Thursday, April 24, 2003

In Which The Title Would Have Worked As An Ironic Twist To The Text Below, If I Hadn't Burned Myself Out Constructing The Title And Spent More Time Coming Up With The Actual Blog Itself

The concept of self-fulfilling prophecy is one that I...

Wednesday, April 23, 2003

In Which I Add A Brief Postscript

Whatever happened to the word "ball" as a substitute for the word "fuck"? As in "Heeeeeey, maaaaa-an, get outta my microbus! I'm trying ta ball my old lady!"
In Which Rick Santorum Gets Cut Off

"I have no problem with homosexuality. I have a problem with homosexual acts."
-Sen Rick Santorum

Here's what I suggest - Anyone who has a problem with a homosexual act automatically gives up the right to blowjobs or head. If you are convinced that heterosexual fucking is the only thing that will get you into heaven, then all you get is the missionary position. That's it. Getting a blowjob makes your wife gay. Going down on your wife makes you a lesbian. You don't want to risk anyone's soul by making them emulate sinners.

"If the Supreme Court says that you have the right to consensual (gay) sex within your home, then you have the right to bigamy, you have the right to polygamy, you have the right to incest, you have the right to adultery. You have the right to anything"
-Sen Rick Santorum

In my view, nobody makes these kinds of statements unless they have something to hide. I'm not accusing Sen. Santorum of cheating on his wife with his two sons (I'm not even sure if he has sons) but if Roy Cohn has taught us anything, if Jimmy Swaggart has taught us anything, it's to be wary of grandstanding statements like this. Now, I'm not sure who would want to fuck Sen. Santorum, so it may just be a lust-in-the-heart kind of thing.

"In every society, the definition of marriage has not ever to my knowledge included homosexuality. That's not to pick on homosexuality. It's not, you know, man on child, man on dog, or whatever the case may be."
-Sen. Rick Santorum

Yes, a senator of the United States Of America made a reference to fucking a dog. Tell me there's nothing up with this guy.

Click Here for a partial transcript of this timeless interview. Act now while the dogs last.

Tuesday, April 22, 2003

In Which A Fetish Is Still A Fetish

I'm surfing WinMx looking for songs for the show tomorrow. One of the genres I love is pre-1960 children's songs, but they're not that easy to find. Most of these songs you'd never play for your kids. They are completely over the top. A favorite is a song called "The Little Taxi" which includes the lyrics -

This is the way he likes to drive
Seventy, Eighty, Ninety-five
Fast as fire engines go
Compared to taxis they are slow

One of the methods I use to find kids' songs is to do a search on "sparky". This is a classic 40's era story about a boy named Sparky and his hallucinatory imagination. The most famous is Sparky and The Talking Train, in which Sparky thinks he can hear trains talking to him. It turns out that he actually can . During a train ride, the train tells him the right front wheel is loose ("right-front-wheel, right-front-wheel"). Sparky prevents a horrific accident by pulling the brake cord. If someone has Sparky, they usually have more. But then you have to wade through the hundreds of other songs to find what you're looking for.

This morning, I found Sparky and began to browse the user's directory. "Midnight Train to Georgia", "Pullman Porter's Parade", "Red and Green Signal Lights". I sensed a pattern. Indeed, every single song had something to do with trains. There were 20-plus versions of "Folsom Prison Blues". Innumerable versions of "Orange Blossom Special". All in all she had more than 3000 songs about trains totalling almost 12g. 12g of train songs! This goes beyond obsession into the realm of fetish. I sent her an IM asking her about why all the train songs, but an auto-answer came back. "I'm not at my computer right now. If you know of any train songs that I do not have, please let me know."

I sense a new Wes Craven film in the making.

Monday, April 21, 2003

In Which Other People's Children Are Inexplicably Drawn To Me

I was sitting in the park today while my kids played and this two-and-a-half year old came whizzing by me trying to catch a bubble on her bubble wand. She wobbled back and stopped in front of me.

"My bubbah flew 'way," she explained.
"Oh, that's too bad. Why don't you make more bubbles?"

She nodded and did so, whizzing past me again to chase the new bubbles. She wobbled back and stopped in front of me.

"My bubbah flew 'way," she explained.
"Oh, that's too bad. Why don't you make more bubbles?"

This went on for about ten minutes. Then she came over to me.

"I'm gonna blow a big big big big big bubbah."
"Ok. Wow! That is big."

And we did this scene for another ten minutes until walked outside the park to have a cigarette.

Kids are easy. Comedy is hard.

Sunday, April 20, 2003

In Which The Previous Post Was Read By My Daughter

Fact: I have broadband and use this computer as a server for the other machine in the house, so it never gets turned off.
Fact: Generally, since I compulsively check email, I leave the monitor on.
Fact: Since I take care of the kids, when they're watching TV I'm on the computer.
Fact: My "office" is the front room and has no door.

Since I've taken over what's now referred to as "primary care", I've had battles with my oldest when I'm writing. She loves nothing more than to stand and look over my shoulder. So, after alt+tabbing if neccessary, I ask her politely to stop and that I'll be there in a few mintues. She sulks off, I finish and lovingly tend to whatever needs need tending to. I wrote the previous post in the morning. (It's one of my favorite bits. The subject used to be Santa, which meant that it could only be used in a two-three week period. Now, thanks 2 Jesus, I can use for two (2) two-three week periods.)

I'd brought up the Dura-Luxe site to show my wife a one of the most brilliant posts I'd seen. (Do a search on the word "rape". It's probably not for everyone) If you don't have kids, you should know that one of the Laws Of Parenting states - "Whenever you want to show or talk to your spouse about adult matters, the child will appear." Don't ask me how they do it, but they know. It's really pretty creepy. Sensitive parent that I am, I alt+tabbed, since a ten-year doesn't need to skim a post about rape, no matter how well-constructed it is. The problem was, I didn't register what I had switched to, which was the editing page for this blog...which, of course, had the Easter post beneath it.

About a half hour later, as we're getting ready to go out for Easter Dinner, she says, "Dad?"
"Did you write that thing on your computer?"
"What thing?"
"That know...the..."

I'm not sure whether she couldn't describe it or just didn't want to describe it. I walked back and jiggled the mouse to wake up the monitor. And there was the Easter Post.

What to do?

I was understandably shaken. She hates being talked about to begin with, but that was the least of the problem. The bigger problem was that she'd read "No, honey. There's no God."

It's not that we're "christian". We go (pardon the word) faithfully to the Unitarian Universalist church every week. "God" is a not the Jesus' Dad. It's a concept and a framework for faith that the world, despite everything, is a kind and decent place. So, the thought that her father was saying that there was no almost broke my heart to think what could be going on in her head. "What kind of a monster is raising me? Is there really no God? Are they lying to me about God, just like the Easter Bunny?" I felt like I'd just mindfucked by daughter.

After going through the whole Kubler-Ross progression in the space of two minutes, I got my shit together and took her out on the back porch to talk.

"Look," I told her, crouching down to her size, "Two things. The first is that what you read was a joke for adults. It's got nothing to do with you. The stuff that I write isn't stuff for kids to read. I'm sorry that you read it. It doesn't mean anything and it's supposed to be funny. The second thing is that this is why I ask you not to read over my shoulder when I'm writing. This is like my diary. I think you'd be pretty mad at me if I stood over you watching you write in your diary. Right?"
"Right. So...that stuff like your diary. I didn't understand that."
"That's ok. I should have turned off the monitor after I was done, and I'm going to start doing that now. But, please. If I'm at the computer..."
"I understand, Dad."

How will this all affect her emotional and intellectual development? It's in God's hands now...or the Easter Bunny's.
In Which I Wish You A Happy Easter

My oldest daughter became quite withdrawn while we colored eggs yesterday. Some silences aren't obvious until much later and it wasn't until around bedtime that I noticed how pensive she'd become. I asked her if everything was ok and she unconvincingly assured me that she was. I let it go, knowing that she'd talk when she was ready. As I hugged her at bedtime, it came out.

"Um...It's Easter tomorrow, right."
"Um...and we just died eggs and I was wondering..." She trailed off.
"What, honey. What are you thinking about?"
"Well, tomorrow..."
"If I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?"
"Of course, I will, honey! What do you want to know?"
"Umm...There really isn't a God, is there?"
"No, honey. There's no God."
"You're really God, right?"
"That's right, honey."
"I thought so. I love you, Daddy."
"I love you, too, honey. Good night."
"The Easter Bunny is still real, right?"
"Of course he is. You go to sleep now"
"'K, Dad. Love you."