"Slang is a language that rolls up its sleeves, spits on its hands and goes to work."
(Carl Sandburg)
April 24th, 2007 (12:16 a.m)
I like strange turns of phrase, the more homespun and musical the better. I used to work with a guy named Brian who had one for every occasion.
He'd feel his stomach grumbling and say something like, "I'm so hungry I could eat the side boards off of a manure truck."
He'd yawn and say, "I could stretch a mile but then I'd have to walk back."
Although he was a young guy, having him around was like having the storytelling talents of ten grandfathers at your disposal. Too bad he moved away.
I thought of him the other day when I was reading a music newsgroup. I can't remember who was being discussed, but someone wrote that she was "hotter than 40 yards of hell." That one tickled me, and made me realize just how lacking in flavour a lot of writing and speech is nowadays.
Although if it were real, and the owner came looking for it, I'm pretty sure I could outrun them...
April 23rd, 2007 (11:59 p.m)
Every once in a while, I like to get out and putter around the property. I haven't gotten to do it much lately, what with the baby and all. But I've started making passes lately, especially by the former owners' numerous burn piles. I figure I'll never get all of the broken glass out of the yard, but a little bit each day will go a long way to avoid my daughter screaming bloody murder because she has part of a coke bottle stuck in her foot.
There's lots to choose from in my yard. There's the bulldozed pile of god-knows-what along one property line. There's the multiple piles of god-knows-what on the other property line. And then there are the treasures that await underground on the back-40, since the previous owner pretty much bulldozed anything he could find underground after we bought the house. Who knows what's out there?
As a kid, it would have driven me bonkers with excitement. I had a metal detector for a few years, and found all kinds of useless crap in my parent's yard, including a car door that was being used to cover the ancient skeleton of someone's dog. But that place had nothing on the wonderland of barbed wire, rusty nails, steel girders, old car batteries, and old segments of chicken wire.
But c'mon, I'm 38 now. I just want to plant a tree without it turning into an all-day ordeal worthy of the money pit on Oak Island.
So imagine my surprise when I literally tripped over the plastic hip bone from an anatomy skeleton. At first, I thought it was a real human hip bone, but then I saw a piece of metal sticking out of it. So I picked it up and examined it, thinking how weird it was to find this in my yard. And then I realized that, this being the country and all, and considering the other things I've found in my yard, that I would have actually been less surprised to find a real human bone in my yard.
Genetics are just plain weird
April 20th, 2007 (2:27 a.m)
OK, so the baby looks a lot like me. There are bits here and there where I can see her mom, but let's face it, the wee one's the spitting image of my own baby photos. For this, I apologize to my baby girl in advance.
My mom's been watching the tyke two days a week for us, as I work full-time and my wife works a little bit part-time. So I drag myself out of bed even earlier than usual and make my way across the county, praying that the baby doesn't have a crying jag while I'm looking out for crazy drivers and wildlife.
We have a little rearview mirror for the baby, stuck to the back window; I can look into my rear-view mirror into her mirror and see her face while I drive. It's super handy, but to be honest, it's a bit freaky.
I'll be driving along, musing on one thing or another. Remembering some questionable escapade from college, or thinking ahead to my trip to Austin next year for a music festival, or just thinking about how nice a Guinness is going to taste the next time I grill some burgers, and I'll look up to see that little face, a lot like mine, staring back at me.
I can't decide if she strikes me as a reminder that responsibility's here in all its grim, grinding glory, as if to say, "Those days are over, daddy. It's all me for the next twenty years. In fact, just so you don't forget, I'm going to pencil you in for a diaper change later today."
Or maybe she's silently saying, "Move over old timer. I'm already thinking of ways to rebel against you. I'm going to help elect another Bush to the White House when I'm old enough."
On the other hand, with her bald little head and toothless smile, she also looks like I might look at 80, so it's also a bit like staring into the future at my own mortality. I should look back at her in that case and say, "Payback's ugly, pumpkin. I'm going to pencil you in for a diaper change around the year 2050. And I'll ... I'll just pretend I didn't hear the part about your voting plans..."
Don't get me wrong. I love the little one to death, and as long as I don't look back in that mirror one morning and see a goatee'd, evil baby from an alternate universe, our commute back-and-forth to grandma's should provide plenty of good-natured entertainment for both of us. She seems to like watching the trees blur by, in particular. So do I -- while they last.
And I've already made her one promise -- in fact, I make it on a regular basis. If she ever has to go to daycare, she's not going to the one we pass every day, the one that can't even spell the word "bodies" correctly in its own name. That's just a bad, bad sign...
She won't be able to lift the polearms until she's at least three, so those are OK for now...
April 9th, 2007 (12:54 a.m)
I realized we're probably in the minority of American homes when one of us looked at the baby and said, "She'll be crawling soon. We'll need to store the swords higher."
Yep, we're a RenFest/Iaido family. Our daughter will be the only one at the prom with one of those rings with a secret compartment for poison, her own mead tankard, and a clear understanding (if zombies attack the prom) of what constitutes an efficient cut.
Seeing how the other half lives...
April 9th, 2007 (12:14 a.m)
Today was Easter Sunday, and we took the wee one to church. This is after I pitched a bit of a hissy fit. Not because I'm a heathen -- and I do have heathen tendencies -- but because I have "thing" about disturbing other people (I won't even sit by myself at a four-seat table during lunchtime because I figure it'll inconvenience someone). And what could be more disturbing than taking a two-month-old baby to church?
But take her we did, and as soon as we got there, it was feeding time. So I was only too glad to grab the baby, a bottle, and head outside. An usher kindly showed me to the bride's room, a little room they have set off to side for brides while they're getting ready for their big day. As I sat there in this baroque room that was only a shade of pink away from looking like a courtesan's bedroom, I had a chance to wonder if that nice old fella was trying to tell me something. After all, this is a pretty traditional church, and I was probably breaking some kind of bylaw by tending to the "woman's work" of feeding a baby. But that's probably just my imagination.
When I left the chapel to come feed the baby, I was the only one who'd left the service to tend to their child, but when I came out of the bride's room into the foyer, the place looked like someone was holding a casting call for the new Gerber baby. There were babies (and mothers) everywhere. Babies being fed, babies being led to be changed, babies crying, babies just wandering aimlessly.
I decided to stay out there, listening to the guest preacher's sermon being piped into the foyer, rather than risk the baby starting to cry in the chapel. I only saw one other dad the entire time, and he was of the tired, beaten-down, let-your-child-run-forty-yards-before-you-half-heartedly-call-them-back variety.
The sermon was interesting. The guest preacher was some kind of good ol' boy gospel comedian, with plenty of questionable moments discussing Catholic masses, gays, plastic surgery on women, and some real blasphemy about McAlister's sweet tea. I'm not sure he was appropriate for an Easter sermon, but he definitely kept your interest.
Not only do I babble here, but I also babble for other people
April 6th, 2007 (11:03 p.m)
I've been slack about posting links to my reviews (for the one or two who care) lately, but here are two that are up right now: a review of Todd Snider's new b-sides collection, and a fascinating DVD called The Emperor's Naked Army Marches On.