Scene: this morning, in the building, on the way to my office. I am running late from having to get blood drawn as a follow-up to a routine check up with my doctor.
Colleague: You look like you're running late this morning.
Me: Yeah, I got held up at LabCorp getting some blood drawn.
Colleague: Is everything ok?
Me: (cheerily) Oh yeah, monthly blood screens were a condition of my federal parole agreement.
Colleague: ____________
Me: (still smiling) I'm just kidding. There was no agreement when I was paroled.
Colleague: ____________
Me: (embarassed) Actually, it was just a cholesterol screening. I'll be fine, thanks.
Colleague: Oh.
Me: I'll, um, see you later.
2.23.2010
Geography for the win
All the pre-K classes in Samson's school have been doing an extended unit on geography and world cultures for the past few weeks. It's a terrific idea: The kids each made passports, and every Wednesday they "travel" to their new destination and then spend a few days learning about the country and its people (what language they speak, what foods they eat, etc). Vicki's mom got Samson an atlas for Christmas, so he's really enjoyed being able to connect the book's content with what he's doing in school.
They started in the western hemisphere and visited Mexico and Brazil. The kids learned some Spanish and Portuguese words, talked about foods, and even had a Carnival parade with Brazilian style masks. So far, so good.
Next on the tour were Australia and Antarctica. Which I thought was a little weird, since only one of those places has full-time residents. But the stuff they learned was still pretty interesting, and visiting Australia gave Sam a chance to bring in my didgeridoo and let the kids hear what it sounds like.
After that, however, came Africa. The whole thing, apparently.
Not Kenya or Morocco, Senegal or Mozambique. Just Africa. So I was already a little skeptical about what they'd be learning. [Sidenote: I should point out that my in-country experiences in Africa total about three weeks in just two countries, so I'm hardly an old Africa hand who could credibly step in and offer some expert guidance. That said, it seems like it would have been fairly easy for the teachers to pick a country and do a quick Google search for a few odds and ends to pass along to their little globe trekkers.]
In any event, Jane's teacher made a special appearance to talk to the kids in the pre-K because in college she had gone on a mission trip with her church to 'Africa' [I never did find out where].
The results of this little guest spot were almost as predictable as they were sad. When Samson came home, I asked him what he learned, and he said: "People don't have shoes in Africa." Needless to say, I was a bit disappointed, and of course, no amount of protesting on my part could convince him that, indeed, quite a few people in the forty-odd nations there, do, in fact, have shoes. [I felt less bad when my next door neighbor --- who is from Ethiopia and with whom I spent a lot of quality time shoveling snow --- told me his four-year-old daughter said she didn't want to visit her grandparents there because of the hyenas.]
Anyway, Sam's class rounded out their world tour with a trip to China in time for the lunar New Year and a quick stop in Canada to begin the Olympics.
Then they got to create their own country. The class was asked to figure out where it would be, draw its shape, and give it a name. I haven't been given details on the first two yet, but the name tells me there was some kind of power struggle between the four boys and five girls in the class.
Ladies and gentlemen: I give you the sovereign nation of SpidermanKingUnicorn. No word yet on the footwear situation of its citizens....
They started in the western hemisphere and visited Mexico and Brazil. The kids learned some Spanish and Portuguese words, talked about foods, and even had a Carnival parade with Brazilian style masks. So far, so good.
Next on the tour were Australia and Antarctica. Which I thought was a little weird, since only one of those places has full-time residents. But the stuff they learned was still pretty interesting, and visiting Australia gave Sam a chance to bring in my didgeridoo and let the kids hear what it sounds like.
After that, however, came Africa. The whole thing, apparently.
Not Kenya or Morocco, Senegal or Mozambique. Just Africa. So I was already a little skeptical about what they'd be learning. [Sidenote: I should point out that my in-country experiences in Africa total about three weeks in just two countries, so I'm hardly an old Africa hand who could credibly step in and offer some expert guidance. That said, it seems like it would have been fairly easy for the teachers to pick a country and do a quick Google search for a few odds and ends to pass along to their little globe trekkers.]
In any event, Jane's teacher made a special appearance to talk to the kids in the pre-K because in college she had gone on a mission trip with her church to 'Africa' [I never did find out where].
The results of this little guest spot were almost as predictable as they were sad. When Samson came home, I asked him what he learned, and he said: "People don't have shoes in Africa." Needless to say, I was a bit disappointed, and of course, no amount of protesting on my part could convince him that, indeed, quite a few people in the forty-odd nations there, do, in fact, have shoes. [I felt less bad when my next door neighbor --- who is from Ethiopia and with whom I spent a lot of quality time shoveling snow --- told me his four-year-old daughter said she didn't want to visit her grandparents there because of the hyenas.]
Anyway, Sam's class rounded out their world tour with a trip to China in time for the lunar New Year and a quick stop in Canada to begin the Olympics.
Then they got to create their own country. The class was asked to figure out where it would be, draw its shape, and give it a name. I haven't been given details on the first two yet, but the name tells me there was some kind of power struggle between the four boys and five girls in the class.
Ladies and gentlemen: I give you the sovereign nation of SpidermanKingUnicorn. No word yet on the footwear situation of its citizens....
2.17.2010
Keyboard confessional
Some day my son will read this, and I know it will hurt his feelings. And for this, I apologize. But I need to clear my conscience on the matter, if only in the virtual confession box that is this blog. And what better day than Ash Wednesday for this cleansing?
Here goes: I hate Clone Wars.
The whole thing: the first three movies, the resultant cartoon series, and, perhaps most of all, the idea behind it. This may seem harsh (in an uber-nerdy sort of way), but hear me out:
I was five years old when Star Wars came out. If I close my eyes, I can still smell the popcorn and the Naugahyde seats of my parents Buick Skylark, in which I sat, at a drive-in near the Canadian border, watching with wide-eyed wonder. We were on vacation in way upstate New York, staying at a cabin on a lake. I'm sure I caught some fish and roasted some marshmallows, but what I really remember from that week was going to the movies. I hadn't been alive all that long, but what I saw on screen that night was like nothing I'd ever seen in my life. From the terrifying Tusken Raiders to the amazing powers of Jedi knights and their light sabers, I was hooked.
I know it's cool to claim Empire as your favorite from the trilogy --- and that movie certainly has a special place in my heart (not least because I earned the right to go see it by reading the book first). But for me, and I suspect many others, Star Wars was where it began.
Viewed through the cool distance of 30-odd years [I grow old, I grow old; I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled], it's not anything like a good movie. The acting is dreadful and the jokes are beyond corny. But the story, not just what is on screen but what is hinted at, remains powerful, elemental even in its sweep of good versus evil, technology versus spirituality, and other important versus(es).
As a kid I watched that movie with all the attentiveness of a Talmudic scholar, and so when Obi-Wan (still my favorite) made a passing reference to the "clone wars," my mind conjured images of faceless warriors locked in battle across the silent infinity of space. The sheer possibilities in such a phrase. I probably didn't even know what a clone was, but what I took as a hint of blankness was enough to strike a vague terror in me not unlike Ishmael's reckoning of the whiteness of the whale.
I may not have been precise in what I imagined all those years ago, but I can tell you it did not include guys with weird braids who looked Phish roadies, aliens in croptops, and a bunch of Boba Fett/Stormtrooper knock-offs with names that sounded like children's tv hosts and adult film stars. [I'm looking at you Commander Cody and Captain Lex.]
It was bad enough when the prequel movies came out and we got treated to an intergalactic Step'n Fetchit and were told the force was basically just a cool blood condition. Not to mention the actor who played Annakin had less range and fewer facial expressions than the guy who plays Jack on "Lost." [In case you're keeping track: Dr. Shephard has three: eyebrows up with smile; eyebrows down with no smile; squinty eyes with jaw set. Seriously.]
I don't begrudge George Lucas the right to make even more money from this franchise. But I like to think we were doing fine without the back story. It reminds me of a saying (possibly apocryphal) attributed to P.T. Barnum about the spectacles he put on. He said something along the lines of "If the people like one elephant, they'll love 10!" Kind of the whole "more is more" philosophy. But if anything, in this case, more is less. Way less.
Perhaps the most frightening thing about Darth Vader was that he simply appeared, fully formed in all his metallic fury. Knowing what he was like as a kid would have made him infinitely less frightening. If only because it explained him. And who wants their villains explained?
Think about it: If the Coen brothers had flashed you back to Anton Chigurh getting taunted on the playground for looking like Luis from Sesame Street, it might have diminished his apocalyptic menace just a little bit. Some things are best left untold, unseen. Left to our imaginations, however fevered or feeble they may be.
So why am I telling you all this? (assuming you're still with me at this point in the post.) Because Samson --- my boy, my pride and joy and heir to my name, my genes (insufferably recessive and sunburn-inducing though they be), and all my well preserved Star Wars swag --- is smitten with the Clone Wars. And so, of course, is Jane. [Last week Jane walked around the house for a good two hours in a clone trooper mask, pajamas, and ruby red slippers. There are days when our house looks like a cross between Mardi Gras, the Castro, and, well, Star Wars.]
Anyway, we don't let them watch the show as it's rather violent, but Sam has some of the Clone Wars figures, and he also has a few of the little Lego sets. And he just loves them. I mean really and truly loves them.
Loves their cool uniforms, their giant guns, the fact that they all look like Stormtroopers. Basically he loves them because he is five and doesn't carry the ludicrous film-geek baggage his dad lugs Jacob Marley-style through this life.
So for now, I'll play along. I'll nod approvingly as we discuss the awesomeness of battle droids and stifle my inner Beavis when the evil Count Dooku is mentioned.
But someday there will come a reckoning.
Or better yet, by the time Sam is in his 30s, Lucas will have made three more movies (ante-prequels? supersequels?) and Samson will be dealing with the angst inspired by his son's love of whatever variations on the theme are now in use.
Here goes: I hate Clone Wars.
The whole thing: the first three movies, the resultant cartoon series, and, perhaps most of all, the idea behind it. This may seem harsh (in an uber-nerdy sort of way), but hear me out:
I was five years old when Star Wars came out. If I close my eyes, I can still smell the popcorn and the Naugahyde seats of my parents Buick Skylark, in which I sat, at a drive-in near the Canadian border, watching with wide-eyed wonder. We were on vacation in way upstate New York, staying at a cabin on a lake. I'm sure I caught some fish and roasted some marshmallows, but what I really remember from that week was going to the movies. I hadn't been alive all that long, but what I saw on screen that night was like nothing I'd ever seen in my life. From the terrifying Tusken Raiders to the amazing powers of Jedi knights and their light sabers, I was hooked.
I know it's cool to claim Empire as your favorite from the trilogy --- and that movie certainly has a special place in my heart (not least because I earned the right to go see it by reading the book first). But for me, and I suspect many others, Star Wars was where it began.
Viewed through the cool distance of 30-odd years [I grow old, I grow old; I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled], it's not anything like a good movie. The acting is dreadful and the jokes are beyond corny. But the story, not just what is on screen but what is hinted at, remains powerful, elemental even in its sweep of good versus evil, technology versus spirituality, and other important versus(es).
As a kid I watched that movie with all the attentiveness of a Talmudic scholar, and so when Obi-Wan (still my favorite) made a passing reference to the "clone wars," my mind conjured images of faceless warriors locked in battle across the silent infinity of space. The sheer possibilities in such a phrase. I probably didn't even know what a clone was, but what I took as a hint of blankness was enough to strike a vague terror in me not unlike Ishmael's reckoning of the whiteness of the whale.
I may not have been precise in what I imagined all those years ago, but I can tell you it did not include guys with weird braids who looked Phish roadies, aliens in croptops, and a bunch of Boba Fett/Stormtrooper knock-offs with names that sounded like children's tv hosts and adult film stars. [I'm looking at you Commander Cody and Captain Lex.]
It was bad enough when the prequel movies came out and we got treated to an intergalactic Step'n Fetchit and were told the force was basically just a cool blood condition. Not to mention the actor who played Annakin had less range and fewer facial expressions than the guy who plays Jack on "Lost." [In case you're keeping track: Dr. Shephard has three: eyebrows up with smile; eyebrows down with no smile; squinty eyes with jaw set. Seriously.]
I don't begrudge George Lucas the right to make even more money from this franchise. But I like to think we were doing fine without the back story. It reminds me of a saying (possibly apocryphal) attributed to P.T. Barnum about the spectacles he put on. He said something along the lines of "If the people like one elephant, they'll love 10!" Kind of the whole "more is more" philosophy. But if anything, in this case, more is less. Way less.
Perhaps the most frightening thing about Darth Vader was that he simply appeared, fully formed in all his metallic fury. Knowing what he was like as a kid would have made him infinitely less frightening. If only because it explained him. And who wants their villains explained?
Think about it: If the Coen brothers had flashed you back to Anton Chigurh getting taunted on the playground for looking like Luis from Sesame Street, it might have diminished his apocalyptic menace just a little bit. Some things are best left untold, unseen. Left to our imaginations, however fevered or feeble they may be.
So why am I telling you all this? (assuming you're still with me at this point in the post.) Because Samson --- my boy, my pride and joy and heir to my name, my genes (insufferably recessive and sunburn-inducing though they be), and all my well preserved Star Wars swag --- is smitten with the Clone Wars. And so, of course, is Jane. [Last week Jane walked around the house for a good two hours in a clone trooper mask, pajamas, and ruby red slippers. There are days when our house looks like a cross between Mardi Gras, the Castro, and, well, Star Wars.]
Anyway, we don't let them watch the show as it's rather violent, but Sam has some of the Clone Wars figures, and he also has a few of the little Lego sets. And he just loves them. I mean really and truly loves them.
Loves their cool uniforms, their giant guns, the fact that they all look like Stormtroopers. Basically he loves them because he is five and doesn't carry the ludicrous film-geek baggage his dad lugs Jacob Marley-style through this life.
So for now, I'll play along. I'll nod approvingly as we discuss the awesomeness of battle droids and stifle my inner Beavis when the evil Count Dooku is mentioned.
But someday there will come a reckoning.
Or better yet, by the time Sam is in his 30s, Lucas will have made three more movies (ante-prequels? supersequels?) and Samson will be dealing with the angst inspired by his son's love of whatever variations on the theme are now in use.
2.16.2010
The house always wins
Or at least, it won this time. And by the house, I mean me.
I'll explain. All this snow nearly obscured the fact that two weeks ago was the high holy day of football. Also, advertising.
I'll explain. All this snow nearly obscured the fact that two weeks ago was the high holy day of football. Also, advertising.
And because I believe that all small children should be taught to gamble, Samson and I placed a friendly wager on the outcome of the game. He picked the Colts, and I chose the Saints. [Those of you wondering if I gave him points are wildly overestimating my abilities as both a gambler and someone with even a baseline ability to do math.]
At stake was this: Winner gets to choose a "victory" dinner; loser does laundry. Since Samson is always trying to direct the former, and I always do the latter anyway, he figured it was probably a safe bet to take.
He didn't make it past halftime, which was just as well, as I would have had a hard time explaining the deep look of sorrow that I had while watching the Who as dinner theater.
Anyway, the kid has class. When I woke him the next morning and gave him the news, he offered me a high five and congratulated me on winning the bet. And he was totally up for getting on a step stool and throwing in some laundry.
I'm still working on a victory dinner choice. His pick was milkshakes and brownies, which actually sounds kind of awesome, but we may need to sneak a vegetable in there somewhere...
2.10.2010
The lemons to lemonade principle
In case you hadn't heard: It's snowing here in Maryland. Again.
And while the following recipe will do precious little to get rid of the 4 feet of snow that has piled up across the front and back yards, it is pretty delicious. Snow removal, 8 cups at a time.
Snow ice cream
8 cups snow
1 14-oz. can condensed milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Mix in bowl; enjoy.
2.08.2010
C-5, Miss
With a bit more time inside than usual [see: snow; see also: lots], we've introduced the kids to a few classic board games. Vicki spent part of yesterday trying to teach Samson how to play checkers, and I introduced both kids to Stratego and Battleship.
For Jane, this meant the two of us taking out the pieces and then putting them back. She particularly enjoyed doing this with the little Stratego guys.
Of course, two years makes a big difference and Sam got the hang of Battleship pretty quickly. He was really excited to be playing a game listed for "Ages 7 to Adult."
The kids' school is closed until Thursday, and we're forecast for another 12-20 inches tomorrow.
By the time this is all done, Sam and Jane might well be chess grand masters.
For Jane, this meant the two of us taking out the pieces and then putting them back. She particularly enjoyed doing this with the little Stratego guys.
Of course, two years makes a big difference and Sam got the hang of Battleship pretty quickly. He was really excited to be playing a game listed for "Ages 7 to Adult."
The kids' school is closed until Thursday, and we're forecast for another 12-20 inches tomorrow.
By the time this is all done, Sam and Jane might well be chess grand masters.
2.07.2010
Trench warfare
When the storm finally ended late Saturday afternoon, we were looking at a total of somewhere between 25 and 28 inches. And hours and hours of shoveling.
The storm itself was quite something, complete with howling winds and lighting and thunder (!). I have never seen snow fall so fast. At one point, we were picking up two or three inches every hour.
I shoveled our porch and front walk before I went to bed at 11 on Friday night. I was up at 5 on Saturday to handle some storm-related work e-mails. When I went out to shovel, at 6 am, snow had already risen past the front door, and I had to force my way out.
Anyway, now that the storm has passed (although there's another forecast for this Tuesday with an addition 4-6 inches possible), it is time to focus on digging out. We have on-street parking, which is realtor-speak for "no driveway." So a storm like this really puts the screws to us. Between the plows (which were good) and the drifts (which were better), we had snow more than halfway up both cars and easily three feet of snow between the driver's side and the street.
Long story short: I will probably be shoveling in my dreams tonight after freeing both cars. The kids, however, had a blast. As you can see. And in the end, this is what they will remember. As well they should.
I am sure my folks spent hours digging us out of the blizzard of '78. But I have no recollection of that. What I do remember is the intense quiet that settled over everything. And how all that snow seemed kind of magic, like the normal rules had been suspended for a while. This may have been due to my neighbors, two bigger kids named Anthony and Andrew who added to the drifts and built a ramp of snow up to their garage roof and launched their sleds from it.
That last picture above is Sam standing on our holly bushes, completely help up by the snow. Maybe it's a good thing we don't have a garage. (Although after six plus hours of shoveling today, I'd definitely take a driveway.)
2.06.2010
Two feet high and rising
Or, for those of you who speak text: snOMG!
It's been snowing now for about 15 hours, and we've probably got about two feet on the ground, with drifts rising several inches above that. This may be the first storm that has actually lived up to its pre-precip hype. I'll have pictures later (if I can convince Sam and Jane to leave the house).
Stay warm, everyone.
It's been snowing now for about 15 hours, and we've probably got about two feet on the ground, with drifts rising several inches above that. This may be the first storm that has actually lived up to its pre-precip hype. I'll have pictures later (if I can convince Sam and Jane to leave the house).
Stay warm, everyone.
2.05.2010
Recommended viewing
I don't get to the movies often, and so I'm more than three years behind the curve on this one, but it's a compelling and, ultimately pretty haunting film.
I'd read about the race in a book not long ago and just happened to find the movie available on Netflix. I think what I found so interesting is how ordinary the protagonist seemed. Thirty-five years old, four kids, pretty regular life in late-60s England. And yet there was something wanting for him, and so he went to sea.
As I watched it, I was reminded of one of my favorite lines from Moby Dick when Ishmael describes what happens to one of the crew (Pip) who jumps from a whale boat fast to a whale and is left behind: "in calm weather, to swim in the open ocean is as easy to the practised swimmer as to ride in a spring-carriage ashore. But the awful lonesomeness is intolerable. The intense concentration of self in the middle of such a heartless immensity, my God! who can tell it?"
I'd read about the race in a book not long ago and just happened to find the movie available on Netflix. I think what I found so interesting is how ordinary the protagonist seemed. Thirty-five years old, four kids, pretty regular life in late-60s England. And yet there was something wanting for him, and so he went to sea.
As I watched it, I was reminded of one of my favorite lines from Moby Dick when Ishmael describes what happens to one of the crew (Pip) who jumps from a whale boat fast to a whale and is left behind: "in calm weather, to swim in the open ocean is as easy to the practised swimmer as to ride in a spring-carriage ashore. But the awful lonesomeness is intolerable. The intense concentration of self in the middle of such a heartless immensity, my God! who can tell it?"
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