Amanda returned to work today following her 11 week maternity leave thereby commencing my new Mr. Mom era. I embark on this new era with sweaty palms and some trepidation. I have handled Grace alone plenty, feeding and changing her often. I'm confident she's in good hands, but it is still nice to have your teammate around. Amanda, I'm sure, has her own anxiety to deal with-leaving Grace, returning to work, knowing she's leaving Grace with her dopey father, etc.
So, how did Day One go, you ask? In a word-Chunky. You see, Grace decided that today was the day to have the two worst(at least that I can recall) spit-up episodes of her young life. I'm not sure if she is protesting Mommy leaving or what, but she uncorked two unholy floods that may very well have ruined two outfits and a TV remote control. I haven't seen this much spew since Lard Ass set off the chain reaction vomiting at the pie eating contest in Stand By Me. With her partially cleft palate, Grace usually has some stuff exit through her nose on the occasions when she does spit up. Today, however, it gushed out. It looked like when the snakes poured out of the holes in the wall of the Well of Souls in Raiders of the Lost Ark. I don't know where all the spit up came from; it didn't seem like she had eaten enough today to produce the volume that came back out. Maybe my kid is a camel that has stored formula for weeks waiting for this very moment.
But I can't complain because, other than coating my shirts enough that they looked like I was about to make french toast out of them, my girl Gracie was awesome to hang with on Day One. Who knows what will crop up on Day Two. All I know is I'll be ready for the spit-up machine having already fashioned a shirt out of super absorbent Brawny paper towels. Wish me luck.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Our wacky year of change continued on a sad note Thursday; my maternal grandfather, Jorge Mino, passed away at age 88 after a tough bout with cancer. He enjoyed reading what I wrote, often imploring me to write more frequently, so I'm going to use this meager forum that I have to attempt to pay tribute to him.
My grandfather squeezed a lot of living into his 88 years. Born and raised in Ecuador, he was an engineer who helped literally carve roads and rails through the Ecuadorian jungle. He had many amazing tales from those days, but one always stood out as my favorite- They were working near a canal where the wind blew so steady and so powerfully that you could lean against it as if it were a wall. Of course, my grandfather happened to be leaning when the wind let up just long enough for him to fall backwards into the canal.
In the early 1940's my grandparents emigrated to the U.S. becoming American citizens. My grandfather was fiercely proud to be an American and truly lived the suburban American dream. He was so patriotic and pro-America that I was reluctant to tell him when I purchased my first Honda for fear of a lecture about "Made in the USA". He often praised the work ethic of Americans as compared to Ecuadorians, whom he said often didn't want to put in a full workday. He instilled this work ethic in his three children who, in turn, passed it onto his grandchildren. (Just because I don't always heed the lesson doesn't mean I didn't learn it.)
One of the other things Grandpa loved about America was its national pasttime. He loved baseball, sharing this love with his children and, I can say for sure, this grandchild. He and my mom sparked an interest in the game that for me has sometimes bordered on obsession. Grandpa may have loved baseball, but he excelled in golf. While I was never actually able to play a round with him, I've heard he was very good. And his tips and clubs have helped my game immensely. My grandfather followed many other sports and even tried to watch one of my favorites, hockey, because he knew I played and wanted to learn more about the game. He may have been the only man in America who like Fox's Glo-puck. The gimmick actually helped his tiring eyes follow the action.
Grandpa's greatest passion of all, though, was his family. I know a grandson's perspective can be rather biased, but I know he cared for nothing more than the well-being of my family. He took great pride in grandchildren's stellar report cards and school projects. His encouragement or "atta boy" was always considered high praise. As kids, Grandpa would always "secretly" slip us some cash at every visit, something "for the gas tank", even if we weren't yet at driving age. Then sometime during high school the small gifts stopped. It was an unspoken, understood signal that I was growing old enough to take care of my own cash flow. A lesson that was not lost on me. Grandpa would often spend his time tracking hurricanes possibly churning towards coastal relatives or watching the flight numbers of planes ferrying family members. ( See I told you my anxiety was hereditary.) I always found these things ironic because he had a great many adventures as a young man. Did he worry his way through those? I'll never know.
In recent years, he slowed his pace and traveled less frequently. As I grew older and real life intruded, I visited far less than I should have. I will regret that to a certain extent, especially with e-mail and telephones I should have kept in better contact. That's not to say we didn't talk, because we did and I enjoyed it every single time. My grandfather and I had intelliegent conversations, he possesed a wicked, hilarious wit and he told the greatest stories.
I am forever grateful that he was able to meet Grace; during the summer he admitted he feared he wouldn't be around to get that chance. We were to see him the day after Christmas; obviously we missed that last trip. But now Grandpa is free from the multiple bouts with cancer, the tricky back, the creaky knees and the failing hearing. He had made peace with his end, so now it is up to the rest of us to make peace with it as well.
My grandfather squeezed a lot of living into his 88 years. Born and raised in Ecuador, he was an engineer who helped literally carve roads and rails through the Ecuadorian jungle. He had many amazing tales from those days, but one always stood out as my favorite- They were working near a canal where the wind blew so steady and so powerfully that you could lean against it as if it were a wall. Of course, my grandfather happened to be leaning when the wind let up just long enough for him to fall backwards into the canal.
In the early 1940's my grandparents emigrated to the U.S. becoming American citizens. My grandfather was fiercely proud to be an American and truly lived the suburban American dream. He was so patriotic and pro-America that I was reluctant to tell him when I purchased my first Honda for fear of a lecture about "Made in the USA". He often praised the work ethic of Americans as compared to Ecuadorians, whom he said often didn't want to put in a full workday. He instilled this work ethic in his three children who, in turn, passed it onto his grandchildren. (Just because I don't always heed the lesson doesn't mean I didn't learn it.)
One of the other things Grandpa loved about America was its national pasttime. He loved baseball, sharing this love with his children and, I can say for sure, this grandchild. He and my mom sparked an interest in the game that for me has sometimes bordered on obsession. Grandpa may have loved baseball, but he excelled in golf. While I was never actually able to play a round with him, I've heard he was very good. And his tips and clubs have helped my game immensely. My grandfather followed many other sports and even tried to watch one of my favorites, hockey, because he knew I played and wanted to learn more about the game. He may have been the only man in America who like Fox's Glo-puck. The gimmick actually helped his tiring eyes follow the action.
Grandpa's greatest passion of all, though, was his family. I know a grandson's perspective can be rather biased, but I know he cared for nothing more than the well-being of my family. He took great pride in grandchildren's stellar report cards and school projects. His encouragement or "atta boy" was always considered high praise. As kids, Grandpa would always "secretly" slip us some cash at every visit, something "for the gas tank", even if we weren't yet at driving age. Then sometime during high school the small gifts stopped. It was an unspoken, understood signal that I was growing old enough to take care of my own cash flow. A lesson that was not lost on me. Grandpa would often spend his time tracking hurricanes possibly churning towards coastal relatives or watching the flight numbers of planes ferrying family members. ( See I told you my anxiety was hereditary.) I always found these things ironic because he had a great many adventures as a young man. Did he worry his way through those? I'll never know.
In recent years, he slowed his pace and traveled less frequently. As I grew older and real life intruded, I visited far less than I should have. I will regret that to a certain extent, especially with e-mail and telephones I should have kept in better contact. That's not to say we didn't talk, because we did and I enjoyed it every single time. My grandfather and I had intelliegent conversations, he possesed a wicked, hilarious wit and he told the greatest stories.
I am forever grateful that he was able to meet Grace; during the summer he admitted he feared he wouldn't be around to get that chance. We were to see him the day after Christmas; obviously we missed that last trip. But now Grandpa is free from the multiple bouts with cancer, the tricky back, the creaky knees and the failing hearing. He had made peace with his end, so now it is up to the rest of us to make peace with it as well.
Sunday, December 07, 2008
Dr. Bryan Hailey, D.D.S.
Little did I know when I took the Manny job that I would, as part of my duties, have to masquerade as an orthodontist. Okay, perhaps masquerade is not the right word; I didn't perpetrate a fraud on the public by impersonating an orthodontist. However, I have played amateur orthodontist as I have had to repair Z's appliance a handful of times over the last couple weeks. Z has a Herbst device, which I can assure you is indeed an orthodontic appliance and not some sort of evil weather changing machine.
Mr. President release the prisoners or I will be forced to unleash the Herbst Device! Bwa ha ha ha.
Anyway, back in the real world, the Herbst device is a hinged appliance that works in conjunction with braces to move the jaw and teeth. The hinge, though wired to the braces, sort of moves freely in the mouth. And sometimes the hinge pulls apart and must be repaired. That's where I come in. To put the hinge back together, it first must be taken further apart. This requires removing and then replacing the tiniest microscopic screw you've ever seen. So I, Clumsiest Man Alive, have to use my ham hands to remove and replace the screw. Poor Z has to yank his cheek over like a fishhook so I can jam my fat fingers in his mouth. Anyone who knows me knows that finesse is not my strong suit, but the "procedure" went quite smoothly. After several procedures over the course of a couple days I became quite adept and it became rather routine.
Since it seemed that the hinge was sliding apart too often we went back to the orthodontist to make sure there wasn't something Z was doing wrong to cause the frequent mishaps. No, they said, everything looked great and as he adjusted to having the device in his mouth it would probably occur less frequently. Great. Everything's hunky dory, end of story, right? Of course not.
That night, a mere three hours since we've been in the orthodontists office, the cap that anchors the device to his back tooth breaks completely free allowing the device to float around in his mouth held in only by a string thin wire attached to to the braces. By this time I'm wondering if I'm being punk'd by my family. I've never had braces (though I should have), but I understand there is a certain level of frustrating maintenance that goes with the the deal. This, however, seems ridiculous. I'm thinking we are going to have to make a trip back to the orthodontist office because there is no way Z could get through the night like this.
I call the emergency after-hours number and the doc on duty tells me to just take some wire cutters and snip the wire so I can remove the device until we can come back in and have it put back on. Really, just take some wire cutters and snip that little old wire, huh? But that's what I did. Of course, not having sterile equipment or an autoclave I had to root in my tool bucket for wire cutting options. I found dull scissors, rusty pliers and filthy wire cutters. It looked like an array of torture tools.
Hey, Z, maybe after I clip that wire I can use these rusty pliers to rip out your toenails.
Fortunately, the wire cutters cleaned up well and, despite the dubious look on his face, Z let me clip the wire. I even did it safely without chipping any teeth or slashing any gums. Maybe I've found a new calling. I wonder how I'd look in a white lab coat.
Mr. President release the prisoners or I will be forced to unleash the Herbst Device! Bwa ha ha ha.
Anyway, back in the real world, the Herbst device is a hinged appliance that works in conjunction with braces to move the jaw and teeth. The hinge, though wired to the braces, sort of moves freely in the mouth. And sometimes the hinge pulls apart and must be repaired. That's where I come in. To put the hinge back together, it first must be taken further apart. This requires removing and then replacing the tiniest microscopic screw you've ever seen. So I, Clumsiest Man Alive, have to use my ham hands to remove and replace the screw. Poor Z has to yank his cheek over like a fishhook so I can jam my fat fingers in his mouth. Anyone who knows me knows that finesse is not my strong suit, but the "procedure" went quite smoothly. After several procedures over the course of a couple days I became quite adept and it became rather routine.
Since it seemed that the hinge was sliding apart too often we went back to the orthodontist to make sure there wasn't something Z was doing wrong to cause the frequent mishaps. No, they said, everything looked great and as he adjusted to having the device in his mouth it would probably occur less frequently. Great. Everything's hunky dory, end of story, right? Of course not.
That night, a mere three hours since we've been in the orthodontists office, the cap that anchors the device to his back tooth breaks completely free allowing the device to float around in his mouth held in only by a string thin wire attached to to the braces. By this time I'm wondering if I'm being punk'd by my family. I've never had braces (though I should have), but I understand there is a certain level of frustrating maintenance that goes with the the deal. This, however, seems ridiculous. I'm thinking we are going to have to make a trip back to the orthodontist office because there is no way Z could get through the night like this.
I call the emergency after-hours number and the doc on duty tells me to just take some wire cutters and snip the wire so I can remove the device until we can come back in and have it put back on. Really, just take some wire cutters and snip that little old wire, huh? But that's what I did. Of course, not having sterile equipment or an autoclave I had to root in my tool bucket for wire cutting options. I found dull scissors, rusty pliers and filthy wire cutters. It looked like an array of torture tools.
Hey, Z, maybe after I clip that wire I can use these rusty pliers to rip out your toenails.
Fortunately, the wire cutters cleaned up well and, despite the dubious look on his face, Z let me clip the wire. I even did it safely without chipping any teeth or slashing any gums. Maybe I've found a new calling. I wonder how I'd look in a white lab coat.
Saturday, December 06, 2008
Movie Review Haiku-Quantum of Solace
Flick only so-so,
Bad title and awful song,
Dan Craig still cool, though
Bad title and awful song,
Dan Craig still cool, though
Friday, November 28, 2008
Did you hear that?
One of the toughest adjustments I've had to make so far as a new dad is tempering my overactive worry gene. My dad lives by the credo, "I'll worry when there is something to worry about." On the other hand, my worry meter, via my mom's side of the family, says "There's something wrong, I just don't know what it is yet."
The area where my anxiety is toughest on me is in the baby sounds department. You need to be an NSA cryptographer to decode the meanings of all the sounds the baby makes. Some are cute and some will make you bolt upright in bed in the middle of the night (assuming you've been able to fall asleep in the first place). Gurgle. Sigh. Snore. Sneeze. Hiccup. Gasp. Squeak. Amanda and I have conversations that would sound ridiculous to outsiders. (Though, I suspect most new parents have had the same conversations.)
"She's making a weird snoring sound. Do you think that's normal?"
"Hey, she stopped making that weird snoring sound. Think that's normal? Check to make sure she's still breathing."
"Is that a different gurgle than the one she was making yesterday?"
"Is that more sneezing? I hope that cold hasn't settled in her kidney."
Logically I know that most of the sounds are normal and, unless they are accompanied by signs of distress and/or crying, that they are harmless indicators that my daughter is growing. I just wish she wasn't a Navajo Codetalker leaving me to decipher the code of what's normal and what is not.
The area where my anxiety is toughest on me is in the baby sounds department. You need to be an NSA cryptographer to decode the meanings of all the sounds the baby makes. Some are cute and some will make you bolt upright in bed in the middle of the night (assuming you've been able to fall asleep in the first place). Gurgle. Sigh. Snore. Sneeze. Hiccup. Gasp. Squeak. Amanda and I have conversations that would sound ridiculous to outsiders. (Though, I suspect most new parents have had the same conversations.)
"She's making a weird snoring sound. Do you think that's normal?"
"Hey, she stopped making that weird snoring sound. Think that's normal? Check to make sure she's still breathing."
"Is that a different gurgle than the one she was making yesterday?"
"Is that more sneezing? I hope that cold hasn't settled in her kidney."
Logically I know that most of the sounds are normal and, unless they are accompanied by signs of distress and/or crying, that they are harmless indicators that my daughter is growing. I just wish she wasn't a Navajo Codetalker leaving me to decipher the code of what's normal and what is not.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
What A Difference A Year Makes.
Change has come to to Washington (and I don't mean Barack Obama). Last Thanksgiving I was texting back and forth with Killer as news broke that Caps' coach Glen Hanlon was being fired. After losing to the Thrashers 5-1 on Thanksgiving Eve, the Caps had stumbled to a 6-14-1 start. Though I respect Hanlon very much, I figured a shakeup was necessary. The Caps installed minor league lifer Bruce Boudreau as coach , they won the day after Thanksgiving and the team soared from there. Winning at a torrid pace allowed the Caps to narrowly earn a division title and play a nail-biting playoff series against Philly. Alex Ovechkin thrived in Boudreau's up-tempo, puck possession system, scoring 65 goals and 112 points. More importantly, the Caps were exciting and relevant again. This Thanksgiving, the Caps stand atop the division with a 12-7-3 record after smacking the Thrashers 5-3 last night. Let's hope this year they also win their first post-Turkey Day game because I'll be there Friday night to see it live. Happy Thanksgiving.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Adventures In Babysitting
Amanda went to the Redskins-Cowboys game last night so I got my first crack at caring for Grace alone for a long period of time. Until last night I don't think Amanda had been out without Grace for longer than an hour or two. She deserved the break, but I was a little nervous to fly solo for that long. Fortunately, there was no real adventure; Grace and I enjoyed a rather uneventful, fun evening together. In fact, Mommy may have been at the game, but, as the picture shows, Grace and I got to play dress-up for the game. I think I got the better end of the bargain.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Grab Bag
Busy days and sleep deprivation have kept me from piecing together enough coherent thoughts to write a lengthy post, but I do have a few unrelated, passing thoughts:
*Z and I have revived a game I hadn't played since I was a kid-PunchBuggy. We play virtually every time we are in the car. It has surprised me just how many of the newer Beetles there are on the road.
*I saw a funny license plate on a giant SUV yesterday. I wonder how many kids the "MOMVOY" was toting.
*I love to eat. I love to eat breakfast. I love to eat Chick-Fil-A breakfast. The other day I had a Chicken, Egg and Cheese Bagel sandwich. Which begs the question-When preparing this sandwich which do they place on the bagel first, the chicken or the egg?
*Cliche Alert! In a move akin to rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic or putting lipstick on a pig (please don't lecture me Sen. McCain), the Orioles unveiled new uniforms yesterday. Actually, they just made some minor adjustments, but I like them all. For the first time since 1972 the road gray jersey will say Baltimore instead of Orioles across the front. They also fixed the bird logo so it now looks more like an Oriole and less like a duck. Of course, unless the new unis are some sort of sci-fi exoskeletons that make the players more talented we are still looking at a well-dressed last place team.
*Due to a wacky cable situation I don't get Comcast SportsNet so I've only been able to watch three Caps' games this year. They have won all three so maybe I better fix my cable situation.
*Finally, I've decided that my infant daughter is like Triumph the Insult Comic Dog. "Oh daddy, this onesie you have put on me is very nice. Yes, nice enough...for me to poop on."
*Z and I have revived a game I hadn't played since I was a kid-PunchBuggy. We play virtually every time we are in the car. It has surprised me just how many of the newer Beetles there are on the road.
*I saw a funny license plate on a giant SUV yesterday. I wonder how many kids the "MOMVOY" was toting.
*I love to eat. I love to eat breakfast. I love to eat Chick-Fil-A breakfast. The other day I had a Chicken, Egg and Cheese Bagel sandwich. Which begs the question-When preparing this sandwich which do they place on the bagel first, the chicken or the egg?
*Cliche Alert! In a move akin to rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic or putting lipstick on a pig (please don't lecture me Sen. McCain), the Orioles unveiled new uniforms yesterday. Actually, they just made some minor adjustments, but I like them all. For the first time since 1972 the road gray jersey will say Baltimore instead of Orioles across the front. They also fixed the bird logo so it now looks more like an Oriole and less like a duck. Of course, unless the new unis are some sort of sci-fi exoskeletons that make the players more talented we are still looking at a well-dressed last place team.
*Due to a wacky cable situation I don't get Comcast SportsNet so I've only been able to watch three Caps' games this year. They have won all three so maybe I better fix my cable situation.
*Finally, I've decided that my infant daughter is like Triumph the Insult Comic Dog. "Oh daddy, this onesie you have put on me is very nice. Yes, nice enough...for me to poop on."
Saturday, November 08, 2008
School of Grace
More observations and lessons learned as I continue serving my first term as Mayor of New Daddy Town:
-The cuter the compliment silkscreened on a onesie (sweet princess, cute little bunny, mommy's buttered biscuit), the likelier it is that the girl wearing it will spit up, poo, or pee all over it.
-Like Amanda's Uncle Bob advised me, ounce for ounce there is no substance on Earth more valuable, no resource more precious than breast milk.
-When my daughter stretches and stirs signaling feeding time she has the exact same herky-jerky dance moves as Elaine Benes on Seinfeld.
-When a crying jag appears to have ended never, ever jinx yourself by saying, "Hey I think she stopped-aw dammit..."
Thursday, November 06, 2008
Report:Pigs Flying Through Frozen Hell
I have fundamental differences with Barack Obama's platform yet at 11pm Tuesday night I had goosebumps as they announced he was projected as the 44th President of the United States. There has been much hyperbolic gushing about the significance of the event and maybe I'm just adding to it.
As a white man, I can only surmise what African-Americans are feeling. I shed no tears like those girls at Spellman College, but I do feel like we are turning the page on the last eight years. I thought of my black friends and acquaintances Tuesday night; were they weeping with joy, calling their friends to rejoice together or just taking a moment to let it soak in? Maybe all of the above. Electing a man of color to our highest office becomes a symbol of how far America has come and also of how far it can go. It continues to heal a divide hundreds of years in the making.
Obama has been derided for running mainly on ideas - hope and change. Yet, isn't that what presidents really are, symbols reflecting where the country is or what we want it to become? Personally, I was relieved that the politics of fear and smear did not derail this historic ride.
It will be interesting to watch Barack Obama from here. As rhetoric fades toward reality expectations can become burdens. I was glad to hear, even as the crowd in Grant Park chanted 'Yes we did.', that Obama continued with his familiar refrain of 'Yes we can.' He has already accomplished much, but the challenge has just begun. When you have offered to carry the hope of an entire nation you'd better have strong shoulders. I hope he, and by extension America, is up for the task.
As a white man, I can only surmise what African-Americans are feeling. I shed no tears like those girls at Spellman College, but I do feel like we are turning the page on the last eight years. I thought of my black friends and acquaintances Tuesday night; were they weeping with joy, calling their friends to rejoice together or just taking a moment to let it soak in? Maybe all of the above. Electing a man of color to our highest office becomes a symbol of how far America has come and also of how far it can go. It continues to heal a divide hundreds of years in the making.
Obama has been derided for running mainly on ideas - hope and change. Yet, isn't that what presidents really are, symbols reflecting where the country is or what we want it to become? Personally, I was relieved that the politics of fear and smear did not derail this historic ride.
It will be interesting to watch Barack Obama from here. As rhetoric fades toward reality expectations can become burdens. I was glad to hear, even as the crowd in Grant Park chanted 'Yes we did.', that Obama continued with his familiar refrain of 'Yes we can.' He has already accomplished much, but the challenge has just begun. When you have offered to carry the hope of an entire nation you'd better have strong shoulders. I hope he, and by extension America, is up for the task.
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Welcome Back, John McCain.
Like my last couple posts about the election I am not arguing policy here. I was happy to see the funny, likable John McCain show up on SNL last night. He was able to poke fun at himself and his running mate. Had he acted like this instead of a surly, cantankerous liar throughout the general election campaign he might be a lot closer in the polls. (Not that those are locks; it will not shock me if McCain pulls the upset Tuesday.)
As entertaining as I found McCain's opening bit (which, of course, owed more to the writers and Tina Fey than to McCain) I think there was more than a kernel of truth in his Weekend Update bit. He was talking about radical strategy shifts in the face of flagging polls. The startegies had funny names like "The Reverse Maverick" and "The Double Maverick". The one that is probably more true than even McCain would like to admit was called "The Sad Grandpa": "C'mon, Obama's got plenty of chances to be president. When is it gonna be my turn?" Kinda sums it up doesn't it?
One other election note: My favorite statistic of the election season- When the Redskins win their last home game before the election, the incumbent party wins. When the Redskins lose that last home game, the incumbents lose. Bottom line, if you put Country First (gag!) root for the Skins. Ready for Change(yeah right!)? Root for the Steelers. Put's my wife in a bit of a pickle.
As entertaining as I found McCain's opening bit (which, of course, owed more to the writers and Tina Fey than to McCain) I think there was more than a kernel of truth in his Weekend Update bit. He was talking about radical strategy shifts in the face of flagging polls. The startegies had funny names like "The Reverse Maverick" and "The Double Maverick". The one that is probably more true than even McCain would like to admit was called "The Sad Grandpa": "C'mon, Obama's got plenty of chances to be president. When is it gonna be my turn?" Kinda sums it up doesn't it?
One other election note: My favorite statistic of the election season- When the Redskins win their last home game before the election, the incumbent party wins. When the Redskins lose that last home game, the incumbents lose. Bottom line, if you put Country First (gag!) root for the Skins. Ready for Change(yeah right!)? Root for the Steelers. Put's my wife in a bit of a pickle.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Is It November 5th Yet?
Joe the Plumber. Terrorist Pals. Hypnosis. Pit Bull. Hockey Mom. Out of Touch. Amtrak. $150,000 on Clothes. Change We Can Believe In. No, I'm For Change. Bridge To Nowhere. McBush. False Birth Certificates. Celebrity. Ladies and Gentlemen. War Hero. Reverend Wright. ACORN. Drill, Baby, Drill. Country First. Hussein. Maverick. Flag Pin. Old Man Yells at Cloud. You Betcha.
I am so sick of the unprecedented (seems that way to me) kitchen sink, throw-it-against-the-wall-to-see-what-sticks "messaging" that both candidates and their suurogates are employing. Maybe I'm just suffering from 24 hour coverage overload. Either way, I'm thinking of breaking out the DVDs and enjoying a West Wing marathon on election night. This year a fictional president may be our only hope.
I am so sick of the unprecedented (seems that way to me) kitchen sink, throw-it-against-the-wall-to-see-what-sticks "messaging" that both candidates and their suurogates are employing. Maybe I'm just suffering from 24 hour coverage overload. Either way, I'm thinking of breaking out the DVDs and enjoying a West Wing marathon on election night. This year a fictional president may be our only hope.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Irony Alert
I just heard John McCain accuse Barack Obama of "saying anything to get elected". That's f-ing hilarious. And he said it with a straight face. How about checking out the man in the mirror John "I've Abandoned Everything I Used To Stand For" McCain.
Curse of the Hockey Mom?
This has to be my favorite hockey statistic of the new season. Like a tiki idol around Greg Brady's neck, Sarah Palin appears to be a curse upon any NHL team she visits. She dropped the ceremonial first puck before the Philadelphia Flyers' opening game a couple weeks ago. The Flyers proceeded to lose their first six games. They finally broke the curse last night with a victory over the Devils. How did they break the Palin jinx? Well, they didn't, Gov. Palin did. She dropped the ceremonial puck at the St. Louis Blues game last night and brought her curse with her. The Blues lost the game 4-0 and ,worse yet, their starting goalie, Manny Legace, injured his leg when he stumbled over the carpet used for Palin to walk across the ice. I wonder if her son's team ever won a game.
I'm putting this personal plea out to Caps owner Ted Leonsis right now-For the love of cheese, please do not let this woman inside the Verizon Center. I realize if elected she'll work mere blocks away, but that is close enough. She must never be allowed inside. Never.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Go, Kings(or Preds or Panthers), Go!
Saw an interesting tidbit reported in the Toronto Globe and Mail regarding putting a second NHL franchise in Toronto. Apparently, this is in the very early discussion stages among NHL governors. Personally, I think it would be kind of cool, though I suppose I really don't care one way or another seeing as how I don't live anywhere near Toronto. If it happens I would prefer that an existing, struggling franchise moved as opposed to an expansion team being awarded. I think the NHL has enough teams and revenue issues without worrying about expansion. Sheesh, if Los Angeles can have two teams and the New York area three, why not put another team in a real hockey city?
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Meet Grace.
When I was a kid my dad used to joke that whenever we went on a trip-family vacation, visiting relatives,etc- that we would always return home with more stuff than we left with. This was never more true for me than this past Tuesday when I slowly pulled away from the hospital with my most precious cargo ever-my beautiful newborn daughter, Grace Catherine. That's right, she decided to bless us with her arrival about three weeks earlier than the docs predicted. This has made for an exciting, unpredictable week to say the least. I'm pleased to announce that Amanda was a delivery all-star and that she and baby are healthy and happy.
Grace weighed in at a healthy 6 lbs, 6 oz and 19.5 inches. She does, however, have one small issue. She was born with a partially cleft palate; there is a small gap in the soft palate/roof of her mouth. This will require a surgical correction down the road but, fortunately, at this time it causes no major problems. We feel that if this is the worst thing that happened, we are in great shape. Otherwise, we are settling in to the happy transition at home complete with lack of sleep and dirty diapers. I wouldn't change it for anything.
Some of you may be interested in how we finally settled, after months of indecision, on the name Grace Catherine. We had narrowed the list to three-Grace Catherine(Amanda's grandmother's name), Sydney Grace (probably our favorite throughout the pregnancy) and Phoebe Grace(a late entry that didn't even make it on the baby shower Wheel O' Names). For me the tie was broken by our awesome labor and delivery nurse. She was knowledgable, helpful, caring and had a great bedside manner. She refused to take her lunch break even when they offered to cover her late in her shift. She was a blessing who we could not have done without. Her name? Catherine, of course.
A few other observations from my first week as a new dad:
*Before becoming a father I would have never guessed that I would be so happy/relieved to receive a text message that read, "We have poo and pee!".
*There may be nothing sweeter in this world than the soft sigh your daughter emits as she passes out after a breast milk bender.
*If NASA used that tarry, meconium poo to attach the Space Shuttle's heat shield they would never have to worry about tiles flying off during takeoff.
*My wife's Medela breast pump is either the coolest or scariest device I've ever seen, I can't decide which. I'm convinced Medela is Latin for "robot farmer".
*When trying to sing my daughter to sleep I realized how few songs to which I actually know the words. I'm not a huge music fan and it shows. I'm happy to report that Grace was soothed by my outstanding rendition of "The Gambler" by Kenny Rogers. Good thing I know when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em.
Grace weighed in at a healthy 6 lbs, 6 oz and 19.5 inches. She does, however, have one small issue. She was born with a partially cleft palate; there is a small gap in the soft palate/roof of her mouth. This will require a surgical correction down the road but, fortunately, at this time it causes no major problems. We feel that if this is the worst thing that happened, we are in great shape. Otherwise, we are settling in to the happy transition at home complete with lack of sleep and dirty diapers. I wouldn't change it for anything.
Some of you may be interested in how we finally settled, after months of indecision, on the name Grace Catherine. We had narrowed the list to three-Grace Catherine(Amanda's grandmother's name), Sydney Grace (probably our favorite throughout the pregnancy) and Phoebe Grace(a late entry that didn't even make it on the baby shower Wheel O' Names). For me the tie was broken by our awesome labor and delivery nurse. She was knowledgable, helpful, caring and had a great bedside manner. She refused to take her lunch break even when they offered to cover her late in her shift. She was a blessing who we could not have done without. Her name? Catherine, of course.
A few other observations from my first week as a new dad:
*Before becoming a father I would have never guessed that I would be so happy/relieved to receive a text message that read, "We have poo and pee!".
*There may be nothing sweeter in this world than the soft sigh your daughter emits as she passes out after a breast milk bender.
*If NASA used that tarry, meconium poo to attach the Space Shuttle's heat shield they would never have to worry about tiles flying off during takeoff.
*My wife's Medela breast pump is either the coolest or scariest device I've ever seen, I can't decide which. I'm convinced Medela is Latin for "robot farmer".
*When trying to sing my daughter to sleep I realized how few songs to which I actually know the words. I'm not a huge music fan and it shows. I'm happy to report that Grace was soothed by my outstanding rendition of "The Gambler" by Kenny Rogers. Good thing I know when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
My New Favorite Infomercial.
The Magic Bullet infomercial has been replaced. I stumbled across this beaut, the Flavorwave Turbo, that combines two essential ingredients for a truly great/awful infomercial-cheesy food cooking appliance and washed up celebrity pitchman. The fact that the pitchman in this case is The T makes it all the better.
"I pity the fool that don't use halogen heat, infrared waves, convention cooking all at the same time!"
"What's your prediction for all other convection ovens, Clubber? Pain!
Thud.
Okay, so that's probably not how the Capitals wanted to begin their expectations-laden regular season. Was last night's 7-4 slopfest of a loss in Atlanta a stunning example of the two major offseason concerns this team has (questionable goaltending and deciding not to sign a another top 4 defenseman)? Or was it simply a hiccup or clunker that gets thrown in from time to time, this one just happened to be opening night? I'm going with the latter. Expect good times to resume tonight with a packed Verizon Center Rocking the Red.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Jerry Jones Is Santa Claus.
High end retailer Neiman Marcus announced yesterday that in their famed Christmas catalog they will offer for sale one of the actual endzones from Texas Stadium. You can own a large (literally, it's 10 yards by 53 yards) piece of Dallas Cowboys history. I don't know where I'd put it, but how great would it be to own the actual Astroturf where Emmitt Smith dove for touchdowns, Doug Cosbie fired his imaginary six shooters and Troy Aikman was repeatedly concussed? On Friday nights when I was a child, I was allowed to stay up five minutes past the end of the "Dukes Of Hazzard" to watch the opening credits of "Dallas" just to see the overhead shot of the Cowboys' endzone. I want-no- I need this endzone.
What's that? What would I do with it?
Let's see, it would make the ultimate BBQ/game watching venue. Or perhaps the world's coolest putting green. I suppose the best way to honor the great Cowboys teams of the 90's would be to get some hookers and blow and party down. More likely I would just gaze lovingly at that big 'ol patch of fake grass.
Um, Bryan, that "big 'ol patch of fake grass" has an actual retail price of $500,000.
Oh. Perhaps I'll settle for watching the opening credits of "Dallas" on YouTube.
What's that? What would I do with it?
Let's see, it would make the ultimate BBQ/game watching venue. Or perhaps the world's coolest putting green. I suppose the best way to honor the great Cowboys teams of the 90's would be to get some hookers and blow and party down. More likely I would just gaze lovingly at that big 'ol patch of fake grass.
Um, Bryan, that "big 'ol patch of fake grass" has an actual retail price of $500,000.
Oh. Perhaps I'll settle for watching the opening credits of "Dallas" on YouTube.
Monday, October 06, 2008
Already?
Many things can make you feel old. For instance, with my daughter's birth rapidly approaching I begin to think of my own mortality. In what I figure is typical new dad anxiety, I worry about being around to love and provide for her for a long time. At almost 34, I will be an older father. Not Tony Randall or Anthony Quinn old, but 12 years older than my dad was when I was born.
My body also sometimes belies my age. My physical unfitness and creaky knee often make me feel way older than 34.
But nothing made me feel older than the lightning bolt that I recently received via the U.S. Postal Service. Mixed amidst the bills and credit card solicitations was, complete with plastic membership card, an AARP membership application. I know the AARP has stopped catering to just retired people, but I thought the membership requirement was still being over 50 years old. Have they lowered standards again? Cast a wider net to nab members earlier? Maybe they have a Psychic Recruitment Comittee that knows that some mornings I feel older than 50. Either way, it was a bit depressing to open that envelope. Okay, gotta go-I'm hungry and the Early Bird special starts in just a few minutes.
My body also sometimes belies my age. My physical unfitness and creaky knee often make me feel way older than 34.
But nothing made me feel older than the lightning bolt that I recently received via the U.S. Postal Service. Mixed amidst the bills and credit card solicitations was, complete with plastic membership card, an AARP membership application. I know the AARP has stopped catering to just retired people, but I thought the membership requirement was still being over 50 years old. Have they lowered standards again? Cast a wider net to nab members earlier? Maybe they have a Psychic Recruitment Comittee that knows that some mornings I feel older than 50. Either way, it was a bit depressing to open that envelope. Okay, gotta go-I'm hungry and the Early Bird special starts in just a few minutes.
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