Do The Ninjitsu

I was looking at a bunch of pictures of my kids from this past Halloween. They both wanted to dress like ninjas, to which my wife and I were like SCORE! because 1) cheap-ass costumes and 2) NINJAS. Everybody wins.

So I was looking at these pictures and it occurred to me that parenting is kind of like being a ninja in that it involves a lot of hard work with very little recognition. Nobody thanks the ninja for pulling off a flawless assassination, no matter that he or she left not a trace of their presence. There are no attaboys for the shadow warrior who successfully infiltrates the enemy compound and defeats scores of attackers. There are no ninja company meetings where the ninja CEO recognizes Bob and Steve for Excellence in Disappearing Into Clouds of Smoke. 

I was gonna write about all that, but then I got distracted thinking about how there’s really not much of a place for ninjas in a democracy, not in an official capacity anyway, but I guess ninjas typically don’t function in an official capacity anyway, but I guess what I mean is that assassination -- covert and otherwise -- isn’t really a key driver of change in our country, which I would call a very good thing, none of which is to say that there are not shadowy figures doing shadowy things in the halls of power and perception, they just don’t typically carry throwing stars on their person...as far as I know. Then I remembered that I hate writing about politics because it’s not as much fun as writing about ninjas. All of which is to say, holy shit, ninjas.

Shadow Warriors

High-Fives Across The Dinner Table Are Totally Acceptable In Our House

With apologies to those of you not familiar with Dr. Who.

Last night at dinner, while reflecting upon my freshly-debearded face, my wife offered up an observation. “You know, if we found the right suit, you could maybe pull off the David Tennant Dr. Who next Halloween.”

“Oh yeah?” I said. I kind of love David Tennant, so I take this as something of a compliment, albeit perhaps an inaccurate one.

“Yeah,” she said. “And since all his companions dress pretty normal, I guess I could just go as any of them. I could be, uh, uh--”

“Nah, you don’t need to be one of his companions,” I said. Being one of the companions from the Dr. Who series, at least the modern version, would make for a pretty boring costume since they mostly dress in modern clothing, the only exception being when they choose to dress in accordance with the time and place in which they’ve landed, which they don’t always. I’m not sure what rule they follow to decide whether or not they should suit up. But I digress.

“You could be, uh, uh....” I continued, floundering for an idea for an appropriate match that would make a good costume.

“Oh, I know!” she shouted. “I could be the TARDIS!”

“Brilliant!”

“Which is perfect, you know, since you get to be inside me!”

Big guffaws. High-fives across the table. The boys seemed amused, if not a bit confused.

“Oh my god!” I said. “It’s bigger on the inside than it is on the outside! How is that possible?!”

More high-fives. Giggles all the way to bedtime.

Lions and pirates and parents pimping out their kids for candy, oh my

I used to hate it when I was little and my mom referred to my friends as my "little friends." Anyway, Henry went trick-or-treating with a couple of his little friends on Halloween night. As you can see, the pirate costume was popular with the white single-digit-aged demographic this year. Ye be clickin fer larger view says I. To thee. Regarding that.

Holmeses say yar:

Because now we're actually living inside the black comedy...

...and from this vantage point, it's not quite as funny.

I'm currently working on an assignment that's due in just under two weeks time. In order to stay on top of it, I spend several hours every night poring over all the details of yet another new and exciting mental disorder, and then writing all about it. Last night found me learning all about the joy that is anorexia nervosa. And by "joy" I mean anguish and suffering on a variety of levels for all involved. So imagine how coincidental it seemed this morning as I sipped my first cup of coffee and scrolled through my Google reader where I found this post over at Unsprung about eating-disorder inspired Halloween wear:

The costume is called Sexy Anna Rexia. Yes, you read it right. To be entirely honest, I'm sure there's probably a time in my life when I might have found this kind of amusing in an "oh shit that's gonna offend a lot of offendable people!" kind of way, but after reading all about the ins and outs of anorexia until 1 in the morning, I was actually kind of grossed out. It's really wonderful to see life-threatening mental illnesses receiving the compassionate attention and treatment that they so deserve.