever said (and that’s saying something) but I think I treat Coco right, and I think I learned how from Billy’s lyrics. Who do we have like that now? I love hip-hop, but there’s a generation of kids growing up without any singers they can actually turn to for advice. Everyone is way to self centered, even my man, John Mayer. Bubblegum Tongue, c’mon, that isn’t for anything other than getting high school and Frat Boys laid after a few beers. For all those who aren’t sure how to treat their wives/girlfriends, they can learn how by listening to maybe 8 maybe 9 different Billy Joel songs. It’s that easy. This isn’t abstract, its paint by numbers:
“Tell Her About It” for all those too scared to actually open up and risk ridicule from the boys.
“Just The Way You Are” get past all the bullshit, accept someone for who they really are.
“She’s Always a Woman to Me” whoever he sang about, you can’t help but like and fear.
“Laura” She always said he’s the best friend she’s had, how do you hang up on someone who needs you that bad? You don’t.
“Leave a Tender Moment Alone” ‘nuff said.
“Vienna” Tough guy, if you’re so smart, why are you afraid? Mom nagging you won’t help you grow up, but Billy will. Vienna waits for you.
“All for Leyna” and you’ll have the
“Honesty” well, this song works for everyone and every situation.
So hopefully Coco would vouch for me here, and give some validation to this theory.
“Tell Her About It” for all those too scared to actually open up and risk ridicule from the boys.
“Just The Way You Are” get past all the bullshit, accept someone for who they really are.
“She’s Always a Woman to Me” whoever he sang about, you can’t help but like and fear.
“Laura” She always said he’s the best friend she’s had, how do you hang up on someone who needs you that bad? You don’t.
“Leave a Tender Moment Alone” ‘nuff said.
“Vienna” Tough guy, if you’re so smart, why are you afraid? Mom nagging you won’t help you grow up, but Billy will. Vienna waits for you.
“All for Leyna” and you’ll have the
“Honesty” well, this song works for everyone and every situation.
So hopefully Coco would vouch for me here, and give some validation to this theory.
July 16, 2008
Hirplings
So Thursday of last week, I’m feeling pretty good. A lot of work to do, but the hours are flying by before my long weekend starts. I undock my laptop and head off to a meeting, which of course we decide, within 5 minutes of sitting there, this isn’t really necessary. So I head back to my desk, dock my laptop, so I can jet off to lunch, before coming back for two more meetings and then jetting for the weekend. I dock the laptop, and power it up. Click. Click, click, click. Now my laptop sounds more like a hamster is drunk while trying to run on his little wheel. Try again, more clicks. Un-dock, remove battery and try again. More friggin’ clicks. Lunch will be delayed, as I take the laptop to the PC Clinic at work.
Really, they shouldn’t call it a clinic, but a morgue. I’m informed they don’t have any parts, and they’ll have to replace it. Then I was asked if that’s okay. Um, what are my other options exactly? Can I say never mind, and return to my desk with a drunk hamster? Won’t my boss realize I’m not working at some point? How about I just say no, am I fired on the spot? Really, I’ll never understand why they asked if it was okay if they replaced my broken computer.
And of course, they couldn’t salvage anything from my hard drive. Any and all files, e-mails and settings are all gone. Have a good weekend in Chicago, Hirp, because work is going to suck when you get back.
So we went to Chicago, and no trip is complete without a couple of flight delays. Seriously, all flights are delayed now. Can’t they internally schedule a flight for 5pm, but just tell the public it won’t leave till 6pm? Kind of how one may trick a friend that’s always running late to show up somewhere on time.
***
The NFL hired an “expert” to review video tape to determine whether or not players are using gang signs on the field. And I didn’t see this on Careerbuilder.com? Are you shitting me? I’d love that job. He could make some money on the side, by keeping his mouth shut and tipping off the Crips if a visiting team has any Bloods on the roster, or vice versa. Not that I would do that, but remember. MOB. Money over bitches..or was it Member of Bloods…whatever Pac meant.
Really, they shouldn’t call it a clinic, but a morgue. I’m informed they don’t have any parts, and they’ll have to replace it. Then I was asked if that’s okay. Um, what are my other options exactly? Can I say never mind, and return to my desk with a drunk hamster? Won’t my boss realize I’m not working at some point? How about I just say no, am I fired on the spot? Really, I’ll never understand why they asked if it was okay if they replaced my broken computer.
And of course, they couldn’t salvage anything from my hard drive. Any and all files, e-mails and settings are all gone. Have a good weekend in Chicago, Hirp, because work is going to suck when you get back.
So we went to Chicago, and no trip is complete without a couple of flight delays. Seriously, all flights are delayed now. Can’t they internally schedule a flight for 5pm, but just tell the public it won’t leave till 6pm? Kind of how one may trick a friend that’s always running late to show up somewhere on time.
***
The NFL hired an “expert” to review video tape to determine whether or not players are using gang signs on the field. And I didn’t see this on Careerbuilder.com? Are you shitting me? I’d love that job. He could make some money on the side, by keeping his mouth shut and tipping off the Crips if a visiting team has any Bloods on the roster, or vice versa. Not that I would do that, but remember. MOB. Money over bitches..or was it Member of Bloods…whatever Pac meant.
July 08, 2008
Thrips
You like to think that Nicole Kidman left Tom Cruise, because she’s actually some what normal, and wanted nothing to do with a nut job. You don’t really see her linked to scandals, and she puts out well received, yet very boring movies. She appeared to be just about normal, minus the fame, beauty and money.
Then she named her kid “Sunday Rose Kidman Urban” and officially re-entered the looney bin. What the hell gives with celebs giving their kids names, which appear to have one purpose? Getting their kid made fun of. Maybe they were all so tortured growing up, and having a kid who can use the “I’m richer than you” retort is some sort of slap in the face of all those who harassed them as kids. Although, I’m pretty sure making millions accomplished that theoretic-slap years ago.
I hope their kids don’t turn to entertaining as a career move 20 years from now. I refuse to go see a movie staring Suri, Brooklyn, Lourdes, Apple or Sunday.
***
I want to be an honest parent, I think that’s the only way to have a good relationship with anyone. But I don’t want to be so honest that we scare the shit out of the Kyd. Not that we haven’t faced tough decisions before, when/how to tell her we’re getting married and G is moving in, how to react when she relays a comment her dad made that doesn’t sit well with us, among others. But we have a much more sensitive situation now. See we have new neighbors, pretty nice people on the surface. But living in an apartment complex, you can sometimes get a perspective that’s hard to get if you life in a subdivision or “neighborhood.”
Their story has been very public around the pool, as they seem to tell everyone how their house caught fire. Sitting poolside I’ve been directly told, and overheard the story at least six times. And it’s a sad tale. But we also see the family on their patio often, and we see the drinks get downed, and have heard some comments tossed back between the parents. Basically, it isn’t “nice” and we really don’t want to expose the Kyd to that. But they also have a child who is her age, and she’s a very sweet kid.
She was over the other night, and the Kyd let her borrow some and keep some other toys, because she lost so many in the fire. Unbelievably sweet and genuine kyd we have, but we’re stuck. We don’t want her going to their house to play. We’ve seen their child at the pool, without an adult right there (he was in the clubhouse, unacceptable) and we see her awake and outside at 11pm.
Not that we’re perfect parents, or can really judge (although we all do) the parenting styles or choices of others. But we can absolutely decide what will go down in our corner of the woods. The problem is, we have no clue how or what to tell the Kyd. We don’t want to say too much, and let her say something to her friend, which could quickly end their budding friendship. We don’t want to scare her, she’ll be cynical soon enough. But we won’t let her go play there. It’s just not safe, not physically or emotionally. We’re more than happy for them to play at our house, they can have a sleep over and speak in pitches only dogs can understand. That sounds fantastic, and I look forward to all that.
***
So this is funny to me, I saw a headline on a TV I was walking by about President Bush urging leaders to do something or other with Zimbabwe. The Pres isn’t real happy about the violence used to “influence” voters. I guess he would be the expert on how to take an election without violence. Maybe he’ll get a nice consulting gig when his term is up.
Then she named her kid “Sunday Rose Kidman Urban” and officially re-entered the looney bin. What the hell gives with celebs giving their kids names, which appear to have one purpose? Getting their kid made fun of. Maybe they were all so tortured growing up, and having a kid who can use the “I’m richer than you” retort is some sort of slap in the face of all those who harassed them as kids. Although, I’m pretty sure making millions accomplished that theoretic-slap years ago.
I hope their kids don’t turn to entertaining as a career move 20 years from now. I refuse to go see a movie staring Suri, Brooklyn, Lourdes, Apple or Sunday.
***
I want to be an honest parent, I think that’s the only way to have a good relationship with anyone. But I don’t want to be so honest that we scare the shit out of the Kyd. Not that we haven’t faced tough decisions before, when/how to tell her we’re getting married and G is moving in, how to react when she relays a comment her dad made that doesn’t sit well with us, among others. But we have a much more sensitive situation now. See we have new neighbors, pretty nice people on the surface. But living in an apartment complex, you can sometimes get a perspective that’s hard to get if you life in a subdivision or “neighborhood.”
Their story has been very public around the pool, as they seem to tell everyone how their house caught fire. Sitting poolside I’ve been directly told, and overheard the story at least six times. And it’s a sad tale. But we also see the family on their patio often, and we see the drinks get downed, and have heard some comments tossed back between the parents. Basically, it isn’t “nice” and we really don’t want to expose the Kyd to that. But they also have a child who is her age, and she’s a very sweet kid.
She was over the other night, and the Kyd let her borrow some and keep some other toys, because she lost so many in the fire. Unbelievably sweet and genuine kyd we have, but we’re stuck. We don’t want her going to their house to play. We’ve seen their child at the pool, without an adult right there (he was in the clubhouse, unacceptable) and we see her awake and outside at 11pm.
Not that we’re perfect parents, or can really judge (although we all do) the parenting styles or choices of others. But we can absolutely decide what will go down in our corner of the woods. The problem is, we have no clue how or what to tell the Kyd. We don’t want to say too much, and let her say something to her friend, which could quickly end their budding friendship. We don’t want to scare her, she’ll be cynical soon enough. But we won’t let her go play there. It’s just not safe, not physically or emotionally. We’re more than happy for them to play at our house, they can have a sleep over and speak in pitches only dogs can understand. That sounds fantastic, and I look forward to all that.
***
So this is funny to me, I saw a headline on a TV I was walking by about President Bush urging leaders to do something or other with Zimbabwe. The Pres isn’t real happy about the violence used to “influence” voters. I guess he would be the expert on how to take an election without violence. Maybe he’ll get a nice consulting gig when his term is up.
July 01, 2008
Hirplings
I think I should be able to adjust the time on our cable box. I’d like it to be 15 minutes fast, but only from 4pm to 8:30pm. Just so the kyd may get to bed 15 minutes early without putting up a defense that would make R.Kelly jealous. After she falls asleep, I would like for the cable box to return to actual time. There should be a “kid time” setting on everything that tells time.
Those people, you know the ones, they never hold the door open for anyone. I’m wondering what life is like for them. For me, I get stuck in that in-between spot, where I’m not sure if the person behind me is close enough that I should hold the door, or if I do, will I be holding it too long. What would it be like if I wasn’t aware of the person 9 steps behind me? Would I sleep better at night?
Car makers need to invent something that prevents a car from changing lanes for 8 seconds after the driver puts on the turn signal. Attempting to change lanes sooner should either not be allowed, and an electric shock should be sent to their genitals.
A birthday card was just being passed around the office. I signed it “Happy Birthday, I know you won’t read this.” I’m interested to see if she catches it, or if from now on I can start writing what I really think on birthday cards at work.
Whatever happened to GatorGum? That was some good stuff. Near Fruit Stripe level.
Those people, you know the ones, they never hold the door open for anyone. I’m wondering what life is like for them. For me, I get stuck in that in-between spot, where I’m not sure if the person behind me is close enough that I should hold the door, or if I do, will I be holding it too long. What would it be like if I wasn’t aware of the person 9 steps behind me? Would I sleep better at night?
Car makers need to invent something that prevents a car from changing lanes for 8 seconds after the driver puts on the turn signal. Attempting to change lanes sooner should either not be allowed, and an electric shock should be sent to their genitals.
A birthday card was just being passed around the office. I signed it “Happy Birthday, I know you won’t read this.” I’m interested to see if she catches it, or if from now on I can start writing what I really think on birthday cards at work.
Whatever happened to GatorGum? That was some good stuff. Near Fruit Stripe level.
Multiple Hirpasms
So Gen. Wesley Clark has taken a shot (pun: entirely intentional) at Sen. John McCain’s service record. I don’t know the details, nor do I need to, of McCain’s time in the service. If you serve, be it on the front lines, as a pilot, a chef or a secretary, then you deserve all the respect in the world. This coming from the last person on earth, you could expect to see in uniform. But I still have respect for every single one of them, no matter their role. There’s a chance they’ll be in the vicinity of some bullets flying or things blowing up, and as long as it isn’t on the set of a movie, then it takes cajones that most people don’t have. The man was shot down and kept as a prisoner of war, and I hate it if my flight is delayed or if I have to stay in a hotel that only offers single-ply. Clark just cost himself a chance at being Vice President. Way to go, slick.
***
Obama was in lovely Independence, Missouri yesterday. Without a doubt, he’ll now back Kansas in the “Border War.” But this isn’t about all that. He had to defend his patriotism, and that’s as retarded as Corky. We’re back to loyalty, which is what patriotism is, and real loyalty means you see and acknowledge a friends flaws. And it takes a special kind of loyalty to see those flaws, and actually try and do something about them. So his wife said something like, “being proud of my country for the first time in my adult life.”
I hope Obama feels that way, we all should. Not that we’re a completely awful country, but if you look at what we’ve done the past 20 years, there isn’t much to be proud of. I got it, the Cold War ended, and then what? We managed to take that good will and piss of the entire world. It doesn’t mean they are un-American, or anti-American, they just expect better of us. That’s exactly what we need in a leader. Screw “stay the course” when the course if FUBAR.
***
I’m getting sick of the headline: Gas Prices Hit All-Time High. That’s “news’ like when my mom used to tell me the pollen count was high. I want to see a headline that reads something like; “Taking it in the Pooper at the Pump.”
***
Obama was in lovely Independence, Missouri yesterday. Without a doubt, he’ll now back Kansas in the “Border War.” But this isn’t about all that. He had to defend his patriotism, and that’s as retarded as Corky. We’re back to loyalty, which is what patriotism is, and real loyalty means you see and acknowledge a friends flaws. And it takes a special kind of loyalty to see those flaws, and actually try and do something about them. So his wife said something like, “being proud of my country for the first time in my adult life.”
I hope Obama feels that way, we all should. Not that we’re a completely awful country, but if you look at what we’ve done the past 20 years, there isn’t much to be proud of. I got it, the Cold War ended, and then what? We managed to take that good will and piss of the entire world. It doesn’t mean they are un-American, or anti-American, they just expect better of us. That’s exactly what we need in a leader. Screw “stay the course” when the course if FUBAR.
***
I’m getting sick of the headline: Gas Prices Hit All-Time High. That’s “news’ like when my mom used to tell me the pollen count was high. I want to see a headline that reads something like; “Taking it in the Pooper at the Pump.”
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