sunny side up

who's yer daddy?

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!

Well, a curly-headed girl with a bright shining smile
Heard the roar of a plane as it sailed through the sky
To her playmates she said, with a bright twinkling eye
My Daddy flies that ship in the sky

My Daddy flies that ship in the sky
My Daddy flies that ship in the sky
My Mama's not afraid and neither am I
'Cause my Daddy flies that ship in the sky

Then a button-nosed kid, as he kicked up his heels
He said, My Daddy works in the iron and the steel
My Dad builds the planes and they fly through the sky
And that's what keeps your daddy up there so high

That's what keeps your daddy up there so high
That's what keeps your daddy up there so high
My Dad builds the planes and they fly through the sky
And that's what keeps your daddy up there so high

Then a freckle-faced kid pinched his toe in the sand
He says, My Daddy works at that place where they land
You tell your mama, don't be afraid
My Dad'll bring your daddy back home again

My Dad'll bring your daddy back home again
My Dad'll bring your daddy back home again
Don't be afraid when it gets dark and rains
My Dad'll bring your daddy back home again

lowering the bar

I know, I know! I'm sorry!  You wouldn't believe how many draft posts languish as I type.

***

There I was minding my own business when a call came in.  It was allegedly one Dolores from the American Bar Association, calling to "update" the information she had on me.  Mind you, I haven't been a member of the ABA since I stopped working for law firms that would pay the dues because, frankly, there's no value added there.

I knew that Dolores was going to pitch me on the ABA's fine products so I gave her a listen in the hope that she would amuse me. And she did!  She tried to trick me with a tricky logic question: "According to our files, we have you down as graduating from law school in 1991 and becoming a member of the bar that same year.  And California was your first Bar admission. Is that information still correct?"

as a result of a confiscatory domestic policy

Things confiscated from Jade and/or Kai because these things proved too distracting for the children to concentrate on the less entertaining activities in which they were supposed to be engaged at the time of confiscation:

1. The Visual Dictionary of Star Wars, Episodes IV, V,  & VI: The Ultimate Guide to Stars Wars Characters and Creatures
2.  The Adventures of Tin Tin, Vol. 1
3. Calvin & Hobbes: It's a Magical World
4. Calvin & Hobbes: The Tenth Anniversary Book
5. The Calder Game
6. Chasing Vermeer
7. A heavy spiral notebook of lined pages, some of which are filled in with the thoughts and poems of a 10-year old girl, such book declaring itself "Not A Diary"
8. A squirt gun
9. A Star Wars Clone Wars Ultimate Light Saber
10. A bunch of Legos*

*Some were confiscated for being on the floor when they shouldn't have been, others for building themselves into something when they shouldn't have been.

homeland stupidity

Things that have caused me extra special attention from Transportation Officials, including further interrogation, a condescending lecture, being ordered to place offending items in a ziploc bag even though that bag would not pass through security again, and most recently, being swabbed for explosives:

1. Mascara
2. Sponge Bob toothpaste
3. Ocean Sinus Nasal Rinse (Kai's. You're never too young to start irrigating your sinuses! I'm training him for future neti pot use.)

Things that have passed right under the noses of shiftless Transportation Officials, the first five of which were inadvertently left in my purse or backpack:

1. My Swiss Army SwissChamp. (This bad boy can do some damage, and also open beer bottles.)
2.  My Spitfire.
3. Tweezers. (Generic. To hijack plane by plucking the hell out of pilots' eyebrows.)
4. Leatherman Micra Multi-Tool. (I like tools and gadgets. What can I say?)
5. Lipsticks, three. (Technically a gel-or-cream-like product belonging in the Ziploc of Potentially Hazardous Liquids.)
6. Drunk people.
7. Those two suspicious non-English speaking characters with no carry-on baggage who looked around shiftily at everyone in our boarding area.  They kept looking at their cell phones.  One walked away after taking a call while the other remained until the last group was called for boarding. Then he moved over to the adjoining gate area and looked angrily on as he watched us board.   Ultimately, he did not get on our plane. 

isn't he pretty in pink?

We pulled up to an end-of-semester BBQ held by a couple of Bell's 1L students, and as I got out of the car, a convertible full of youngsters passed us.  One of the passengers yelled a happy "Heyyyyyyyyyy!" as they whizzed on by.  My guess was that they had already been partying a bit. 

Bell got out of the car and I said, "I think I just saw some of your student but they didn't see you.  Did you hear that guy yell as they went by?" 

He had not. 

"He was obviously very drunk," Kai chimed in.

"Why do you say that?" (Incidentally, I recently had to explain to him, upon inquiry, that "buzzed" meant "pre-drunk.")

"Because. He was wearing a pink shirt."

****

I later concluded that the kid actually was drunk because two minutes after introducing myself and telling him I was Professor Bell's wife he asked, "So, are you a student?"

pillow talk

Lately my neck and shoulders have been aching, especially when I wake up in the morning. As far as I know I haven't been doing anything new or different to cause this (no new exercises, not sitting at a new desk, etc.). I decided that the problem must be my pillow even though I've been using the same one for a few years now.  When I purchased my current pillow I gave my other pillow--which I had purchased a few years before that on the assumption that it would relieve neck pain--to Bell.  I thought he might benefit from its space age foam and odd structure. 

I went online to find yet another new pillow to alleviate my neck and shoulder pain, and I discovered this Cervical Traction pillow.  Cervical, people!  Doesn't that make it sound like it's for parts south of the neck?

that to which i've been up

Historically April is a busy busy month for me, what with my last-minute attention to taxes and the end of the spring semester. So I do apologize and thank you for coming to visit even if it seems like I've shut the blinds and refuse to answer the door.

Even now I don't have time to draft one of those extensive, well-plotted, socially responsible and politically correct posts for which I've become famous the world over--the ones that have made me the A-List blogger you have come to know and love--so instead you get me throwing stuff out there to see what sticks.  To wit:

1) As I was considering the vast array of deodorant choices at my local deodorant provider (thank you, Capitalism, with your glorious choices and affordable prices! I don't care what they say about you--I love you!), I had to smell each one in the Degree (TM) line of products because it's one of the few brands with the impressive power to contain my EXXXXTREEEEEEME stench.  Usually I grab the Shower Clean (despite my sniffing everything as if I'm really considering a switch because, let's face it, I'm a hamster in my Habitrail (TM)). For a fleeting moment, however, I almost jumped off my Habitrail (TM) to purchase the scent of "Fresh Oxygen."  Wouldn't you assume that it would smell like, well, fresh air, and that this air wouldn't really have a smell if it were truly fresh? Well, you're wrong. Fresh Oxygen, it turns out, does not smell like nothing. So much for truth in advertising.

2) While at my local deodorant provider, which also happens to sell hair products, I made my way two aisles over to purchase HBAs--a term which here stands for "Health and Beauty Aids"--namely some kind of gel or mousse for Jade. You see, Jade recently got her hairs cut and the stylist used product to helped Jade's stick-straight hair flip out at the ends in a sassy way.  Jade liked the sass and wanted to find a similar product so that she could style her hairs from home, and off we went in search of it. And there it was, Tigi Bed Head After Party Styling Creme, sitting on the shelf all pink and phallic.  (Oh, yes it was.)  Geez, that's not even subliminal! My first thought was that ten-year-olds don't need to use $18 hair products, but even it if cost only $5, ten-year-olds don't need creme-emitting-phalluses (phallusi?) greeting them from the medicine cabinet every morning. Who's with me on this?

3) I don't have swine flu, and apparently I'm not at risk since it affects young adults the hardest.  Apparently these "young" are people between 20 and 40, so PHEW! Age has it's rewards after all; you "young" people are just too blinded by your youth and good looks and soft skin and big dreams to see otherwise. 

This morning I awoke at 3 a.m. to hear Kai faintly whimpering in his room (my maternal sensory buttons are very finely tuned even if I am deep in sleep). He said he was "feeling weird," which I could see meant he had the chills.  He attributed it to the fact that moments before he had pictured in his head "a piece of bread with white stuff on it, and the white stuff had green and orange sprinkles."  I told him he was probably coming down with something (like SWINE FLU) but he swears it was the image of the bread that caused his symptoms. Even after he woke up later in the morning he swore his "weird feeling" was because he was imagining that bread with the white stuff and sprinkles.  Again I tried to dissuade him, this time with the argument that he was describing the bread to me so he was obviously thinking about it, and yet he didn't have the chills. Quod erat demonstrandum, right? Wrong. "That's because I have to be lying in my bed when I think of it." D'oh!

I considered sealing him off in his bedroom and leaving food and water at the door but I don't really like the kids bringing food into their rooms. Instead, I escaped to work (in San Diego, where people have SWINE FLU) while Bell remained home with Kai today. The kid got to recline on the couch under my favorite couch blankie (which I must now sanitize four times before using again) and watch cartoons.  Is that the life, or what?

4) Speaking of swine flu, did you ever read that book by Gina Kolata about the Spanish Flu pandemic if 1918? I read it a few years back, when influenza-pandemic talk was just someone's doomsday fantasy, and still it scared the shiite out of me.  Now I'm forced to think about it all over again when I should be turning my attention to how to spend my tax refund. 

Whenever I hear or read the name "Gina Kolata" I always think of pina coladas. Mmmmm, pina coladas. And getting caught in the rain. And the feel of the ocean. And the taste of champagne.

5) A confession:  I have been posting at least one status update to Facebook every day.  But I swear to you I have not given up blogging for FB.  In fact, it's not really clear to me how people can spend hours on end using Facebook unless they have zillions of Friends and read every item on every Friend's page and take every test and answer every Note in which they are tagged.  Maybe it would be a bigger time suck if I had more Friends.  I'm not really looking to pad my Inner Circle of Trust with people I have never actually met though.  And, because I'm not a joiner ("I work alone."), I haven't joined any FB Groups.  However, if I did join a group it would be one of those groups of people who are sick and tired of hearing other people mispronounce their last name, or people who drop my last name from my kids' last name when, in fact, they should know that our kids have a compound last name.  This is especially vexing when I know the offender really well. (Dad.) 

6) Kai started playing Little League this year, trying it out to see if he likes it.  So far, he is most taken with the hitting part of the game because, to quote him, "I LOVE to hit stuff!" Initially he also seemed to enjoy fielding, and he'd go after the ball almost every time, even when it was way out of his jurisdiction. He and the other boys would run from different points on the field to converge on the ball; thereafter tackling or a squabble over the ball might ensue.  Meanwhile, the other team would be running the bases, clearly taking advantage of the fact that above all, little boys just love to dogpile each other whenever they get the chance, game be damned.  (We also witnessed this phenomenon at basketball games. I can't wait to see Kai play football.)  Now that Kai understands that when he plays outfield he he is only responsible for a wee region of the grass, his enthusiasm has waned. In fact, sometimes he sits on or rolls in the clover--and it reminds me of the story of Ferdinand the Bull--when he is in the outfield. He's just biding his time, waiting for his chance to "hit stuff." 

Last weekend, Kai was running from second to third when the shortstop tried to tag him out.  He did what any level headed person would do when someone chased him--he ran away from the guy. Into the outfield.  Psyche!  This drew laughter and applause from the crowd, as if Kai had been sent in as comic relief.  That boy plays by his own rules.

7) A stumper for anyone familiar with Ice Breakers (TM) mints in the round container: a) Why does the container have two sides, one labeled "To Share" and the other "Not To Share"?  b) Why is the "To Share" hole teeny while the "Not to Share" is the size of half the circular container--a semicircle, if you will? This seems backwards.  c) Did it used to be otherwise? I and my children swear that the "To Share" hole used to be the larger of the two.  d) Is this an error or is it on purpose? e) If an error, do you think the person responsible for that particular run of labels got fired?

8) OMG, we got a third cat! Or at least we could have, judging by the amount of cat fur we found when Bell pulled out the refrigerator to figure out why it wasn't enchilling our food properly.  Since the kids are overwhelmed enough with having to clean a litter box for two cats, the makings of an extra cat fur have been stored in the vacuum.

9) And now I must go investigate the refrigerator problem. Until next time, stay chill, People.

by a hare

When I was a kid, my friends and I attended the movies every Saturday for--get this--a dime and six Coke caps. That's right, six caps from those old skool bottles of Coca Cola.  Today, I find this remarkable not only because the price was dirt cheap, but also because I was in third and fourth grade and my parents let me walk to a movie theater at the mall, attend a movie, and then eat lunch at the S&W cafeteria without adult supervision.  (We'd always get the same thing at S&W: garlic bread with extra butter, a big plate of french fries, all the ice water we could drink.) That's astounding, don't you think?

But that's not the point.

The point is, we were a Pepsi family.  That made it very difficult to try to save up Coca Cola caps so that I could go to the movies on Saturday. Soon enough, however, the proverbial light went on: I noticed that when a customer purchased a bottled drink at 7-11, the clerk typically opened the bottle using a bottle opener attached to each counter.  The caps dropped into a big paper bag.  I was a frequent 7-11 customer (mmmmmm, green apple bubble gum  and atomic fire balls . . .) because, as previously noted, my parents didn't seem concerned with where we spent our days so long as we were home when the streetlight came on.  One day I asked the clerk if I could have the bags of bottle caps at the end of the day, and he simply handed them over. (Just like that! It was like found money.)  I and my friends sorted through them, pulling out the Coca Cola caps and banking them for some future use.  We never worried about missing the Saturday Morning Coke Show again.  It was like finding leftover change in the payphone (but not getting in trouble for it). To me, life could not get any better.  

***

Our backyard faces a canyon, which means all manner of wildlife come upon or around the premises  whenever they damn well please.  I've seen raccoons, skunks, rabbits, coyotes, juvenile delinquent cats, rats (until the ivy was removed), snakes, hawks, lizards, hummingbirds, owls, etc.  I've never actually seen a mountain lion back there, but they are in the area and I always get the sense they are watching me from the bushes as I pull the steaks off the grill. For the most part, I can tolerate all of these critters except the bunnies--they kind of piss me off.  They eat the grass and they get into the vegetable garden and eat the strawberries and other delicious plants. (Except for the chard. They won't touch the chard.) Yes, they're cute, but they're pains in the asses. Plus, apparently a recent onslaught of little bunnies in the area has led to a significant increase in the rattlesnake population, and I don't like that so much. Rattlesnakes need to to their thing; I get that. But the bunnies should not be out there making it easier for them. Damn bunnies.

A friend of mine recently told me that the way to eliminate bunnies in the backyard without shooting them is to place human hair in a bag in the ground. This smell of humans is supposed to be unpleasant to rabbits, or maybe the rabbits associate the smell with being shot at.  Regardless, I thought this sounded like a good idea.  However, I didn't think it fair of me to ask one of the kids to take up residence in a hole in the ground outside the garden to keep the rabbits away.  I considered asking them to grow their hair really long and so I could eventually cut it off and use it to repel the fluffy little varmints (sort of like Locks of Love, only not).  That would have taken too long. We want those bunnies gone yesterday. 

Speaking of yesterday, quite coincidentally Jade wanted to get her hairs cut (all of them) yesterday.  After her stylist had finished and as she was sweeping up the fallen hair, I asked her to put it in a bag for me.  Jade quickly interjected to say that it was for the purpose of keeping rabbits out of the garden.  I think she was worried that my asking for a bag of human hair might make me look like some kind of weirdo.  (I know, right? She should already know I am a weirdo.) I thought of it more like asking for a doggie bag, only . . . not (since I hadn't been consuming the hair), but you get my drift. It was like asking for the bottle caps from 7-11.  Every day, human hair is thrown away in beauty salons the world over, and rabbits are infesting gardens the world over.  All it takes is one brilliant, resourceful woman --me, for example-- to put that hair to productive use.

As they say, one man's trash is another man's treasure.

Shhhhhh! Be vewwwy quiet. I'm hunting wabbit.

da bomb

Kai was riding in the car with his BFF when the friend's mom overheard her son say: "Kai, you were in my dream last night. And you were wearing a pink dress. . . . And so was I!"  And they laughed and laughed about it.

***

Kai was telling me about a boy who visited the classroom for a "shadow day," which means the kid (and his parents) were checking out the school.  I asked if he played with the boy, and he said yes.  I asked if the boy was nice and he said, "Well, he tells lies."

"He really liked Andrew [Kai's BFF at school] though."

"Did he like you?" I asked.

"Well, he said he wanted me to explode, so . . .  I guess that's a 'NO'."

Then we all laughed and laughed.

feel the burn

[Ed. note: I updated this post by changing the word "by" from "my" in the second paragraph so as not to mislead you into thinking I've undergone amputation, or that Glen Whitman finds me creepy. Which he might, but for other reasons.]

As a kid, I was kind of sassy in the sense that I had a "smart mouth" (as they used to say). I was a back-talker, more to my mom, Viv, than to my dad. I knew that if I talked back to my dad he'd give me an ass-whuppin' like you wouldn't believe, but if I talked back to my mom the best she could muster was this lame-armed pat on the elbow and a verbal scolding. Then, of course, I'd have to deliver some kind of smart-ass comment like, "Psh, that didn't hurt." 

At some point in my long sassing career, Viv figured out that maybe her true punishing skillz lay elsewhere.  Maybe the lame slaps weren't working.  That's when she got the bright idea (probably from Dr. Spock) (not the Star Trek guy) that washing my mouth out with soap was where it was at.  The advantage was twofold: 1)  it did not require any real physical exertion on her part. Oh sure, the act of shoving the bar in and out of my mouth and hitting all my teeth required some activity, but she wasn't completely physically inept); and 2) once my mouth was well-sudsed I didn't say, "Psh, that didn't hurt" afterward because I was too busy spitting and crying and trying to get that shit off my molars. To this day, I can't even look at a picture of Classic Dial Soap without getting a little gaggy feelling in the back of my mouth. (Incidentally, that link reminded me of how my friend Glen Whitman is creeped out by amputation.  Note to file.)

Lord knows how many times Viv washed my mouth out with soap.  As bad as it was, however, it didn't really stop me from back-talking. (I think this shows that I am hard-wired to be an anti-authoritarian smart-ass, and ain't nothing going to change that. This zebra doesn't change her stripes.) Then one day out without warning, Viv switched tactics on me.  It might have had something to do with some newfound belief of hers that soap was bad for one's digestive tract.  Or maybe it was because she realized that a very effective method of terror is keeping your victims guessing about what their torture will be.  In any event, Viv introduced a new punishment for my sassy talk: the dispersal of several drops of Tabasco sauce on my tongue. In those days I didn't like spicy foods, so this was a particularly unpleasant experience for me.

Typically the scene went down like this: I'd sass, Viv would yell at me to come into the kitchen. Reluctantly, I did.  She would order me to stick out my tongue.  I wouldn't. She'd tell me again. Etc.  When I thought she was about to crack down and slap me upside the head, I'd stick out the tiniest bit of tongue. It wasn't enough.  And we would continue on piecemeal like that until at some point enough of the tip of my tongue would be exposed, and she'd let rip with the hot sauce. Oh, the burning! The burrrrrrrning! (You probably think I deserved it, don't you?)

Whereas the mouth-sudsing always occurred in the bathroom, this Tabasco sauce ritual was held in the kitchen, presumably because that was where the poison was located.  This seemingly innocuous change of venue turned out to be a strategic error on Viv's part, for I discovered that the bathroom--specifically, the medicine cabinet--contained my secret defense.  It had been there, practically under my nose, all along.  

One day after a sassing, I ran into the bathroom to hide.  I was a little panicked, not wanting to face the Tabasco Sauce Terror.  Viv was yelling at me to come into the kitchen.  For some reason I started rooting around the medicine cabinet and I suddenly espied the Vick's Vaporub.  The lightbulb went on!  I dug my hand into the jar and coated my tongue with Vick's.  Yes, it burned, but in a kind of pleasant eucalyptus way.  I dare say it was downright refreshing.  I was now prepared to receive my punishment.  And you know what? It worked!  I didn't even feel the burn.

Of the Tabasco sauce.