Fat Cigars and Bass Guitars

One morning not too long ago, on the way to drop my kids at daycare, I was waiting at a red light when what should pass before me but a perfectly fine excellent example of a quintessential old man. He navigated his shiny gold Chrysler slowly through the intersection. Funny, though it was a newer model, it still seemed to float with the boatlike grace of a much older vehicle. Fedora on his head, suit on his back, big fat cigar nestled between a smile that told me there just had to be music in that car. Something big-bandy and jazzy. 

After dropping the boys off, I found myself waiting at yet another red light because that’s just the kind of luck I have. Walking through a parking lot next to me was a boy of about  sixteen. He wore those tight jeans that all the kids are so fond of these days and a Batman tee-shirt of the style that was so popular around the time that Tim Burton’s take on the Caped Crusader hit theaters. But the detail most compelling about this lad was the black bass guitar he carried. He had it slung over his shoulder as if it were a literal axe. No case, no amp, just the instrument itself, as if he’d just gotten his hands on it, perhaps borrowed or purchased after scrimping and saving for months so he could finally take that first step from just listening to music to making it. I hoped he wasn’t headed to a pawn shop.

I saved an entire summer to buy my first guitar. I know it sounds like a fucking Bryan Adams song, but it’s true. It was a black Ibanez and it had a whammy bar. Nobody should die without striking a power chord at least once in their life.

Have you ever had a thought just pop into your head? Of course you have. I might as well ask if you’ve ever farted at an inopportune moment. As I pulled away from that intersection, it occurred to me, “I bet that kid is that old guy’s grandson.” Why in the world I thought it, why it should be so, I can’t tell you. But I liked the idea. I liked the thought of this cigar-chomping old man and his teenage grandson riding around in that gold Chrysler, each trying to impress upon the other an appreciation for the music that they loved. Like maybe after a few of Benny Goodman’s greatest hits, the old fellow would let the boy pop in his band’s CD. And even if it’s not his cup of tea, which of course it won’t be because nothing compares to the music of one’s youth, the old man will glow with pride that his grandchild is doing his part to organize sound and noise into something recognizable as music.

It’s true, no music touches us as deeply as the music of our formative years. All the same, I hate it when people bitch that there hasn’t been any good music created in X number of years where X = Bitching Person’s Current Age - Bitching Person’s Most Recent Formative Age (typically somewhere between 18 and 23). 

The old man pulls up to a house, the house of his grandson’s friend, the friend whose dad has a bunch of old musical equipment in the garage that he lets the kids use, even though he hates their sound. They sit for a moment, letting the song finish. The old man has softened a bit with age, and finds it easier to express to his grandson the kind of praise that he wishes he had lauded more freely upon his own children. He was always proud of them, sure, but for whatever reason, he was never able to muster the kind of enthusiasm for his children’s pursuits that he feels for this boy’s first foray into making music. The boy gets his bass out of the back seat and goes to band practice smelling like cigar smoke.

At least that’s the way I imagined it.

Rainy Day Donuts

I own an umbrella now, but I didn’t when I woke up last Saturday. I swear we used to own umbrellas. Two beat-up little fold-up numbers, black, full of holes, but still more protection than any halo could ever afford. We spent the summer forgetting we ever needed them, but now that the rain has found its way back, we realized that our old umbrellas are nowhere to be found. Perhaps they felt unappreciated. Maybe they found each other in the dark depths of our closet, fell in love, and moved somewhere where they could be of use. Maybe we’ll get a postcard from Seattle.

The Ash and I were in Fredericksburg last weekend on something of an all-day date/one day vacation while the boys stayed with my Mom. It was raining and we were umbrellaless. It’s true, there’s a certain romance to being a couple in the rain, darting hand in hand from awning to awning, giggling at each other’s soggy dog impersonation. But after a while it gets old and you ask a kindly shopkeeper to point out the nearest umbrella vendor. We bought the last two umbrellas that this little store had on the rack. They were the long kind that The Penguin was so fond of with a J-hook handle for catching wayward geese and a point at the end for pressing elevator buttons from a whole three feet away.

My umbrella was in my car this morning when I awoke to the sound of rain. With both boys ready and myself as ready as I’d ever be, I ran out to get it, then ran back to the house, then walked the two of them out to the car. It was Friday morning, so we had to get going, for Friday is Donut Day. Donut Day is something of a tradition I’ve established with the little guys ever since Pablito’s, the little family-owned bakery up the road, opened their doors. The people there know us, and they know to expect us every Friday morning. Donut Day gets Henry to bed on Thursday nights and wakes him on Friday mornings. Donut Day does not get put on hold just because of a little rain.

I managed to get both boys strapped in while holding the umbrella mostly over my head. Now that I type this, I realize I could have done the actual strapping part from inside the car, but obvious solutions, much like witty retorts, have a way of escaping me when they’re really needed. We pulled into the parking lot of the strip center where Pablito’s is located and they were….closed? Their doors were open, but it looked like a bunch of their furniture was outside, their Open sign was turned off, and the place was full of carpenters. I have no idea what was going on, but they didn’t seem to be open for business. I sincerely hope that’s temporary because there’s nothing quite like the neighborhood bakery.    

Pablito’s aside, there was still the question of Donut Day. Pablito’s may have inspired Donut Day in the first place, but Donut Day is bigger than that now. Donut Day lives on with or without Pablito’s. And besides, the baby was crying. “I’m not crying,” Henry pointed out. Thanks buddy. Daddy needs the break.

A baker’s dozen or so minutes later, we were at another donut store. It was completely out of our way and not quite as good as Pablito’s, but they had donuts dammit. I was already late for work, so our donut consumption happened in the car rather than in the doughy oveny warmth of the donut shop. I dropped the boys off at daycare around the time I normally man my cube. Another Donut Day, successful in spite of the odds.

Austin's bus system has problems

A new one for my collection

So tonight we were watching "Heroes" and, well, not to give anything away if you haven't watched it, but this one particular episode made me realize that if I were ever cast into a situation where I was unable to tell what day it was for an extended period of time, it would totally freak my shit out. If you were stuck with me in this situation, you'd probably end up trying to kill me just so you wouldn't have to keep listening to me try to work my way backwards to the last day that I was certain of. I'd probably become downright unbearable, mumbling shit like "yeah, so that means today is definitely Wednesday, August 13th...unless, wait, my last birthday was on a Tuesday, so that means..." See what I mean? And of course, I'd curse myself relentlessly for not having the foresight to keep better track of time in the first place.

I guess I can add that to my collection of irrational fears. Good thing too, all the old ones were getting stale.

Just a string tied around my finger

Don't misunderstand, if you read this post and enjoy it, that is totally cool with me. But be forewarned, I'm writing this post more for me than anything. And I guess for my wife. See, one of the things I thought would be great about the daddy side of this blog would be to keep a written record of all the stuff my kids are doing in there here and now that I want to be able to recall when I'm old, gray, and bitter. But it occurred to me recently that there's tons of that kind of stuff that I've posted not a lick of. It's mostly just little things, little quirks of behavior, funny utterances, interesting childhood habits, and so forth. And as much as I'd like to work each of these into the telling of a larger story, I don't see that happening anytime soon. And so, in an attempt to plug up ye olde memory hole just a wee bit, here's a nice little bullet list of some of the latest and greatest hits from the world of my kids...mostly the older one, that is, since the younger one just got born like, the other day.

"Hold you." - this is what Henry says when he wants to be picked up. I have no power to resist it.

Bossiness - If he doesn't like something we're doing or saying, we hear about it in the form of "Don't do/say that Daddy/Mama!" Ash was the brilliant one that figured out that if we just keep doing it, but in a silly fashion, his mood turns much brighter. At times, his bossiness takes the form of telling us what we want, as in, "Daddy wants to sit on the butt."

Love baby bro - all of our worries about Henry rejecting his baby brother came to nothing. Henry likes to point at Simon and shout "it's baby bro!" and then kiss him on the head. The other day he even sat down next to him and "read" his animal book to him.

Protective - by that same token, Henry's starting to be kind of protective of Simon. When Ash drops me off at work in the morning and I kiss the boys goodbye, Henry tells me "don't take baby bro, Daddy."

"1, 2, 3, 5..." - Henry has started counting. He gets all the way up to 10, but he always always skips 4.

Neighbor dog - our neighbor has two very sweet dogs that like to come to the fence to say hello. If they're not there, Henry walks up to the fence and calls "Neighbor dog, where are you?"

My nuts - one day not long ago, Henry was walking towards me with a tennis ball, his arm cocked back ready to throw it. By instinct, I covered my crotch and said, "my nuts!" Henry walked around for the next hour repeating "my nuts...my nuts....my nuts."

Chalkboard - one of Henry's Christmas presents was a chalkboard. He's taken to asking me to write people's names on it. I guess he just likes the way the letters look. He'll point to where I've written M A M A and say, "that's Mama" as affectionately as if he were looking at a picture of her. He's not actually reading, of course. I guess he's just figured out what the names look like.

Ocupado - the kids likes privacy when he poops. He goes into his room and asks you to leave if you come in. If you ask if he's pooping, he'll say yes. When he comes out and you ask if he's pooped, he tells you "Don't check it." Except there's no need to take a visual because everybody's shit stinks.

Musical tastes - Henry has no problem requesting the music he wants to hear. "Island", "Middle", "Up and Down", "Reee", "Clappa Hands", and plenty of others are all shorthand for his favorite jams.

"I forgot something" - this is Henry's code for "chase me, catch me, and tickle me."

There now. That oughtta be fun to read in another 30 years.

Dispatches from the Holmesfront

Or, bullet point versions of posts that The Holmes has been wanting to write, but hasn’t the time for currently

The Business of Busyness - Somebody emailed me recently and asked if we (meaning The Ash and I) could possibly be doing any more things at once. The answer is yes, yes we could, but then we would be certifiably batshit insane. New baby on the way, toddler on the loose, condo on the market, school, work, etc. I'm actually slightly terrified of what will happen if the condo actually sells in the next month or two because then "finding new place" and "moving" will officially have to be added to the to-do list. In the midst of everything, I sometimes have to stop and remind myself what it's all for, that there's actually a reason for all this busyness, a goal behind each and every item on our list. That helps a bit. I've also been setting aside a bit of time each day to just stop doing, stop thinking, and just be. Just for a few minutes. I suppose one could call it meditation, though I'll be damned if I can do a full lotus position. It might get me through the semester.

Next Batch of Biscuit - I've been feeling kind of bad that I haven't blogged much about baby number two. True, I've written about him some, both here and over at Dadcentric, but it seems like when Henry was enwombenating, I was posting about him all the time. Of course then, there wasn't a real live toddler running around, and life was, I suppose, a bit slower. It's not that I don't think about the new baby, because I do every day. I guess it's just that his December arrival seems so far away because right now is so very very full. But I promise you this little guy…and this is where I switch from talking to readers to talking to my new son: you're going to get every bit as much love and attention from your folks as your big bro did and does. We can't wait to meet you. Until then, you just hang out in there and make.

Another Lesson in Not Making Assumptions - Perhaps it's because I'm taking more classes this semester and I spend more time among my fellow seminary students, but I'm starting to get the feeling that perhaps I'm not the only one there that doesn't quite “fit in.” Which I suppose means that I fit in just fine. True, I am one of the youngest by far, and there are quite a few more women than men in my program, but the more people I talk to, and the more theology class debates I sit through, the more I realize that I'm not the only one with some wacky ideas about God and religion that some might think would fall outside the norm of what you'd find in such a setting. It would seem that in presenting my own challenge to the assumption of what kind of person goes to seminary, I have in turn had my own assumptions about what kind of person goes to seminary challenged. What brings us all there, I suppose, is a desire to educate ourselves so we can be of service to our fellow earth dwellers, and the notion that perhaps there's a spiritual aspect to our work that functions along with everything else.

Get Some Beer…And Some Cleaning Products – In further evidence that there are Others Like Me at seminary…and this might be just because my theology teacher looks like he would be friends with Floyd from "True Romance", but the other day when he talked about Saint Stephen “getting stoned”, I noticed several people tittering like teenagers. What is this, freshman sociology?

Kid Toys, Adult Party - Last Sunday was Free Museum Day in lovely Austin, Texas, so I scooped up the kiddo and we headed for the Austin Children's Museum while The Ash and her brother painted our living room. Henry had a blast and all, but man, I think I want to rent this place out for my birthday party. We can all drink beer while we play in the Shadow Garden or develop our problem solving skills in the Tinkerer's Workshop. We can station the keg in the game center and play all manner of drinking games. We can use the Austin Kiddie Limits center for karaoke.

For Your Purchasing Pleasure – I’m thinking we should make ink prints of the placenta and silkscreen some tee-shirts and onesies.

Dispatches from the Holmesfront

Blurbs of a random flavor.

These are the things that occur to me
I think it would be really cool if Wu-Tang would take a sample from the show "Deadwood" from any one of the thousands of instances where Al Swearengen says "Fucking Wu!" and then use it in a song. My apologies to those of you who are not familiar with "Deadwood" and/or the Wu-Tang Clan, but you can trust me that it's a really great suggestion.







Fucked Statements: Statements Which Are Fucked
One should refrain from making statements structured according to the following pattern: "I'm not [blank], but [blankety-blank-blank]" where blank = a label or descriptor, often of a negative nature, and blankety-blank-blank = a declaration that clearly indicates that the speaker is in fact what they disclaimed to be in the first portion of the sentence. Examples:

"I'm not a prude, but when I'm in a crowded public place, it sometimes occurs to me that every person I see has genitals and I get so upset that I have to sit down!"

"I'm not a racist, but I sure liked this neighborhood a lot more before those people moved in."

"I'm not an especially vulgar person, but motherfuck this cocksucking son of shit."

To prevent such inconsistencies, one should consider one's disclaimers before appending them to the beginning of any statement. If any incongruities are detected, one should remove the disclaimer before speaking, and simply accept the fact that one is what they would perhaps wish not to be.

The E is for Electronic
An old friend from college whom I've not seen or heard from in over a decade found me recently. Since then we've been emailing back and forth, and it struck me as interesting and kind of cool that we were communicating through a medium that was hardly even on my radar the last time he and I spoke, which in the grand scheme of things was not that long ago, but in technology terms was eons ago. Trippy.

Helper Toddler is Helping
Henry seems to be big on housework these days. His latest thing is loading and unloading the washing machine, a task which seems to bring him enormous pleasure. He'd love to try his hand at the dishwasher, but we keep him away from that for now since we can't afford to replace all of our dishes. Soon enough though. Perhaps he'll be like David Sedaris and ask for name brand appliances at all gift-giving occasions. Then he'll grow up to write fabulously hilarious stories about his childhood and growing up with his quirky but lovable parental units.


I are tawk funny sumtim
I am beginning to believe that regular viewings of ICanHasCheezBurger may be having detrimental effects on my command of the English language. Sitting in a meeting at work the other day, someone made a suggestion that I really liked, and the thought that passed through my mind was "dat am da ossumest ideeyuh evr!" Fortunately, I was able to translate it into something coherent before I opened my mouth.

7 things about me

Julie entaggened me with this meme to list seven random factoidals about yourself...so without any further ado:

1) One of the earliest things I remember wanting to be when I grew up was a veterinarian. I was so into the idea of being a veterinarian that my mom even arranged for me to be able to come spend the day at our local vet's office a few times, and man, those guys were having a great time up there. For serious. They let me do little stuff here and there like prep exam rooms, sit in on examinations, help hold massive beast dogs while shots were administered. I once pulled a Doogie Howser and walked into an exam room where a lady was waiting with her dog and totally started in with all the usual questions that I'd heard the vets ask. I didn't know the significance of the answers, but I nodded my head seriously all the same. I think they even let me come back after that little stunt.

2) Completely without meaning to, I tend to pick up on the most random lines of dialogue from movies and plays. I get the clever catchy lines too, sure, but for some reason the tiniest little throwaway lines will get stuck in my head. I suppose it could be from having written a few plays and having an appreciation for how much work goes into even the simplest of exchanges. Of course, when I do say something even remotely clever, people usually want to know what movie it was from. They always seem disappointed that it was just me. Maybe I'll start making up answers to that question.

3) I LOVE to tie knots. Not to mention splices and lashings. Gimme a decent length of rope and I am el ocupado for a good while. What this means, of course, is that when there is a demand for a knot to be tied, the expectations are high. You sure as hell don't want to have to tell people about how your Ikea bed that wouldn't fit in the back of your Outback went flying off the roof because your knots sucked. I think they take away your Eagle Scout if that gets out. Oh look, bonus fact: I'm an Eagle Scout.

4) One of my favorite breakfasts in the world is a little something I call the Halitosis Special. It basically involves really spicy breakfast tacos (the 3 Alarm Tacos at Magnolia Cafe are perfect) and piping hot coffee. That jalapeno spice burn coupled with hot coffee, mmm good! Of course, it's mostly decaf these days, but the effect is still there.

5) I won first place in a spelling bee in first grade. I won first place in a science fair in 8th grade. I was going to a Baptist school at the time, but my project didn't have anything to do with creationism vs. evolution, so I think it's still an honest win. It was something about electromagnets.

6) The house I grew up in had mirror tiled ceiling in the bathroom. Kinky, I know. When I was little, I used to look up at the ceiling constantly while I was in the shower to make sure nobody was sneaking up on me, which there never was because I was an only child, but since I was an only child I was left alone to imagine all sorts of things like people sneaking up on me in the shower. I was very thankful to have the mirrored ceiling there as a warning system. Then I learned that vampires didn't cast reflections in mirrors and it was no longer sufficient to just check the mirror, I had to actually look out the curtain.

7) Every time I'm driving down the road and I see somebody dressed up as a corporate mascot dancing around and trying to get people to pull in and try the chicken, eggrolls, Michelins, whatever, I am very disappointed in that person and I want to yell at them to get some self-respect. I know, it's probably some kid, but still.

So there's 7 about me. I'm tagging Jason and Jeff.