If you are looking for me today, you will find me at my desk, busy at constructively ignoring what I cannot change today. I begin my appointed task very tired because the boy child gave us an unusually bad night (my poor wife is a wreck) so I am forced to ignore the fact that:

* I forgot to brush my teeth this morning (spare toothbrush at office, whew)

* I almost forgot to shave but I forced myself to remember deodorant

* I left the house without my glasses (but found old spare pair in desk! Yay!)

* I left house without an umbrella but returned to retrieve one (it was raining and that helped remind me) and,

* I ran the rusty tip of the umbrella along the side of my formerly clean pants, unintentionally, but leaving a streak of rust along the left outside knee.

It is only 8:50. I believe that I will face, with fortitude, the rest of the day's little surprises. And if not, I will, nobly and with great dignity, close my office door and weep quietly.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 08:52 AM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
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This was from today's Metropolitan Diary in the NY Times:

One recent afternoon, I was waiting in line at the silver counter at Tiffany. A woman ahead of me had just purchased a bracelet and was filling out a gift card. She looked up and asked the salesclerk, "How do you spell 'bar mitzvah'?" The salesclerk didn't hear her. I intervened.

"Bar mitzvah?" I asked.

She smiled and nodded.

"Didn't you buy a bracelet?" I asked.

"Why, yes I did," she answered.

"So it's for a girl?"

"That's correct," she said.

I explained: "Well, bar mitzvah is for a boy. Bas mitzvah is for a girl. So you should say 'Happy bas mitzvah.' " She thanked me, then I asked, "Do you know if they are Sephardic or Ashkenazic?"

Her face dropped. "Oh my, I have no idea. Does it matter?" she asked.

I replied: "No, not for the purpose of a gift. But if they are Ashkenazic, it's bas mitzvah, Sephardic is bat mitzvah."

"So how do I spell it?" she asked. I told her. She smiled and said: "I'm visiting from Milwaukee. Thank you for all this information, it's so interesting." She looked a bit sheepish and said, "I don't know any of this; I'm a Catholic."

I said, "So am I."

Surprised, she asked, "My goodness, how do you know all this information?"

I responded matter-of-factly, "I live here."

Brian Honan

Posted by: Random Penseur at 08:03 AM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
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Thanks a lot to Linda who deemed my emails to her worthy of a post about the joys of fatherhood.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 10:15 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I was awakened this morning by the Girl Child ("GC") crawling into bed at around 7:00. I asked her why she got into our bed and she said, "because I love you". I thought that was very sweet and then she added, "also, I was very hungry and would like to go out for pancakes this morning".

I turned to my wife and asked, "what do you think, Mamma?"

And the GC said: "No, you tell her what she thinks."

I said: "What? You mean you want me to tell her what she thinks instead of asking her what she thinks about going out for breakfast?"

GC: "Yes." [Tone: emphatic]

Upshot: I am signing off to go take the family out for breakfast. Why? Because I believe I have just been told by my 3.5 year old what I should be thinking.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 08:13 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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Thanks to Emma, who found it at Ace, for this link to MoveOnPlease.org, an excellent satirical send up of the neo-stalinist, MoveOn, by the bright young things at National Lampoon.

And there was much laughter.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 07:50 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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1 The best part (for me)? The disclaimer. "(Calm down, it's not real.)" Love it, love it, love it! Thanks for the linkage, too.

Posted by: Emma at August 15, 2004 05:28 PM (NOZuy)

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I came across the following job posting today:

UNITED STATES SENATE EMPLOYMENT LITIGATION ATTORNEY
The Office of the Senate Chief Counsel for Employment (SCCE) is seeking two Employment Law litigators to defend the offices of United States Senators and officers in Title VII, ADEA, ADA and other employment cases. The SCCE is an in-house defense team of lawyers. Unique opportunity to combine employment law and constitutional law and to develop the jurisprudence with respect to the Congressional Accountability Act. Responsibilities also include advising Senate offices of their employment law obligations. Must have experience defending employers against employment discrimination claims, knowledge of Title VII, ADEA, ADA and FMLA. Excellent research and writing skills required. Strong academic credentials required; main law review membership preferred. Fax resume and law school transcript to: 202/228-3603. No telephone inquiries. Equal opportunity employer. Position open until filled.

Can you imagine how hard it would be to defend some of these Senators when they've been accused of, say, sexual harassment?

Posted by: Random Penseur at 05:15 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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The Next Generation Machine Gun fires grenades (click link to bring up image).

Thanks to John at TexasBestGrok for directing me to Ace's post on this topic.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 10:56 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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I was just called and asked to assume the office of Interview Chair for the Alumni Admissions Counsel, NYC Chapter, of my University alma mater. They assured me I was their first choice. What's a girl to do? Of course, I said yes.

..Groan.. ..Buries face in hands..

Need. More. Coffee.

To borrow a little from Jim, can anyone tell me where the title comes from, without searching?

Posted by: Random Penseur at 10:27 AM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
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There is no other way to think about it, it just sucked. I will be happy to give this week the back of my hand and see it no more. Let me review.

Monday

Actually, Monday was fine, I think. I'm having trouble remembering back that far but I think it was fine.

Tuesday

Here officially commenceth the suckitude.

Leave work early to try to take ailing family (my parents') pet to the vet while my mother is in the hospital and my father is away on a business trip he could not get out of. Arrive to find beloved dog dead. See below for post on this. Handled disposal arrangements and broke news to parents. That was fun.

Come home to find Boy Child is running 104 degree fever. Call doctor emergency service.

Wednesday

Don't go to work. Take my mother home from the hospital. Spend hours at hospital dealing with release, getting her settled at home, doing grocery shopping for her, etc., etc. Find out her oldest friend has died that day. I knew that woman for most of my life. Very sad.

Boy Child still has fever but seems to be getting better.

Thursday

Children do not sleep through the night before. Wake as exhausted as went to sleep. Drag self to office.

9:40, receive phone call from Girl Child's camp that nanny was acting irrationally and incoherently. Nanny told camp people that she lost GC, five minutes after dropping GC off with group. Turned whole building upside down before it became clear to camp people that nanny thought it was 12:00 and not 9:00. They called me to express deep concern. Holy shit. Jump on 10:10 train home.

Long discussion with nanny who has convinced us, barely, that she is not losing her apparently tenuous grip on reality, promises us that she will be home earlier at night and sleep more, and that this was just an isolated, strange event. We remain skeptical but hopeful.

Wife and I pick GC up from camp ourselves and take her out to lunch after I spend 45 minutes interviewing 4 different camp people to find out exactly what transpired from their perspective.

BC spikes fever again. Rush to doctor to be told it's a virus and let him ride it out. Whew.

Am asleep before GC.

Friday

GC awakes at approximately 1:00 a.m. complaining of pain in her teeth. Wife attends to her for 45 minutes. Wife tags out, I tag in at 1:49 a.m. I attend to GC until 3:00 a.m. when, after giving her some children's Tylenol, she goes to sleep.

Alarm goes off at 5:30, I go back to sleep. Wife's alarm goes off at 5:45. I stumble out of bed. GC is out of bed by 7, still complaining of pain.

Call dentist's service at 7:30, leave message, go to work, where I remain at present, ambivalent about our plans to go out for dinner tonight during what is forecast to be a monsoon.

I have a headache.

Goodbye week and good riddance! Other than breakfast with the GC on Wednesday morning, I'm happy to shut the books on this one.

I really need some sleep.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 10:06 AM | Comments (12) | Add Comment
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I managed, all by myself, to get my mom home from the hospital on Wednesday and to get her comfortably installed back in her own house. She was happy to be back, although, within 5 minutes of sitting down, the phone rang with the news that one of her dearest friends had died that day. She looked quite diminished by the call when she hung up. As I was leaving, she asked me to have my daughter call her when she got up from her nap. I told her I would.

After the girl child's nap, I gave her the phone and ran out to pick my wife up from work (I had her car for the day). The rest of the story is as told to me by my mother.

The Girl Child and her grandmother had a very pleasant chat until GC told her grandmother that she had to go to the bathroom and her grandmother said that she'd call back later. Well, the GC insisted that she could take the phone with her and my mother just sort of tagged along. Until the GC tried to drown my mother by dropping the phone into the toilet bowl.

When my mother called her back, the GC told her:

"Nanna, I am so embarrassed! That has never happened to me before in my whole life!"

The GC told us about the incident when I returned home with the wife and she concluded her narrative with the words, said very solemnly: "It was a very silly thing to do."

Posted by: Random Penseur at 09:44 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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1 I love "whole life" comments from the young, they crack me up everytime.

Posted by: Rachel Ann at August 13, 2004 09:54 AM (+fHyg)

2 That's cute. I like your mother's comment at the end. That's priceless!

Posted by: Mick at August 13, 2004 02:58 PM (zY+L9)

3 At least something funny happened to you after your disasterous week!

Posted by: Hannah at August 14, 2004 09:10 AM (MMJNM)

4 What a wonderful vignette. How sweet AND silly. Bear, too, is learning embarassment and exclamations. Did we skip over the part where you had to fish a phone out of the toilet, clean it, see if it was still working, console GC, and find the funny in the whole thing?

Posted by: Elizabeth at August 16, 2004 04:42 PM (s0bfE)

5 Ah, no. We fished it out, determined that the handheld thing is fried, threw it out, and reached into the bank account and bought a new phone.

Posted by: RP at August 16, 2004 04:55 PM (LlPKh)

6 Oh, didn't need to console GC because we weren't upset or angry. She promised not to do it again and that was that. Also, it was a mighty old phone.

Posted by: RP at August 16, 2004 04:58 PM (LlPKh)

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A Red Footed Falcon has been spotted on Martha's Vineyard, the first time ever in this hemisphere.

Cool.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 09:57 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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Regular visitors will have noticed that I am fascinated by Zimbabwe. It is sort of like watching a train wreck in slow motion. You just can't look away. That same elusive creature, the regular reader, might also have noticed that I am also very concerned about the impact of AIDS in the developing nations of the world. Well, today, the NY Times brought both of these topics together in an article about AIDS in Zimbabwe. As is my habit, I extract for you here those bits from the article which caught my attention. But first, a quick review of the thrust of the article.

The article is a snap shot of the effects of bad governance on AIDS. Briefly, people in Zimbabwe are suffering from AIDS at an enormously high rate but international organizations are reluctant to assist Zimbabwe because one, the present government will likely divert or steal the aid money and two, manipulate the aid for political ends. No one trusts the government, no one wants to throw money into that pit of despair.

Here are some of the statistics that stood out:

*In Zimbabwe, where 1.8 million people are H.I.V. positive and 360,000 need life prolonging antiretroviral drugs, virtually the only ones who get them are the 5,000 who can afford them. Relief workers here estimate that fewer than 1,000 Zimbabweans receive antiretroviral drugs free through government or charitable programs, with little hope of expanding that number.

*Zimbabwe, where roughly one in four adults is infected with H.I.V. and more than 2,500 people a week die of AIDS.

*The plight of this nation of more than 11 million people is evident at Harare Central Hospital, where workers say just 23 patients are receiving antiretroviral treatment and no more can be started until next year because of lack on money. It is obvious at the Parirenyatwa city hospital, where, local news reports say, the morgue reeks of bodies of AIDS victims whose relatives cannot afford to bury them. And it can be seen at one seven-year-old cemetery south of Harare, where more than 14,000 people have already been buried just 18 inches apart, and workers say they dig about 25 graves each day.

It is a hell of a situation. The only question left to ask is: when do you think that entire society will disintegrate?

Posted by: Random Penseur at 09:02 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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Just a quick note, to illustrate how funny it can be when a child answers a rhetorical question. We were at breakfast, at a local diner, and I convinced the girl child to take one more bite of her pancakes. I found a really good bite, put it on the fork, and this is what we said to each other:

Me: Here's a great bite, full of butter and syrup. Fat and sugar, what could be better than that?

Her: Well, we could have dessert.

Just so you know, I don't embellish these little exchanges. I don't need to.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 04:10 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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Today, barring any unforeseen problems, is the day my mother will be released from hospital and I, being the dutiful son, will go to fetch her home as my father does not return from his business trip until tonight.

But I don't have to go get her until the late morning, so I am not going to the office today and instead am going to take the opportunity to enjoy my daughter. I am going to take her out for breakfast -- pancakes and chocolate milk for her -- and then take her to her day camp. I am so excited. I told her about it last night and she woke up early this morning and came running into my room at 6:55 and said, "are you staying home today?" And for once, on a weekday, I was able to say that I was.

She climbed up into my lap and installed herself with her head on my collar bone and her hands tucked into her stomach to keep herself warm and just lay there silently while I traced her shoulder blade with my thumb. I closed my eyes and just existed for a moment. It was a moment of beautiful stillness with an otherwise perpetual motion machine. She then lifted her head and asked me if we were still going out for breakfast and I told her we were and she hummed happily and put her head back down again, visions of pancakes dancing in her head, no doubt.

I think today is going to be a better day.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 07:11 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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That's all it costs, I found out today. That's what they charge you to take your friend away. I said that I was going to get my mother from the hospital but there was another problem today as well. And in fact, I will not be able to take my mother home from the hospital until tomorrow. But that's ok, I had other things to do today. See, when I left the office today, I was also going to deal with a medical emergency at my parents' house -- the dog was sick, too.

Well, the dog was more than sick. By the time I got there, she was dead. I find myself curiously reluctant to use the word dead. When I called the vet I told him that the dog had expired and later, when I called someone else, I used the expression, given up the ghost. I kept hesitating over the word, dead, like a mental stutter. But that's what she is all right. There was no question when I walked in that she was gone, that she had departed her body. She was lying on the floor and so terribly and utterly and unchangeably still.

I called the animal hospital and they gave me the name of the pet cemetery to call them to arrange a pick up. I was not going to try to take this dog to my car and drive her there all by myself, she weighed over 80 pounds in life and frankly I was just too sad to do it.

They came to take her and dispose of her for $209.28, including tax. I keep coming back to that number. I guess it provides a prism through which I can focus on the act of dying itself, on the sudden lack of the dog in our lives. I don't think it will make a good point to tell the girl child, but she has to be told something and I am leaning towards honesty here, to tell her that her friend is dead, too. She loved this dog and could say her name before she could say my father's name. Any suggestions about what to tell her?

I loved this dog. My parents got her from a rescue group. She had been abused but she found love in their house. And she died with someone who loved her sitting next to her and stroking her. Really, that doesn't sound too bad, does it? I think that this is what we all might want at the end if we are given the choice. This woman who was with her told me that the dog knew that she was dying and she kept looking out at the driveway because she was waiting for my parents to come home to be with her. But then she couldn't wait any longer and she sighed and went still.

$209.28 seems like not very much money to measure the worth to you of your friend when they're gone.

When the man arrived from the service, he put the dog into two plastic bags. Rigor had set in very quickly. I had to leave the room when it came time to put her head in the bag. I am finding it hard to write about it now, in fact. She was too heavy for one person to take. I helped carry her out to the truck and I lifted her very gently and the nice man was gentle, too. And then she was gone. A sweet and gentle animal, most of the time.

$209.28 is not much when your heart breaks a little as the plastic bag is closed and the door to the truck thunks shut and your friend is gone. It's amazing what a credit card will buy.

I'm going to go play with my children now. Writing about this did not, in fact, make me feel any better, as I had hoped it would. Instead, I feel the pressure of unshed tears.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 06:11 PM | Comments (11) | Add Comment
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I've added a link on my sidebar to a page with some of the nice things people have said about me. A little bit of vanity never really hurt anybody, I suppose.

If you have anything amusing you want to add, in the words of Yogi Berra, I can't stop you.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 10:15 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Just a quick note, because I did receive some very kind wishes on behalf of my mother, but it looks like my mother is going to be released from the hospital today. That means I will have to leave work early today to go and fetch her home as my father is away from yesterday through tomorrow. So, I will most likely be out early.

She is pretty happy about it, not least of which because she is tired of listening to the woman across the hall, who is confused and old, continually moaning: "Jesus, help me, help me, Jesus, I need to go to the bathroom". That gets old fast. Especially since the nurses keep telling her that they can't take her to the bathroom since she can't walk, even with help. We're all going to get old one day, one hopes, but it ain't pretty. I try not to think about it, but I will for sure continue to hear this woman's raspy voice as she calls out to Jesus to help her for a long time. The only nice thing, is that the woman has fairly devoted children who come to see her all the time, according to my mother. It's nice that she's not forgotten.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 10:07 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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When is the last time you sat down and wrote out a hand written thank you note? I bet, ever since you got that first hotmail account, that it's been awhile, hasn't it? I wrote one this week and received one this week and the experience was so unusual that it sort of stayed with me.

I had been invited to a thank you dinner by an acquaintance and I accepted and attended. This was last week. It was great fun. A stag night, as it turned out, full of bourbon, steak, and some very good dirty jokes and true (or so they claimed) stories. The details remain blurry and even if not I will intentionally obfuscate them here to protect the identities of the participants. Still, no arrests, no convictions, nothing broken. Our host also had a little gift for us -- a Waterman rollerball pen, very attractive. Totally unnecessary, of course, but very sweet of him anyway.

So, I dug out my old box of nice stationary we got from Crane's, a long time ago when we still lived in the City and having stationary with our initials on it seemed really important. It no longer seems so important now that we live in the suburbs with two children, but that may be a topic for another day. I uncapped this nice new pen and I luxuriated in the tactile sensation of pen moving over fine paper, paper with a high linen content. I wrote a nice little note and I mailed it off. I dusted my hands off and put fingers back to keyboard and wrote a little something to someone else. It wasn't the same at all.

The other thing I like about writing a real thank you note is that it takes a little time to be delivered. Email is practically immediate. You hit send and your little note gets there the same day, almost within the same 60 second period. If you write it the next day after the event or thing which eventuated the note in the first place, it just comes right away and that's that. Ah, but if you send it by mail, it might take a little bit longer. And it's usually a surprise when you receive it. And because it's been at least a day or two after the event, it has the effect of extending the nice feelings on the part of the recipient. He or she gets to open it, read your pleasant words, and re-live, a tiny bit, the glow that you felt when you wrote it. That's nice.

Even receiving the note is a tactile experience. It comes in a heavy envelope with a lining so when you pick it up it has substance and heft. It's been hand addressed, so you look at the handwriting for a moment as you try to puzzle out who wrote it. The paper used on the envelope feels rich and not at all mass produced, even if it is. You open it and it takes a little more effort because the glue used is superior or because it is harder to use the letter opener to cut through the unexpectedly thicker paper.

A handwritten thank you note is an event. Really, there ought to be a soundtrack.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 09:26 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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WARNING: PROFANITY

Construction Worker 1: Holy shit. That motherfucker just told me that it was going to be another fucking week.

Construction Worker 2: Well, fuck him, that fat motherfucker .

Wide Eyed Little Girl, aged approx. 6: Mommy! They said a bad word!

Who says kids don't learn anything when school's out?

Posted by: Random Penseur at 08:56 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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I just sent my wife the following email:

Hey, I just realized that you married me for my body.

Her reply:

Of water?

Like I said, it's getting mighty cold in here.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 04:42 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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