Monday, December 21, 2009

This Isn't Likely To Turn Out Well

1. I am bothered by people outside, on streetcars, in stores, etc., watching me.

Isn't everyone?

2. There's no point in doing things for people; you only find you get it in the neck in the long run.

Fucking A.

3. Maybe some minority groups do get rough treatment, but it's no business of mine.

Get away from me.

4. Sometimes I think of things too bad to talk about.


5. I would have been more successful if people had given me a fair chance.


Songs I Never Hated - Part 17

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Mirror, Mirror

"Have you done your homework?" I asked my middle son.

"Yes. Stop bothering me," he said. "I'm watching a show."

"Turn off the damn television. You've got basketball tomorrow and I want to make sure you've got everything."

"Aaargh," he snarled. "Leave me alone."

"Don't talk to me like that."

"Then don't talk to me like that."

My oldest scowled at us. "They should lock the two of you in a house for a month and make a reality show out of it."

"It would suck spending a month with him," said the middle boy.

"When I get a raise I can afford to have you killed," I told him.

"Nice parenting, dad," he replied.

"Why would you say something like that?" the Lovely Bride asked me.

"He's irritating," I said.

"You better be glad that's not a capital crime," she said.

Monday, December 14, 2009

Well Done, Indeed

The Lovely Bride graduated last Friday.

She was in another career for a while. A good long while, in fact, far longer than either of us expected when she first took a job in that field. It paid her well and taught her much and eventually she hated it.

"What would you do if you were getting chased by an alligator and the only way to escape was to climb a tree full of snakes?" she asked me one morning when we used to carpool.

"Boy, sweetheart, I don't know," I answered. "Are you feeling trapped?"

"Maybe a little," she said, turning to stare out the passenger window.

One night many years later she came home and said, "I want to do something else."

"Okay," I said.

"I want to go back to school," she said.

"Okay," I said, quietly panicking inside.

So back to school she went. She kept working, going to school at night and on weekends, working during the day, at first in her old career, then something else closer to home, trading money for flexibility.

"Do you know how long I've been taking classes?" she asked as we were dressing for last Friday's graduation ceremony.

"Forever?" I guessed.

"Almost. Seven of the last eight years."

"Like I said. Forever."

"It wasn't that bad, was it?"

"No," I said. "I really enjoyed every minute I spent with our children."

"Was it really that bad?"

"Sometimes it was."

"Yes, sometimes it was," she said.

"Thank God for our friends," I said. "I would have died without them."

"We are lucky to have our friends," she said.

"Are you glad you went back to school?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "I love my new profession."

"I bet you're good at it," I said.

"I hope so. I think I am."

"I know you are," I said. "I'm proud of you."

"I love you," said the Lovely Bride.

"I love you too," I said. "Now let's go get you graduated."

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Wednesday, December 9, 2009


"Do you have any pictures of R. fishing?" the email said. R.'s colleagues are putting together a collage for his birthday.

"Yes," I replied. "Fishing. Drinking. Yelling at his kids. Weeping. Let me know what you'd like."

"Fishing will be fine," came the reply.

So I sent her a photo from a while ago. R. is alone in it, but just outside the frame are his three boys and my three boys and me.

On the way out, we were looking for moose, which meant slow and careful driving down gravel roads, which meant long and painful complaining from the back seats, which were filled with six boys between the ages of five and eleven.

"Shut up," R. finally told his oldest.

"This is stupid," his oldest replied.

"No, stupid is sitting on the couch playing video games," said R.

"No, stupid is driving around at ten miles per hour looking for an animal that doesn't live here," said his oldest.

"God damn it," said R., turning in his seat and swiping with futility at the children. "I swear to God I'm going to fucking kill you all."

"Oooh," said R.'s son. "Wait until mom hears about this."

"You'll be dead so it won't matter," said R., scrabbling to unbuckle himself so he could have at it.

"Look, a moose," I said, pointing to the animal loping along in front of our car.

"Cool," said the boys.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Be Still My Heart

A group of scientists in the Netherlands has successfully grown a product vaguely resembling pork in a petri dish.