Entries from December 2006 ↓

Duane,

Your kids might enjoy this photo story. Happy New Year.

http://p6.hostingprod.com/@ricardosblog.com/blog/2006/12/the_birdfeeder_a_photo_story.html

The other day I wrote about my "not so Zen" children who were baffled at the concept of one hand clapping. In one of those moments where I like to say "The universe is small", I see a news story about a company called Zen Babies. I did not go looking for it, it just fell in my lap. There ya go.

Buddha Boy has returned. This is the story of a 17yr old boy who sat down to meditate and apparently didn't eat for 10 months. This prompted people to claim miracle, and start speaking of him as the reincarnation of the Buddha. Then, he disappeared. The logical joke being that he went to get a sandwich, but of course no one can prove that.

He returned carrying a sword, which is interesting, and also speaking of himself in comparison to Buddha ("Buddha had to arrange security for himself"), something that he was very much against during his first meditation where he would say, "Tell them not to call me Buddha."

So, the story of the day is about the woman who put a baby through the x-ray scanner at the airport. The baby was quickly extracted from the machine, taken to the hospital (something she apparently did not want), and it was confirmed that the baby's fine, no damaging exposure was sustained.

But man, the fodder for Incredible Hulk jokes is just outstanding! The kid's got a new nickname for the rest of his life.

Don't make that baby angry. You wouldn't like him when he's angry.

Baby smash!

He's turning green! Oh, wait, no, that's strained peas.

On Monday I was watching Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I'd stayed home to help Kerry with the kids, all of whom have the stomach bug. There is a scene in Harry Potter where Voldemort's wand becomes locked with Harry's, and the ghosts of everyone Voldemort has ever killed start issuing out of it – backward in the order from most recently killed.

This is the scene that came to mind late Tuesday evening when I came home from work and Brendan decided that he was not done with his stomach bug yet. Apparently he'd had formula most recently, and before that something green, and before that something orange….

(Yes, I know it's a disgusting story, but you didn't have to clean it up.)

Taking the cue from Hugh Macleod at gapingvoid, Rebel Dad is calling for 500-word manifestos on "any parenting/balance topic you can think of."

Here's mine:

Over the weekend Elizabeth dug up an old cheapy toy that came as part of some bag of party favors. It's two pieces of plastic attached to a central piece by elastics. The idea is that you swing it back and forth and it makes a clapping noise. Surely you've seen such a thing.

Anyway, after some vigorous playing with it Sunday morning, one of the hands comes off. No worries for a Sunday morning, as it still makes the clappy noise.

Fast forward a few hours and the other piece also comes loose. "Uh oh Daddy," says Katherine, "We have to throw it out now, both pieces came off."

"What are you, crazy?" I say, "Now it's the sound of one hand clapping. Very Zen."

"What's Zen?"

"Never mind."

Great episode.  Very quotable material.  And some nice drama, and plot continuations. Not too much silliness at all. 

It was a day of discovery.  I discovered that I could sex my pregnant girlfriend into a coma.  Nice!

A coffee place in a hospital?  What's next, Bob, an ice cream parlor in the morgue?  Admittedly not a horrible idea seeing's how the freezer is already down there.  Plus it'd be a perfect place for kids.  One of our famous vanilla malteds definitely takes the sting out of having to identify the charred remains of your father.

Awww, now I'm at the end of both lines!

I love this job.  I screw up, nobody gets hurt.  Except Cindy.  I scalded her pretty bad with some steamed milk.  You could see the bone.

Hey Kim, just checking to see if your socks are back on since I knocked them off last night, Hello!  What am I doing, you're gonna be the mother of my child.  That is so tacky.
  And so is this:  Way to hit that, playa!

I'm not telling Isabella she's got a vagina until she's 18!
  That's gonna be an awkward birthday party.
Do not tell my daughter she has a vagina!  I'm serious!
    It may have already come up.

This is my wife Sally.  She lost her thumbs last month when our pet Komodo Dragon Morty got out of his cage.
  On the bright side you have beautiful nubs.

A tip jar.  Really.  What am I supposed to do, just duke you my change because you poured hot water through beans?  Well I'll tell you what my friend, unless you're planning on giving me a complimentary reacharound with my beverage the answer is 'Yeah…no.'  Here's a novel idea, why don't you go fetch me a large coffee with so damned many fake sugars in it that the coffee itself gets cancer?

He is private practice.  Those guys are cocky jackasses who don't give two shakes about anybody else's opinion but their own.  They're me, with one addendum:  they're whores.  And I'm not talking about the good kind of whores like my ex-wife.  They're whores for money.
  Is that a tip jar?
Look.  I'm figuring that if those lunks down at the coffee store can have one, I can too.

Sneak attack.  You can put your shoes on again guys, nice work.

None of here even have kids, except for Margo here, and she sold hers.

Damn, we got smoked.  That's what we get for playing a bunch of G's from the hood.
  Those guys are Indian.
So Rajeesh isn't one of those cool black-only names like Amforni?
  No.  Rajeesh is like Steve in India.

Come on VJ, first you dunk on me and yell "Who's your bitch?" and now you want free medical advice?  How did I not know these guys were Indian?

I have a non-fat latte with room for Shnapps for…janitor.
  Nice braces.  You're not worried about spider monkeys?  Spider monkeys see intricate metalwork as a display of dominance.  It's a threat to them.  They'll tear your eyes out.

So, Dr. Turner said that I am a very talented young physician.
  Jordan said I'm the only man she ever wants to have sex with.  Aren't we sharing fantastic lies we choose to believe for personal reasons?

I'm just gonna go ahead and tip myself calling this one.  Thank you, me.

Turk, I need you and I need you now.
  Isabella, this is the man you'll be competing with for your father's love.
Coochie coochie coo.  Turk, now.
    Baby he's using his emergency tone.

My breasts are so sore, I wish I could just give you formula.
  Formula's bad for the baby.  Boob milk is better.

Now how about somebody gets me a banana nut muffin and hold the spit, please.

I was saying the two most addictive substances on earth are caffeine, and nicotine.  Behold!  Smokeachino, for Kyle.

Are you crazy? You can get sued.  Secondly, I can't believe you went to the mall without me, I specifically told you I needed to buy loafers.  And thirdly, how could you go to the mall without me?  That's our thing.

If I got to be right, and have a private practice doctor get to die due to his own idiocy, I'd call that a pretty full victory.

I thought that you hated him!
  When it comes to torturing you, everybody's on the same page.

Remember that first week, when I found you hooking up with my girlfriend?  And you said you guys were only naked underneath the covers because you'd had a water balloon fight and you were cold?
  JD for the last time nothing happened.
Please, this isn't about that.  Just that I looked all over, I never found any balloons.  You think there'd be some balloons.

I look at Isabella and I get really scared.  And I'm gonna need you to help me through this.
  Well that really sucks cause I was counting on you to make it look easy so I know I can handle it when my turn comes.
Awesome.

You're gonna be just fine.
  I suppose so.
Totally fine.
  Yeah.
Would you mind telling me that I'm gonna be fine Turk, am I gonna be fine?  I think I'm gonna be fine.
  Well I would but I don't know how much you like Kim.
I really like her.
  Then you're gonna be fine.

I got offered a new job.
  Cool, is it over at county? Because that way I can drop you off every morning.
It's in Tacoma, Washington.
  Oh.  That's gonna be a little rough on my scooter.

So this morning Elizabeth is hanging out sitting with Kerry while we get ready.  Suddenly she (Elizabeth) says to me, "Bear's in the cage!" 

Now, anybody who communicates with toddlers knows how this game is played.  You start wracking your brain trying to figure out what she's talking about, while still trying to interact with her in the hopes of getting more information.  You start by repeating what she said.  "The bear's in the cage?" I ask, looking at the television to see if there's such a commercial.  Nothing.

"Bear's in the cage!" she says, and is very excited about this.

She's not been to the zoo lately.  She doesn't really have any toys that "bear in the cage" would seem to cover.  So I start trying to get more words out of her.  "The bear?"

"The bear!"

"What bear?"

"In the cage!"

"Oh.  Where is he?"

"In the cage!"

This isn't going anywhere.  I'm starting to make jokes about her being a Russian spy trying to deliver a message.  The purple pigeon flies upside down at midnight, and all that.  "Is the bear in your room?" I ask.

"No."

"Is it in Katherine's room?"

"No."

"Where's the bear in the cage?"

"Right here.  Mommy and Daddy's room."  At this point she is pointing.

I turn around and I see her Lego table, where she has constructed what appears to be two towers.  I suppose it could be a cage.  "Oh!" I say, realization dawning.  "Is this the cage?"

"That's the cage!  Bear's in the cage!"  It's like playing a game of "getting colder getting warmer".

I look in the cage, expecting to see one of her Little People animals or something.  "I don't see the bear," I say.

"It's invisible."

D'oh!  Faked out by a 2yr old.  Needless to say, Kerry greatly enjoyed that.

Peter Boyle died today, or maybe it was yesterday. And yes, sure, maybe he was "best known" as the dad on Everybody Loves Raymond. But man, if that's the only place you know him from, you really need to go find yourself a copy of Mel Brooks' Young Frankenstein. Truly his best work…