Sketch - "Why The Monkey Fell Out Of The Tree"

Over Thanksgiving, I discovered that basically every piece of paper that I ever wrote and left at home was amazingly preserved by my Mom. I found a stenopad that I bought on clearance from W.H. Smith for 25p in the summer of 1995. I was working out a MMORPG. I had character classes, a combat system for fighters and a different one for Clerics. But at several points, I got distracted and wrote other things. I think I wrote this after the R.E.M. concert but before I went home.

To be clear, this is not the first revision of this idea, but its more or less the best sketch in terms of how the whole situation plays out.

Sketch

Old man - 72ish on his death bed. Makes a bet with the Devil. The rest of his days for a single day of his youth to re-live.

Chooses the day his 1st true love rejected him; late in his senior year of high school. He plans to change it, the bet is that whatever he does today will not change the outcome of his life.

At 1st he is thrilled. He is young and fit, and savors simple things like healthy kidneys.

Sees his mother and his childhood best friend, both of whom he has not seen alive in decades. At the Diner, best friend is making purposely dumb jokes; funny. Importantly, his friend tells the titular joke:

"Why did the monkey fall out of the tree? Go, on ask me.... go on!"
"okay, why did the monkey fall out of the tree."
"He was dead."


He tells off the vice-principal.

He sees _The Girl_ and proceeds to fall in love all over again. With a lifetime of experience and confidence, things look like they might go better; at first. But he is overwhelmed by the combined weight of his past memories and a lifetime of his fantasies about what "should" have been. He forgets his age and what that means. The result, ultimately, is he's rejected again. Despite some superficial changes, The Girl, had made up her mind long ago about him, such that the time, place, and circumstances are basically the same as the first go-round.

He realizes that he now has not only lost The Girl, but also lost his soul to the Devil. He is very distraught. So much so that he makes a last desperate attempt to prove the Devil wrong by driving onto the railroad track.

The sound of train whistle turns into the sound of the Devil's laughter as the clock on the car dashboard reaches midnight. The light from the train becomes the light above the Old Man's death bed. The Devil's laughing fades away to the sound of Grandson weeping at the foot of the bed.

It's better without this next part, but if they make a movie, audiences will want a happy ending, so--

"What's wrong, kid?"
"Grandpa, the Doctor says you are not going to make it."
"He's right."

They have some sort of conversation that makes the Grandson change his mind about something established in passing before the Old Man made the bet. The Devil (who is disguised as a doctor in the hospital) drops his clipboard, to symbolize that the old man beat the bet somehow and can keep his soul.

Conversation finishes like this:

"I'm getting sleepy now."
"I'll get the Doctor"
"No, don't. I'm ready for the big nap."

Grandson starts to cry.

"A good friend used to cheer me up when I felt sad, Malachi. Malachi, come here. I want to tell you a.. something."

Realizing that he alone will hear his grandfather's last words, Malachi leans forward attentively. The Old Man starts to fade. Gently, Malachi rouses the Old Man, who finally says:

"Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?"

My Thoughts About Thanksgiving (reprint)

The following was originally published in 1981 for Ms. Edelstein's first grade class. I suppose that makes it property of the Yonkers School System or perhaps its dedicated to the public domain because
its academic writing. Anyhow, its the sort of thing only your mom will keep:

MY THOUGHTS ABOUT THANKSGIVING
A long, long time in England there were Pilgrims. But they were not happy. They had no freedom. So they sailed across the Atlantic Ocean and they landed on Cape Cod thanks to the Mayflower. Some people, were still alive after the winter. They found Squanto. They had a party and the Indians got drunk and had the party for three days.

William
-----------------------------------------------
The point is not lost on me that if I were a first grader today, writing an essay about death and drunkenness would draw a big fat "letter home to Mom". I wonder how my mom would have reacted. No, I don't: she would have told the teacher to do her job and stop bothering her. She would have also given some sort of lecture about academic freedom.
--
Sent from my mobile device

Whatever is the opposite of self-doubt

This is how my kids see me. I was going to post this a week ago, but I got bronchitis. And the cat ate my homework. And gentrification, let's blame gentrification as well. Ok, back to the story. This is how the kids see me.

I was going to rent a costume at the RenFest, but Dakota had a very clear idea of how I should look and couldn't articulate it. But at the "House of Dra" as I was talking to the shop wench (chortle) Dakota jumps forward with the green tunic. At the "haberdasher of doom" (not the name, I just forgot what the other shop was really called), Dakota picked out the Robin Hood hat, which I was skeptical of because it is too small for my giant noggin. But Jason liked it too, and the kids begged me to get it. So I say, that's how they see me.

A few months ago, I was out with a friend who told me that my problem was that I aspired to be my family's "White Knight" and how that wasn't realistic or healthy. She observed that White Knights are chaste, delusional, violent, and ultimately suicidal. (Nice!) Her advice was that I needed to change the story; be something else; see myself as something else.

"Maybe I could be a rouge, like Han Solo?"

"Great choice, but I just don't think you're Han Solo."

Maybe not. And at 265 lbs, I am a bit more Little John than Robin Hood, but I certainly can be a "Merry Man."  Somehow, that term always makes me think of Mermen, then Ethel Merman. But, I digress.

Maybe I could be the portly Robin Hood, the Howard Cunningham Robin Hood (think about it...) Anyhow, I wasn't going to post this one either, but after 2 AM Walmart shopping this morning, I watched "Robin Hood" (the one with Uma Thurman) on cable and saw the movie as a sign (yeah, a sign of bad sleeping habits!)

Actually the sign, or signs, are the two "blessings" that my kids picked up from the vendor who sold me the tunic. There was a stack of cards ("Imbued with magick... pick one m'lord") But because, I feel fairly cursed with when it comes to inanimate objects that predict my fate (I once got a fortune cookie that said "You suck!") I told the kids to each pick a blessing. And this is actually the point of this post, as each picked the perfect blessing for them.

Dakota picked:

When I examine myself and my methods of thought, I come to the conclusion that the gift of fantasy has meant more to me than my talent for absorbing positive knowledge.
-- Albert Einstein

Jason picked:

If there is any kindness I can show, or any good thing I can do to any fellow being, let me do it now and not deter or neglect it, as I shall not pass this way again.
-- William Penn

Dermabond, America

It is 11 PM. The kids and I are at the 59 Diner on Kirkwood. Dakota and Jason split a plate of Mac n'Cheese, and a vanilla shake. I had a Buffalo Burger -- all the way Texas style, and a black&white shake. We all split my fries.
Jason is talking to me. I can't focus on what he is saying because I am looking at the purple sparkly Dermabond that has sealed his Harry Potter scar. Earlier this evening, I had the idea to have the kids actually help me clean the house, so that they'd be tired before bed. That lasted about 3 minutes before Jason managed to lacerate his forehead on the kitchen counter like Leland Palmer possessed by evil Bob at the end of season 1 of Twin Peaks. My smallbig boy was crying and holding his forehead. When I pulled his hands away to inspect the cut, he started screaming from the blood on his hands, but I was calm. At least I was in the house. Driving through the inky blackness of 99 at night, the humidity and the darkness just feels like uncertainty. Somehow I got to thinking about past medical bills and about the mendacity of the insurance system. Nevertheless, my anguish and trepidation dissipated as I pulled up to the ER entrance.
When I was just a bit more than Jason's age, I cut my chin on the water slide at Sprain Ridge pool. They shot me a local and gave me a stitch that took several weeks to heal. I have a sweet scar; still visible. I was calm in the kitchen because using a butterfly closure to staunch the dripping from the fresh roast beef sandwich on my son's forehead brought back familiar memories. But medical technology has improved a lot in 29 years. Dermabond is essentially a skin glue with scar-preventing properties, and that's all they needed.
Jason looks at me and smiles "This shake is so yummy!" He rubs his belly through his "Woodsie the Owl" t-shirt (give a hoot don't pollute) and laughs because he is tickling himself.
Dakota is coloring in Disney princesses. When we got to the ER, she drilled the intake personnel with the facts (thisisjasonheismybrother. thatsfirstnamejasonlastnamelispelled "L-I" andhehithisheadonthekitchenisland AND I AM REALLY WORRIED!) And truly, she was trembling. Her eyes were wide like saucers; becoming moist as she fought to maintain her composure. The hospital staff seemed genuinely touched by this sincere and sincerely smart big sister. So they gave her some crayons, some pages to color, and they reassured her.

"Daddy, may I be excused to play the jukebox?"

"Knock yourself out, princess. It's free"

After selecting "the big bopper" she comes back and neatly finishes Cinderella's ball gown. The other dining patrons are diggin' the tune, too. All around us are high school kids, these are the clean cut ones who don't drink and who went to the football game. Apparently some of the high school games are also on saturday night. They are also enjoying burgers fries and shakes.
We could only be in America.
When I was young, I would watch "Happy Days" and dream about an America that cynical adults said never was and didn't exist. Here it is, though. An actualization in the present of a past that never was. And I am living it.
Its not a place without its problems. Behind Dakota's touching concern for her brother are the beginnings of the unhealthy anxieties of a divorced kid. This phenomon is now decades old here and I would have recognized even if I wasn't myself a divorced kid, but as I am, it's quite plain. And speaking of unhealthy, if the cholesterol in my food, speeds a fatal heart disease, apparently I will be part of the plurality. All of which inevitability points me to the class tensions and racial tensions lurking in the background; a legacy of ancestral evil that stubbornly refused to be extricated from heritage and thusly endures.
But these problems are also somewhat evidentiary of the conclusion that, ultimately, this really is a good place. Not because America is perfect but because of how it aspires to be all the right kinds of better. Cynics can rightly observe that many of the measures enacted to realize improvements are baby steps or two steps forward mixed with one step back, but I'll take that.
The kids see both their parents almost every day, the menu boasts "no trans-fats!", delicious moderately priced food is egalitarian, and tonight in this simulacrum of a late 1950's diner, there is mosiac of different races and ethnicities co-existing thanks to a veneer of friendliness and hospitality which forces an indifference to whatever tensions still exist today. All of this combines to make this place that never was, much better than any place that actually could have been in 1959.
As I share a meal with my family, and appreciate America, these patriotic lyrics play in my head:

These days are all, happy and free.
These days are all, share them with me.

Dermabond.

Can Obama be as great as Fonzie? No

There is a lot of belief that Obama can make the world a better place. In my memory, I can't think of a time when so many things were so bad with the potential to get so much worse, so just keeping the world from ending would be a validation of our hopes.

That said:

Remember when Fonzie was temporarily struck blind and Ralph and Potzie disassembled his motorcycle and Fonzie fought through tears until he realized he found the parts of his carberator and he reassmbled his whole bike just from feel?

How about when he rescued Pinky Tuscadaro from the Malachi Brothers only to let the love of his life go free?

How about when he proved his patriotism to fellow jurors by showing his red white and blue socks, then went on to convince the panel to vote for acquittal?

Can Obama make the jukebox play by hitting it just so?


Did you guess my point yet? Did you guess my point is "Obama is just a man. He is not a mythic hero like the Fonz.". Did you just say "exactamundo"? You did?

Heyyyyyyyyyy!

Super Why and fate in fiction

Super Why is a kids show that I watch with Jason that very directly
addresses a problem I have with things like luck or fate in fiction.

The show's protaganist, Wyatt, and his friends, "the Super
Readers," have the power to enter into the fictional world of a familiar
story (eg Pinoccio) and interview a character in order to export a
lesson learned to their own situation in their world. The twist is
that the lesson to be learned is always first learned in the story
universe, but the character is unable to act any differently
nothwithstanding having the lesson communicated to the character by
the Super Readers because the text of the story has predestined their
action. At this point, Wyatt invokes the power of some sort of magical
artifact to expose the underlying sentence of the text that mandates
this act and the super readers try other possible words or phrases to
change the story. The outcome is ultimately successful and a heraldic
ballad is sung in voice over.

When I was a senior at Rice, I wrote a paper exploring the ontological
status of fictional worlds. Specifically I was fascinated by the
relationship of fictional worlds with the real world and how the
ability to write additional text was a way to change not just the
world of that story but the ontological status of that creation. To a
certain extent I was thinking specifically about cultural icons who
seem to have a life beyond the original text (ie I examined Sherlock
Holmes).

In later years, however, I began to get very annoyed with "M Night
Shamalan" style movies about strange twists of fate. Audiences would
come out of the movie with a strong and very flawed notion of fate.
But in a story, fate is absolute and time is an illusion.

Thus far I am Dr Obvious. In watching Super Why, I realize that the
writers of that show are on to something brilliant. If ever you are
unhappy with how something happens in a book, get out your pen and
change it. You own the book, gosh darn it, that story better go the
way you want. Want Romeo to bloviate a bit longer until Juliet wakes
up and for them to cry and hug and kiss and skip town to become humble
shop keepers in Sardina where they live out their days in a rich and
full life filled with children, friends, grandchildren, and emotional
honesty? Well, go for it! Shakespeare can shove it, that is your copy of
the book.

Towards this end, I admit that SNL also stumbled onto this realizatiom
years ago with their far more satisfying alternate ending to "its a
wonderful life"

zuzu: daddy when a bell rings that means an angel got his wings. ...

--
Sent from Gmail for mobile | mobile.google.com

The Light of New York

Years ago, I commented to my brother, Eugene, that the light in New York was different. He said it had to do with latitude. I doubt it. New York has a similiar latitude to Madrid and Rome, but the light is different.

The first time I noticed it was not when I went to Rice. It was when I was four.
"Three's Company" was shot on video, but "M*A*S*H" and "Happy Days" were filmed. Even filmed, the lighting for "Charlie's Angels" was not the same as "M*A*S*H" and "Happy Days." Those shows were the stark light of reality. The light of New York.

In the years I have spent away from New York, I tend to forget how harsh and disconcerting it is, how steeped it is with my own pasts, the ghosts of my unknown ancestors, and the forgotten memories of things I should understand happened here but don't.

The light of New York is indelible. It soaks into the granite and steel. It attaches to the soot and rain. It has a smell. Indelible is one of those great English words that I learned in LING 201 that entered the English language more than once thanks to the Romans. It's related to the word "delete." I would know more about the word if I had studied real linguistics past LING 201, but I was interested in what Dave kindly once referred to as "total nonsense."

I had a point here, but I forgot what it was. Ok, I remember now. It was a point about nonsense. And here, will be one of the few times that I actually explain what I am saying, rather than trailing off.

Ultimately, I admit that the light in New York looks no different than other places. But honestly, I truly perceive a difference in the quality of the light. Amazingly, the latitude theory is offered by someone who does not have that perception; a theory that I would not have come up with.

This is what it means to cope, to be part of a family. It's a shared nonsense. And if its a fact, I believe it. And the fact is that the light of reality can be harsh, in New York and elsewhere. Believe it.

Believe it.

Well... it looks like A-rod's going to the Dodgers

Although I am very disappointed by this development, I certainly understand. La-la land is a place where entertainment industry characters of far lesser strength, dexerity, constitution, and charisma get far more gold. Time will only tell if A-rod will lost the encumberance of the pinstripes. Although he nearly by himself in an advanced prestige class, for sure, he will take his game to the next level, where he will have more hits, points, plus greater chances on NL relievers' saving throws.



He must beware, however, of future encounters with the Yankees. I suspect that his party will have the initiative if there is a melee, but the Yankees know some dark magic as a result of being so diabolic (that is to say, lawful evil).

Disappointed over Don

I am also disappointed to see Mattingly exit the bombers. Although, not nearly disappointed as Mattingly himself. Joe G continues the Yanks tradition of having catchers as managers that includes Yogi and... well Yogi is enough.

Where will the Don go? Will he ever come back? I don't know, but I will welcome the prodigal sons return if he does. Maybe he can come down to Houston. If he does, I'll invite him over and he can help me build the playset for the kids. I bet he'd like that. Uh oh, this is getting to be a repeat of the happy days post. ("Get it? The mailbox is Haldeman!")

I hope that he doesn't end up at the Red Sux or the Mutts. I would feel very cornflicted, like Parcels at the Cows.

20 year old Turmeric

An alternative title for this blog entry was going to be "Old Spice" but there is so much more comedy to be mined here than a pun.

First of all: McCormick should be mocked for stealing the advertising concept of STRIDE CHEWING GUM, except that the McCormick people actually put an AWESOME WEB APP that tells me "Your product was manufactured on 7/15/1987"

And thanks to VH1, I don't even have to work hard to wax nostalgic about 1987.

Seriously, this almost (but not quite) beats the gigantic can of tomato soup that Andy Chen gave us as a house warming gift.

Was it to eat or as an object d'art?
Isn't eating just a form of "performance art"?
Isn't all art just consumption?
Isn't the point of the movie "Moulin Rouge" that "love conquers greed but consumption conquers Nicole Kidman"?

Second:

Where did this Turmeric come from? The possible source are-

1. I obtained it from one of my roommates

2. Louren brought it from Florida

3. One of Louren's parents got it from one of their parents

4. Someone left it at our house.

5. Baltimore

The correct answer is "Apple Core, Baltimore, who's your friend...?" ME!

Third:

A Harold Pinter Play in One Act

[William enter stage right holding ancient can of Turmeric]

WILLIAM: It still smells like Tumeric! [pronounced like two words - "Tumor" and "Rick"]

LOUREN: Do you even know what Turmeric is supposed to smell like? I don't even know what recipes call for it.

WILLIAM: You add it to Béchamel to make Béarnaise sauce.

LOUREN: That's Tarragon.

WILLIAM: Oh.

[curtain]

Fourth:
Didn't Magellan die trying to go to the supermarket trying to pick up some Turmeric?
By "go" I mean "circumnavigate planet earth in a starship" by "starship" I mean "Jefferson Airplane" and
by "Jefferson Airplane" I mean "a boat less seaworthy than my Boy Scout Regatta Rubber-band propelled sloop" and
by supermarket I mean "The Philippines" and
by "pick up some Turmeric" I mean "forcibly subjugate thousands of natives with a force of a few dozen scurvy-mad recently released convicts"

....

I believe that Magellan's last words were "should have gone to Baltimore"

Slap Me Earth Day, Happy Birthday

Happy Earth Day

When I was in first grade, I had a friend who I thought was cool. He also thought he was cool, so much so that tried to be Fonzie. Being Fonzie was an ideal that all the boys at P.S. 26 aspired to, but my friend (who shall remain nameless... oh nameless is boring... let's call him "Herbert" as in Arthur Herbert Fonzarelli), Herbert, was the most explicit about his aspiration to be Fonzie. For various reasons this aspiration was not challenged by anyone and, in fact, greatly respected by all.

How did Hebert emulate the Fonz? It was not by having hair so perfect that it did not need combing (although Herbert did have that in a very "1980 kid" kind of way) nor by riding a motor cycle or having a leather jacket or saying "Ay..." or by being able to turn electro-mechanical equipment on/off by snapping or hitting the side of it with finesse or by having the power to summon chicks... Hebert probably could have done all of these things and thinking about his later life (which, sadly, was filled with strife like the episodes where Fonzie goes blind, rides to the top of Dead Man's Peak, gets hit in the face by a drunk Richie, is dumped by the deaf chick, is dumped by Heather, unknowingly meets father who had abandon him as a baby, begrudgingly meets his half-brother who bears the grim news that his aforementioned father has died, has his bike disassembled, endeavors in vain to get the town to overcome its racism, is frozen by Mork from Ork, has the near-fatal accident, and almost loses Pinky Tuscadero to the Malachi crunch only to lose her to the realization that her fame will eclipse his identity, and is nearly run out of town by the fascist cop all at once... whoa!) probably did, eventually.

But in first grade, Herbert concentrated on one particular aspect of Fonzie emulation, and that was being wise like the Fonz. This was embodied in many Fonzie to Richie like pronouncements to me about how to be cool, and... if you have already guessed: that he would emulate Fonzie by predicating requests that I slap fives with the first half of a rhyming couplets (the second half of which would be revealed following the conveyance of said five and would normally have rhyme that was both wistful and ironically cosmic) ... then give yourself a big 'ol "exactamundo."

Anyway: First grade was years before the mainstreaming of the holiday where we celebrate the eco-catastrophe of our species' unbridled avarice, pride, and sloth (Wikipedia tells me that Earth Day started in 1970, but I don't believe anyone knew what Earth Day was before Captain Planet) so in that sense, Hebert was extremely cool for predicting that we would all be slapped Earth Day on our Birthday or on April 22 which was everyone's Birthday, everyone from planet Earth, that is.

So...

Slap me Earth Day, Herbert.

Slap me Earth Day, indeed.

 .

Origami: The worst marketing campaign since the introduction of the Neon.

Except when Dodge did it, "hello" was an innovative catch-phrase.

At least be computer-literate and say "Hello, World."

Anyhow early adopters aren't biting on your hype. The presumptious and coy nature of these ads remind me of early commercials for "American Express Blue" which turned out to be "SURPRISE" a credit card.

Will, why are you so cranky about this?

Maybe it's just because I haven't seen anything truly fresh or original in this product space hit the shores of the United States since they brought over the Libretto from Japan in 1997 and the fact that "origami" seems to be a delibrate nod to the uningenuity of the American palmtop market. Or maybe its because it looks so darn much like the Vulcan Flipstart that it makes me pine for the days when Paul Allen and Bill Gates were on the same team. Or maybe its because its running Windows CE which is only the third worst product ever (#1 BizTalk #2 SMS)

Or maybe its because the X-Box 360 and the wireless optical mouse with the snap-in are evidence that there are lots of really great product designers at Microsoft that I am totally so disappointed to see something so stale buggy hit the market.


No... its the lousy lousy marketing. "Let's brand build!"
How about this, marketing Chuffy, make products that consumers want rather than brand consumers into the products you make?


I would be happy to eat those words, and maybe when they come out with the "version 3.1" of the product, I will.

I like "Freddie"

Louren Tivos "Freddie" for me. I thought that the show would be a guilty pleasure as it starts Chico's son, David from 9-0, and Shelly the waitress from "Twin Peaks" but once I got over the stunt cast, I realized that I was watching a bona fide good show made for people who are about my age who regard sitcoms with some disdain for the assumption that if they hype it enough we will like them out of submission (see Friends) and are generally suspicious of the low quality hacks who write by commitee to produce dismal luke-warm awfulness (see Full House, Home Improvement, Growing Pains, The Jeff Foxworthy Show, The Bonnie Hunt Show, The Jim Belushi Show, the Damon Wayans Show, etc.) What's the difference with "Freddy"? It's the "Happy Days" qualities 1. Funny details. Sometimes people say stuff that is funny without specifically being a joke. This happened a lot on Happy Days (and generally tended to happen more in 1970's era sitcoms)

HOWARD: What's this Marion? MARION: Oh Howard, its more sweet sixteen gifts from out of town relatives. This is from the Timsons HOWARD: The Timsons eh... MARION: Oh what's wrong, Howard? HOWARD: Well, I hope its something good because we got them a very expensive gift last year for their daughter's confirmation MARION: Howard, you got them an electric drill HOWARD: It's the thought that counts, and anyway, it had four speeds!

Gary Marshal was always throwing in implicitly critical middle-class observations like that which would connect with the audience. I would butcher the line in the recent episode of "Freddie" that does the same thing but essential the observation is that when he and his sister were young, they were poor and the thing that they were deprived of was COLECOVISION (check out their website, its so ironic that it crosses the line and actually is awful, unless the irony is unintentional, so hard to tell with these kids) so Sarah (the sister who apparently was on NYPD blue, whatever) made Freddie paint himself blue and jump over mushrooms because they couldn't play Smurf Rescue (you can actually play the game here) which is hysterical if you've ever seen or played the game. It's also funny on the level of speaking somewhat more candidly about "want" means today as opposed to during the Great Depression. This gets to my second point 2 I have some further opinions about why "Happy Days" is funny and how I see the same things in this show but I need to get back to studying.

(The ([adjective])) [Noun]

After glancing at just a few of BRAINWASHED'S CANONICAL GUIDE TO WEIRD BAND NAMES I've decided that I have a subjective stylistic preference that immediately colors my attitude towards bands as "good" or "sucks" based on whether they conform to the format:

(The ([adjective])) [Noun](and (The ([adjective])) [Noun])

For those of you who don't speak computer manual, I'll explain.

I like bands that are a single noune with our without the definite article. This includes:

U2
R.E.M. {William, that's an action - shove it}
Tool {William, You don't like Tool - ah, but I did have a good initial impression of them based on their name until their sound turned me off, get it?}
The Who
The Cure
The Go-Gos
The Doves
The Alarm

If bands have an adjective, they need to have the definite article or else my initial impression is that they are bad. This is, however, a rebuttable presumption such as is the case with

Modest Mouse {Although their sound has grown tiresome}
My Morning Jacket {Not the definite article}

Although:
The Happy Mondays


oh listen, this post has already got me tired with its tediousness.

Sly & The Family Stone

is a name using all of the rules of I like it

and

They Might Be Giants

is a name that breaks all the rules of I like it, except that its a movie so its actually:

"They Might Be Giants" and sound be considered as [noun]

Interestingly, following this "movie titles are [noun]" rule means that I would like band named The Iron Giant either for itself or as a reference to "The Iron Giant"




What set this all off?

Sentence two pf Rule 193.4(a) of Texas Rules of Civil Procedure where it stipulates "The party making the objection or asserting the privilege must present any evidence necessary to support the objection or privilege. The evidence may be testimony presented at the hearing or affidavits served at least seven days before the hearing or at such other reasonable time as the court permits."

{William, That's two sentences -- shove it}

Dinner by Chuy's, Entertainment by Dakota

So Monday night, we (me and the kids) met up with various friends (Kerry, Eric, John, Melissa's Friend Kat and family, the Darlingtons) to celebrate Melissa's birthday. A fun time was had by all, and Jason was quite happy to fill William's usual spot with cute smiles and messy eating (just kidding Will - Jason is a way neater eater than you).

And Dakota was her usual awesomeness. That girl is so smart, and so energetic, the she constantly amazes everyone, even herself I think, with her antics.

I can't even, three days later, think of what specifically made my hair curl and skin crawl, but I am sure other people can.

All I know is I Love my little girl, crazy/energetic fireball and all.

And it 2 years she can use the skating skills she is aquiring to play ice hockey. Surely THAT sport will tire her out, right?

Happy Birthdays Trav and Eric!

Ok, so Trav's is a little (ok, a lot) late, but Eric's is early. Does that balance it out?

Ya'll missed an awesome Beer Bike. But we cheered our hearts out for you at beer bike. Or "the bicycle race" as it was called in front of Dakota, so she doesn't talke about something with beer in the name at school. Ollie and Laef looked great, and Melissa's belly continues its expansion, and Melissa continues to make pregnancy look oh so easy!

The Logic Vortex or "Hey Mark Stevens, A is not A!"

Another idea blown away. For some reason Dakota started screaming, "I've got monkeys in my head."

"Dakota, Don't think about Monkeys!" I commanded, fully expecting that Dakota would experience the joy of futility in the tradition of Don't think about elephants

But her Kung-fu is proving to be better than mine. Immediately, she smiled and said "Ok! I'm thinking about lions!"

Just to test, I asked, "What were you thinking about?"

"I don't know... lions?"

Then it hit me: my three-year old daughter is a natural master of what my peers ridiculously have called "The Logic Vortex."

I thought to earlier in the evening as we were driving through Chick-Fil-a at 6PM and Dakota asked "Daddy, is it day time?"

"Dakota, what do you think?"

"It's day time."

"Is the the sun out?"

"Yes"

"No, the sun is not out," I said firmly, "Do you see Ray?"

"I don't see Luna, so Ray must be out."

I thought about this for a moment. For the last several days, she has been working on this construction. Against all fact, and against all that was apparent, she was trying to assert that night is day using sheer argument. For you formalists, what she had constructed was a weak form of a Refutative Enthymeme.

"Okay, Dakota, you win. It must surely be day time."

The disjoint between the world as she observes it and the facts as adults force upon her (all kids, not just her) is both real and vibrant. It is also the source of her instinct that statements of facts are epistemological constructs and therefore based on persuasion, consent, and coercion.

Or course, all kids seem to get this. For those of you who need some examples: telling non-sleepy kids that its naptime, or my favorite example is food and play food ("See that food, don't play with that" "but it looks like something fun to play with" "See that toy that looks like food, don't eat it." "but it looks good to eat" this isn't just mere contradiction, kids food often looks like a fun toy but is, in fact, quite inedible [try eating it yourself some time] while play food is totally boring [it just sits there after all] but can often look delicious [especially meat and fruit]) Some kids have trouble with the disconnect between apparent truth and stated fact resulting in stuff like: can't distinguish their imaginary friends from real people, fibs, contrariness. What is less clear is that (from time to time) every adult continues to do these things and, in particular, will tend do do it a lot when dealing with kids.

Its neat to see kids working out their cognitive dissonance, to me anyway. I think that most parents and teachers dread this liminal state and hope for the point where kids become "normal" and display the "correct" behavior: having no imagination, believing everything they are told by people in authority as gospel, mistaking rhetoric for logic, and mistaking simple deduction for original thought. I have a bigger rant that starts "Why is the point of childhood to encourage imagination only to have the point of adolescence be to crush that imaginativeness?" but I'll save that for a time when I am angry, this is a happy post.

For years, I felt as if the arbitrary nature of epistemological assertion was best summed up by something Andy Chen once observed, "I love arguments about Aesthetics. They all basically go like this: I think that is ugly. No it isn't"

But Dakota Jane has done better in two steps:

First she asserts that night is day, then she really changes her mind and thinks about lions instead.

The strange and beautiful life of Rodney Dangerfield

One of the last great stalwarts of old-school stand-up has died. When Rodney Dangerfield was young and arrogant and 19, he set out for upstate New York to become a great comedian. He was mediocre to poor, so he married the signer and moved to New Jersey to sell paint and siding.

People have to suffer for great art. Suffering takes on many forms. Living in the Suburban purgatory of Englewood New Jersey through the "Happy Days" years was Rodney Dangerfield's liminal state. He emerged from that dark place a changed man.

Rodney now had a beautiful gift: insult everyone and then insult yourself worse. Rodbey Dangerfield was the king of making people laugh at him. The jokes would flow, enticing you forcing you really to laugh at, not with, him. Cruel humor, dredged up from an ugly part of human nature brought crashing down upon his head, a self-inflicted wound: the verbal equivalent of the carnival self-immolation artist.

Go and rent Back to School and remember: "you're a Melon".

Rodney died of a broken heart. He is survived by three wifes, the last of whom loved him dearly.

Happy 5 years, Trav & Kerry

Through the miracle of the change time and date function of blogger, I can easily mask that this post is nearly 5 days late. I assure you, the sentiments were not, but I couldn't find the address book.

A new season of Happy Days

Upon greater scrutiny, it turns out that Nick from Family Ties (Mallory's boyfriend) is nothing like The Fonz.

Happy Days was the most brilliant sitcom ever. I wish that they would bring it back for another season. Whole cast: Tom Bosley, Marion Ross, Ron Howard, Donnie Most, Anson Williams, Henry Winkler, Scott Baio, Erin Moran, and Al Molinari. Not a reunion show, no contrivances to get them back into Millwaukie. Just a continuation of the show.
In episode #1, Fonzie's adopted son gets his braces removed by Ralph Malph (a dentist) and then tries out for part in a movie being shot at Rich's movie studio. He misses his call-back audition because he has to baby sit for Joanie and Chachi. "Joanie why are you all gussied up, its our bowling nite!" "Nice try, Chach."
In episode 2, Roger Cunningham gets abducted by Mork (special guest star Robin Williams) no one goes to rescue him. "Keep him, he's your problem now" says Mr. C. "Oh Howard", says Mrs. C It's up to Potsie to save the day. He hires a lawyer who server Mork with a writ of habeous corpus and then Mork has to give up. Na-new, na-new.
In the third episode, Mr. and Mrs. C are having trouble hooking up their TiVo but Jenny Picalo helps out.
In the 4th episode, Fonzie and Chachi visit Houston and hang out with the peeps at Han's Bier Haus.
Its a two-parter:
in episode five, Chachi mows my lawn and the Fonz fixes the front driver-side quarter-panel of my car. Like clockwork, I mess it up again in the same way. Al says, "Yep, yep, yep, yep yep."
In the sixth episode, I go hang out with Richie Cunningham in San Dimas (where my employer has an office). I show him our Cisco IP Phone (tm) system which he decides would be great for a commerical. He calls the Malachi Brothers (now ad execs) and tells them, "I've got a great idea, Buck-o." Then we go do pilates. Why are you still reading this?