Category — Faineant

I was not drunk at all, and I don’t recall any part of it, save Scarlett Johansson vanquishing an entire army of security agents with her thighs and hips. Oh, and I’ve had an increased thirst for Dr. Pepper, which I hate. My absolute favorite product tie-in to this movie, however, has to be for (I sh*t you not) Land O’Frost lunch meats…

Okay. To be fair, it wasn’t anywhere in the vicinity of Transformers 2. It’s biggest problem was that it just wasn’t in the vicinity of the first Iron Man. Still: ’splosions, a$$ kicking, one-liners, Scarlett Johansson and her thigh-fu, which I didn’t even know existed as a martial art form, popcorn, soda, and an unrelenting sense of “it feels like midnight” after leaving the theatre at about 9 p.m…

There you have it…

I’m always happy when this day is over because Z has a seemingly endless reserve of April fools jokes that she uses to carpet bomb the day into oblivion. It gets ridiculous to the point where you have to assume that whatever she’s saying is going to follow with “April fools!” after. It’s little things–like, “Daddy, I see a squirrel outside.” “Really?” “April fools!” Or, “Daddy, I can’t get the toothpaste cap off.” [I come into the bathroom.] “April fools!” And so on. All day long. I got her once, by letting her know that tomorrow before we roadtrip to Indy we have to see her doctor for a bunch of shots. And when I said, “April fools!” she frowned and shook her head disapprovingly…

Otherwise, it was a great day–beautiful weather, so we went to the park; ended the day at Cold Stone Creamery, which, since Ben & Jerry’s right around the corner closed, we thought we’d give it a shot. Good enough. Then she suckered me into 3 books before bed (instead of 2) by taking 2 out of 3 in Rock, Paper, Scissors…

I’m currently reading Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned by Wells Tower, at the damn-near insistence of the NY Times Book Review. I’m not enjoying these stories nearly as much as I did Ben Fountain’s collection, which thoroughly rocks. In fact, and I don’t really think this is literary snobbery here, I’m surprised this collection received the raves that it has. Too many instances of details that you can just see the writer putting in there–not because they fit the narrative/story, but because perhaps he thought of them or noticed them in real life, wrote them down and was hell-bent on inserting them into a story. Anyway, not like I’ve published anything; but I’m just sayin’–if the Times is going to hold someone up as the second coming of DFW or Cheever or Carver or whatnot, can’t be shootin’ blanks…

I spent some of today wondering why the tip of my right thumb felt vaguely like it had been burned. I considered the usual suspects: thumb-tip cancer, MRSA, and possible early warning sign of Alzheimer’s. Then it dawned on me that Z and I had the Wii with us this weekend, and spent way too much of it doing battle on Mario Kart. So much so that on Friday night when I finally went to bed, I closed my eyes and saw the entire Moo Moo Meadows track flashing against my eyelids…

When I took Z to swim class at the Y this weekend, I noticed a makeshift memorial in the hallway near the locker rooms. It was for one of the teen swim instructors–this kid who helped out a couple times w/Z’s class. I asked the lady at the desk what happened, and she kind of brushed off the question. I went to my Super Phone, and found this article. Just heartbreaking, all around…

Finally, there is this: A brief history of the “ctrl + alt + delete” button, and a zzzzzzing at Bill Gates at the very end. It’s worth the minute:

I was horrified to hear Z tell me that she has not one, but two loose teeth–her first loose baby teeth. It made me realize exactly how not a baby she is now. Then I got sad. Then I smiled thinking of how cute she’ll look w/a few missing teeth. Then I wondered what the going rate for the first missing tooth is these days? Like is there some kind of 1979-to-2010 conversion table, adjusted of course for inflation and market fluctuation? If we go based on what college costs now vs. just 15 years ago, she’s looking at about a 80-lb brick of solid gold bouillon valued at a few grand under her pillow. Wouldn’t that be nice? I did find this from PBS Parents, but didn’t think it was that helpful. Anyway, what if she swallows her first tooth, should she get more? Or maybe less because it’s considered a “tooth foul”? Either way, I’m sure the TF will be kind…

I lost my first tooth in first grade some time, and still remember the squeaking/sucking sound it made when I wiggled it back and forth with my tongue before I took a wadded up piece of tissue and yanked it out…

Other related links: Missing Toof–an electro-/urban music blog…
Dentistry.com–find a dentist in your area…
The Tooth Fairy movie reviews & show times…
The clip from The Hangover where Stu realizes he’s missing a tooth…
A picture of Mike Tyson, smiling…

#90 (!!!!)…

If ever there were a weekend to be snowbound in Indy, this would be the one. Among the dozens of cars spun out in ditches or in the medians on the way here, almost all sported those window flags with the Colts horseshoe. Z and I are here to celebrate the cousin’s b-day…

I loved last night’s Tip of the Hat, Wag of the Finger. In case you missed it:

Z and I were doing Mad Libs tonight, when I called for “A Large Number.” She answered, “Infinity.” I was both stumped and kind of impressed. I also knew that “infinity” wouldn’t make for a really funny line (“….and pulled [LARGE NUMBER] feet of [SOMETHING SLIMY] out of my [PART OF CLOTHING]“). So I asked for another large number.
“Infinity is a large number.”
“I know, but it’s not really a number number.”
“Yes it is.”
“Not really, it’s not.”
“Yes it is.”
“No, technically it isn’t.”
“Yes it is.”
“Look, just pick another large number.”
“I choose infinity.”
“Alright, you can’t really choose infinity, since it technically isn’t really a number.”
“Then what is it?”
“A concept.”
“A concept?”
“Yes, a concept.”
“Can a concept be a number?”
“I suppose.”
“Good, then I choose infinity.”
Fine…
….So I decided to put on a magic show for everyone in [CHICAGO]. The audience gasped as I pulled a(n) [MOM] out of a hat, made a gigantic [TV] disappear into [FUNNY] air, pulled [INFINITY] feet of [FROG] out of my [UNDERWEAR], and sawed my pet [BEAR] in half….
There was laughter…

Teaching begins tomorrow–late start class, which means 3 solid hours rather than 2.75. I’ve failed to take into consideration the Tuesday evening doldrums, which are always a precursor to the Wednesday yawns, which lead into the Thursday stretch. Hopefully, I’ll be up for it tomorrow night. Tonight was spent photocopying and paper-shuffling and 5 minutes of mental visualization. 2.5 minutes, probably…

I continue to read The Plot Against America and think reassuring thoughts as I’m alternately impressed w/the writing and freaked out by the plot, as it were. (“As it were” was said in my slippers and smoking jacket, with a pipe in my mouth and a slightly affected British accent. Thank you…)

Finally, I would like to declare the following: Based on what the scale says when I go into my bathroom after I get off the computer, I will either have a mighty large bowl of vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce or a modest bowl of vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce. Either way, vanilla ice cream/choc sauce is gonna happen tonight… Good night…

#83 (Yesterday was #82, though I forgot to number it. Still haven’t missed a day yet…)

And not a moment too soon, after having turned 3-…of roughly mid-life age just last month. Today, results of a study were released, debunking the “mid-life crisis” as a myth for a number of reasons, one of which being that 35 is no longer really considered “mid-life” anymore. But the concept that “When you are 50, statistically you have as many adult years ahead of you as you have behind you” freaks me out a bit. Mathematically, sure. But quality? I dunno, give me my 20s back…

Tonight we saw a promo for John Mayer’s VH1 Storytellers, and Z turned to me and asked, “You know who John Mayer is dating?”
“No, who?”
“Taylor Swift.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Huh.”
I enjoy our little talks…

The MegaMillions jackpot is up to $144M. If I won, I would go back to school to get PhDs in the following:

• English
• Philosphy
• Rhetoric
• Theology
• and Criminal Justice

#78

So like it wasn’t bad enough with the people living above me. I have a new neighbor. She’s loud and sounds to be fairly pissed off at a guy on a regular basis. The yelling isn’t nearly as unsettling as the brief silences that happen in between–as if someone is being choked or somehow restrained. Do I live in the hood, you ask? I didn’t think so. However, it’s looking more and more like perhaps maybe well kind of yes, I do. I guess. In the suburbs. Mind you, this isn’t the kind of neighbor you knock on the door and politely ask to keep it down, either. It’s the kind of neighbor for which you have exactly one option. In the meantime, I’m considering hypnosis/stress-relieving tracks from iTunes. I need a little Bob Ross, possibly some Garrison Keillor…

In other news, I’m kind of getting tired of the “number” system for all of my posts. I’ve been posting every day, rain or shine, for 76 days now. 76. 76. 76. This ritual has become ingrained in a somewhat alarming manner–can’t even consider going to bed w/out sitting here and pitching little bits of nothing Out There. Is it worth it? In the words of Z’s school principal when a parent asked if they should still read to their kids even if their kids can read: “Well, it certainly can’t hurt.”…

Office Space is on E!. I will watch it beginning to end and recite every line… “I love Kung Fu.” “Channel 39.” “Totally”…

A friend made me think of the sacrament of reconciliation today (the traditional precursor to the big wafer sacrament). I want to say I was in first grade when this took place. I recall going through a number of rehearsals and many, many workbook pages in preparation for this. The ceremony took place on a weekday evening, and I was freaked out because you had to step up to the altar and choose between going behind one of two screens where one of our church’s ancient priests sat, waiting to dole out some holy judgment on our asses. When the time came, I couldn’t recall A.) the Act of Contrition and B.) anything at all I’d planned on confessing. I blanked on the prayer, and when I had to tell the priest my sins, I managed to eke out some bs about hitting my older sister, lying to my parents, and calling my best friend a bad name. While I may have done the first on that list, though at that age, I doubt it, I definitely didn’t do any of the others. I remember this because as I was confessing all of it, I realized I was committing a sin right there by lying to the priest…

Since then, I never really fared much better with that particular sacrament (or Catholicism, in general). The few other times I went to confession–I recall once in high school where the priest, who knew me, said, “What in the hell are you doing here?” We chatted about girls for a bit, then he said, “Get out of here.” I actually went to confession once when I was living in the city and suffering from what turned out to be actual depression, though I thought it was some kind of existential crisis. And I remember listening intently to the people who were confessing in line before me. One man actually talked about beating up his girlfriend not just once, but multiple times. I then had second thoughts about going, but instead of jumping out of line and leaving, I made something up and then went back to my apartment and scheduled an appointment with a therapist, which is what I really needed…