February 28, 2005

Snow Dance

I'm like a little kid today, anxiously peering out the window, waiting for the blizzard they've promised us to start. I'm calculating how much time I'll need to get to the liquor store to buy a bottle of Rioja (something spicy with a lot of fruit) and hit the bookstore for the new Charles Todd mystery before I flee the office. I'm burning a cd full of documents and caselaw so that if I get snowed in tonight and can't make it in tomorrow I can get some work done while the kids sleep. I'm going to light a fire tonight as the snow falls, and I'm going to open that bottle of wine, and I'm going to put on something other than Barney or Norwegian children's music on the stereo system and I'm gonna be a happy guy tonight. That's my plan.

As for bringing work home, I'm going to do it but the brief I'm working on is not due for another 16 days. I would dearly love to have it finished early but I think I need the feeling of impending deadlines to motivate me to get to work. At heart, I procrastinate. I vow to change that with each new task, but I can't really. I need the pressure to make the diamond, to get results. No pressure, no deadline, no work. I'd like to change this, but I can't quite seem to do it. Still, no time like the present, right? I think that, if I can get to work tomorrow, my goal will be to have a good, working first draft of this reply brief done by Friday. I think it can be done.

I love snow days. I hope, if we're going to get snow, that we get a whole lot of it.

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February 27, 2005

Another Girl Child remark

This morning, she came bounding into the kitchen where once again I was reading the paper and having my coffee. She immediately noted the presence of the Pez dispensers I picked up at the store yesterday to include within the goody bags for the Boy Child's little birthday party today. She asked what they were and I told her. She picked it up for closer examination and sort of mused to herself:

These look very interesting to a little kid like myself.

I had to bury my face in my newspaper so that she did not see me struggling to contain my laughter.

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A Conversation

As most of you regular readers may know (all eight of you), this blog has grown to be an extended love letter to my children, among all the other things I write about. Here is a conversation I had with my daughter yesterday morning:

Girl Child comes into kitchen: Holy crap!

Me: What did you say?

GC: Holy crap.

Me: Where did you learn that?

GC: Sponge Bob.

Me: Well, Sponge Bob got it wrong. Its holy crackers.

GC: Holy crackup?

Me: You could say that, too. In any event, I'd be very careful and not listen to what Sponge Bob says.

GC: Why?

Me: Clearly, he is inherently unreliable. [Remember, she just turned 4]

GC: Why do you think that?

Me: Well, perhaps I don't exactly think it. It isn't quite a thought, more the merest shadow of a scintilla of the beginning of a thought concerning his reliability as a source for you.

Wife: How much coffee have you had this morning? Because I don't think you should have any more.

GC: What's a scintilla?

Me: Go look it up in the dictionnary and report back.

GC: [looking at her mother and speaking Norwegian] Pappa's a very silly man, isn't he?

No one else may find this amusing, but that's ok. Maybe you had to be there.

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February 25, 2005

Pardon the dust, but renovate we must

Thank you, Margi, for taking my photographs and turning them into these snazzy looking banners. Indeed, if you hit refresh you will find a veritable rotating bonanza of banners, all thanks to the very kind technical and artistic intervention of Ms. Margi.

One of the best things about MuNu is the friendships I have made here. They are no less real because they take place in this medium instead of in a bar or at a cookout. Thank you, Margi, for your friendship.

While I am bubbling over with gratitude and nice things to say, I fear that they will sound insincere if they all come out at once. So instead let me say, on the theory that sometimes less is more, thank you for all your hard work and kindness. I am more touched than I can say and terribly appreciative.

Don't you all think the joint is looking better as a result?

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Butts in the air, waving around

Curious title, no? Well, that's what you'd see if enough people joined me today in my first, Stick Your Head in the Sand Day. If you lean over and stick your hand in the sand, that would be your butt waving around in the air. And if enough people join in, no one will even be able to see your butt or remark on the fact that you might have sat on something that left a stain.

I am feeling entirely overwhelmed, today. What follow is not meant to be an extended whine, but an explanation, pure and simple, of why I want to stick my head in the sand today.

* I have a tension headache brought on by some work related matters that started in the back of my neck and, no kidding, just finished climbing over the top of my head and hit my nose. A new personal best for tension headaches. Pardon me for a moment while I interrupt this typing to take something.

* I hate the fact that this morning, after crawling into bed with the Girl Child in response to her summons, I had to answer her question about who was going to be taking care of her today with an answer different from, "me". I have guilt. Big time guilt.

* I am ground down by the war on terror. I can only hold firm to the belief that Bush is right and the only way to win this battle is to spread liberty and freedom, even as paradoxical as it sounds, if it has to be at the point of the bayonet.

* I am saddened and diminished by every serviceman's death.

* I am daunted by the task of getting my house ready to sell and finding a new house in a different community which we will have chosen based on too little research and too much salesmanship, no doubt.

* I am just feeling like too little butter spread too thinly over too little bread with too many committments between work, not for profit demands, and my preference to be home with my children as they bounce all over me.

I'd like to say just writing it all down makes me feel better, but it doesn't.

So, I'm trying something new today. I will stick my head in the sand. No newspaper at all, no current events, no thinking about the house, can't avoid the work obligations but I will try to leave them at work today, no reading anyone's tales of woe, and no focusing on anything negative. That's it. That's my solution.

If you see my butt in the air when you pass by today, and it looks as if I sat in some old chewing gum on the train this morning, I will trust that you will have the delicacy not to mention it. I wish to remain serenely untroubled by absolutely everything today. Tomorrow is soon enough to consider todayÂ’s old chewing gum.

Pax tibi.

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February 24, 2005

Out of office this morning

I don't think I will be around much today, blog-wise. I have been duly elected by my wife to accompany the Boy Child to his two year check up, oil change, and tune up at the doctor this morning. This should be fun. My guess is he's going to know exactly what the nurse wants to do with that sharp looking thing headed towards his . . . HEY!!!!! Crying to follow shortly with sobbing and attempting to catch breath thereafter. And that's only me.

I hate to watch these kinds of things. I could never watch when my wife would get blood taken, for instance.

Ugh.

I will fill the time up to the appointment by continuing my search through Southern Westchester's finer purveyors of alcohol to try to locate a particular bottle of white port for my wife. She often has a glass after the kids have gone to bed and we have been out for at least a week. Ever tried it? Its yummy. You serve it cold and generally it is an apperitif, not an after dinner drink.

In any event, the above blather generally is meant to serve as a place holder to explain that blogging will be very light today, although you may not be able to tell the difference between today and recent times anyway, come to think of it.

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February 23, 2005

You're never ready, no matter how prepared you think you are

My wife will be the first one to tell you this, but she sucks at being pregnant. I think I'm acutally quoting her here. No, she is an immensely talented woman and I am very proud that, in a moment of extreme weakness, she agreed to pledge her troth to me (isn't that a fun expression?) but she really isn't any good at being pregnant.

With the second pregnancy, she fell prey to pregnancy induced hypertension. This is an ugly condition, potentially fatal to her and potentially fatal to the pregnancy. More than once, we were confronted with the possibility of losing the baby. We made a couple of late night emergency trips to the hospital after a phone consultation with her doctor. Those drives were tense affairs even if they took on a certain regular occurance feel to them. I remember that I made arrangements with the snow plowing people who did our driveway to keep us at the top of their list all that winter because I was afraid that if something happened, I would not be able to get out of the garage and get her to help.

In any event, February 22, 2003 was a day much like every other in the pregnancy. Except that my wife's blood pressure shot up again for no reason that morning. We called the doctor and we followed the instructions to try to bring it down. She lay, on her right side (I think) for a half an hour, and it didn't come down. We grabbed a bag and went off to the hospital. On the way, my wife took a call from one of her underlings and went through what needed to be done that day. I then called a client for whom I convinced a court to enjoin a meeting of the shareholders of a co-op to prevent dissolution and explained I would be out of touch for awhile.

The hospital, NY Hospital at 68th and the East River, was bustling but they were expecting us. They took blood and ran tests and said, something is brewing. They said, at 37 weeks into the pregnancy, we can induce labor and we want to induce labor because we don't like what we are seeing. Preeclampsia kills, you see.

So, bang. The routine trip back to the hospital was not so routine, although I think we suspected that on the way in. They admitted my wife and began the induction.

It went very, very slowly. Nothing happened for the longest time. Eventually, they instructed me to go away and get some sleep. I went to a nearby club and crashed from about midnight to maybe 5 a.m. and then went back to the hospital. I was still in the same clothes I had been in the night before. On the way back, I stopped off and picked up a disposable camera.

The delivery, as it turned out, was quick. I think that she started pushing at 7:30 a.m. and the Boy Child arrived in the world at 7:40, a scant ten minutes later. He was so little.

The doctor assured us that he was beautiful, although, I doubt she'd really say otherwise. The doctor, who had also delivered the Girl Child, pumped her fist and exclaimed: "two for two!". She also asked us to have a third child so she could go three for three. In that, I'm afraid, we will disappoint her.

The Boy Child arrived to join our little family on February 23, 2003, today, two years ago. He arrived small, a little jaundiced, but that just gave him a lovely tan, and quite bald but with the most shockingingly blue eyes you've ever seen. Looks nothing like me. Today, he has hair, butter yellow blond, a peaches and cream complexion, and still has the blue eyes. He is, altogether, quite the most beautiful little boy I've ever seen and looks remarkably like my wife's baby pictures. He could be, with no evidence of my genetic contribution anywhere on his face, the official poster boy of Norway.

We brought him home and put him in my daughter's lap as she sat on the couch. He cried and she looked terribly perplexed. It didn't take long before she was telling us, while standing in her crib: "Baby brother is crying, get him for me."

I will end this birthday post with this thought that my daughter had one day while she and I were talking:

Me: You know, that the Boy Child is my son.

GC: He's my son, too.

Me: No, he's your brother. He's my son.

GC: Well, then if he's your sun, he's my moon. And my stars.

I've always liked that.

Welcome to the world, Boy Child! Happy birthday!

(after the jump, by the way, in extended entry, are some other famous birthdays and events today) more...

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February 22, 2005

AIDS & Africa: South African Mortality Rate Climbs

Anyone following the issue of AIDS and South Africa will know that Mbeki, the President of South Africa, has taken the position that AIDS is not a threat to South Africa, that the issues concerning AIDS have been overblown, that basically AIDS ain't a problem for South Africa and it is just racist for us to say it is. A recent report about mortality rates in South Africa renders this position much less tenable than it could have ever been. In other words, you have to now absolutely believe in the Tooth Fairy now to buy in to Mbeki's positions while before you could just sort of suspect that the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy were lovers in some alternate universe.

Here are some extracts:

South Africa's government reported Friday that annual deaths increased 57 percent from 1997 to 2003, with common AIDS-related diseases like tuberculosis and pneumonia fueling much of the rise.

The increase in mortality spanned all age groups, but was most pronounced among those between ages 15 and 49, where deaths more than doubled. Working-age adults are more sexually active than the rest of the population, and the opportunity for transmitting H.I.V. is greatest among members of this group.

The report states that 499,000 of South Africa's roughly 44 million people died in 2002, up sharply from 318,000 in 1997. Much of that increase appears to result from H.I.V., the virus that causes AIDS. Experts agree that there are at least five million H.I.V.-positive citizens here, the most of any country. Diagnosing AIDS as a cause of death can require advanced medical knowledge and equipment. Moreover, an unknown number of AIDS deaths go unreported because South African life insurance policies frequently do not cover AIDS-related deaths.

Nevertheless, the agency reported that the new figures "provide indirect evidence that H.I.V. may be contributing to the increase in the level of mortality for prime-aged adults, given the increasing number of deaths due to associated diseases."

Dr. Steve Andrews, an H.I.V. clinician and consultant in Cape Town, said the sobering figures in the report suggested that it had not been politically varnished. Given the improvement in medical care and living standards in South Africa, he said, "we should not be seeing this aggressive move in death rates - not at all."

The report concluded that the average number of deaths in South Africa rose to 1,370 per day in 2002 from 870 in 1997, an increase that could not be explained by the 10 percent increase in population during the same period.

The reported causes of death point to AIDS as the factor underlying much of the increase in mortality. Deaths from tuberculosis, influenza and pneumonia - all primary causes of AIDS-related deaths - more than doubled in the five years encompassing 1997 to 2001, while deaths from other AIDS-related diseases like gastrointestinal infections rose about 25 percent.

Deaths from some ailments unrelated to AIDS, like hypertension and cerebrovascular problems, also rose, but at lower rate. General heart disease, once by far the biggest killer of South Africans, fell during the period and was well behind tuberculosis and influenza in 2001.

Two aspects of the report were especially notable.

The death-certificate figures indicate the proportion of deaths among sexually active women is rising significantly compared with deaths among men - a ratio that strongly indicates a country's AIDS-related mortality rate. In 1997, 149 men ages 25 to 29 died for every 100 deaths among women; the comparable figure in 2003 was 77 male deaths for every 100 female deaths.

The report also suggested that AIDS was increasingly exacting a toll among the very youngest South Africans. In 1999, the report stated, disorders of the immune system emerged for the first time as one of the 10 leading causes of deaths of children under 15.

Let's do a little math together, to put some of this in perspective, ok? Just a little math, cause math is not my strong suit. But let's try. The numbers are: 499,000 of South Africa's roughly 44 million people died in 2002. 499,000 is roughly 1% of the total population of South Africa. Slightly more, but close enough for my purposes. Let's compare, then. The population of the United States, according to the Census Bureau is: 295,523,454. Let's just say 296 million. One percent of that would be just about 3 million people. Can you imagine now the scope of this disaster? If an equivalent percentage of Americans were dying of AIDS we would be loosing some three million people a year. Mind boggling, isn't it?

How can Mbeki assert AIDS is not a problem when it is killing 1% of his country a year, and rising?

And consider, briefly, those who are dying and maybe some of the implications associated with those deaths: More woman; more children under the age of 15; and more of working age.

What can we assume results from that?

More women: this would mean that more children will be born with HIV. Fewer women will be around to take care of children. Fewer women will be around to give birth to children. What does that imply about replacement rate? Beats me but I doubt it is anything good.

More children under 15: first, how are they getting this disease? Are they still being used by HIV infected men who think that sexual relations with a virgin will cure them? That belief exists and is acted upon, you know. If children are not surviving, who is going to lead their country into the future? Where will the next great innovators come from? Who will provide for parents as they age? Who will inherit family farms and property?

Working age: If these people get AIDS, who will provide the labor needed to fill government coffers with tax receipts as the economy slows because no one is alive to do the work? Does the country collapse entirely? Is this too far fetched in terms of speculation?

Go away from this post, assuming you got this far, and leave a comment if you disagree. The enormity of this problem and the implications are almost too great for me to wrap my mind around. I'd appreciate your thoughtful comments.

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February 18, 2005

"Sod Off, Swampy"

That from a British oil trader to a Greenpeace volunteer after the oil traders kicked the shit out of a Greenpeace commando group who invaded the floor of the oil exchange.

If this wasn't reported in the Times of London I would have thought it was a joke.

one protester said, rubbing his bruised skull. “I’ve never seen anyone less amenable to listening to our point of view.”

Damn, I wish I had been there to see that one.

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AIDS & Africa: Just when you think it can't, just can't, get any worse

You really can't understand any problem in its totality. You can't grasp the complexities and the shifting sands which hold up reality. All you can hope for is sometimes to get a glimpse of various aspects of a problem. AIDS in Africa is like that. For other writings I've done about it, go and click on the AIDS category on the sidebar.

Anyway, here's a wrinkle. Here's a new concern. After all the thought and writing about how AIDS is devastating sub-Saharan Africa, it never occurred to me that people would regard the widows and orphans as targets for theft. I extract from the article I read below:

Actually, the answer is simple: custom. Throughout sub-Saharan Africa the death of a father automatically entitles his side of the family to claim most, if not all, of the property he leaves behind, even if it leaves his survivors destitute.

In an era when AIDS is claiming about 2.3 million lives a year in sub-Saharan Africa - roughly 80,000 people last year in Malawi alone - disease and stubborn tradition have combined in a terrible synergy, robbing countless mothers and children not only of their loved ones but of everything they own.

The degree to which men control household property varies from country to country and tribe to tribe.

In matrilineal tribes, children are considered descendants of the mother, and the family typically lives in the mother's village. Should the husband die, the widow typically keeps the house and land, plus items judged to be women's essentials like pots, pans, kitchen utensils and buckets, according to studies by Women and Law in Southern Africa. Her in-laws collect the more valuable belongings, like bicycles, sewing machines, vehicles and furniture.

Many tribes are patrilineal, meaning children are considered the father's descendants and men are seen as the sole property owners in the family. If her husband dies, the wife may be allowed to stay in the couple's house - but, sometimes, only on condition that she marry one of her husband's relatives. If she wants to move, perhaps back to her own family, she typically leaves with nothing but the clothes on her back.

Or she may simply be driven out altogether. Increasingly, in-laws cite the possibility that a widow is infected with the AIDS virus as reason to confiscate her home.

There are laws on the books to protect widows from rapacious relatives, but they are rarely enforced, assuming even that the widow is aware of the legal protections:

Under Malawi law Mrs. Wyson was entitled to half or two-fifths of what her husband left behind. Her in-laws might even have been convicted of property grabbing under a 1998 amendment to the inheritance law that provides for a fine of up to $200 or five years in prison.

Legal centers and human rights advocates say such cases are ubiquitous in sub-Saharan Africa. In one 2001 study in Uganda financed by the United States Agency for International Development, 29 percent of widows said they had been victims of property grabbing. One in five teenage orphans said outsiders had seized their belonging after their parents had died.

Laws to protect the inheritance rights of widows and children are not enforced or are simply no match for the power of tradition, legal advocates say. Few widows know their rights, and fewer still are able to seek legal help, especially in countries like Malawi, where about 500 lawyers serve a population of 11 million.

"Even in families that are better off economically there is normally some sort of coercion or family pressure that forces women to give up their inheritance," said Ms. Scholz, of the housing rights center. Some in-laws threaten to invoke witchcraft if widows persist with their claims. Others simply make life unbearable.

When one widow in Zambia refused to marry her brother-in-law in order to keep her home, her in-laws turned her homestead into a cemetery, Ms. Scholz said in a telephone interview from Geneva. Sixteen graves now lace her property. A local judge recently ruled that the court had no jurisdiction to settle the dispute.

Still, more and more widows are putting up a fight. In Zambia, the police say they investigated 458 cases of property grabbing in 2003. In Malawi, the nonprofit Center for Advice, Education and Research counseled some 120 people on issues of inheritance, death benefits or property grabbing from last July to September, a 60 percent increase from the preceding three months.

I never suspected that even after death, the survivors would be cast out by their blood relatives. I reject the notion that mulitculturalism should prevent me from being judgmental about this. This is barbaric. It is corrupt. It is preying on the weak and the infirm and the children.

And I have to ask, why should we give any money to help people when their own families won't? In effect, we subsidize this practice if we pay for all new things for the survivors after their families denude them of everything, including the iron roof.

This has left me feeling very disheartened. And angry.

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February 17, 2005

Historical Artifact: The Mappa Mundi

Today, for history, we venture off to England to learn about the Mappa Mundi. The what, you ask? Well, it was news to me, too. The Mappa Mundi is a map, drawn in England in about 1290 a.d. It is a history of the world, writ as a map, and showing all of the world's wonders, including some fanciful creations and races that, I assume, never existed at all except in legend. It is a national treasure and if you wish to visit it and see it in person, it is at the Heresford Cathedral.

Superimposed on to the continents are drawings of the history of humankind and the marvels of the natural world. These 500 or so drawings include of around 420 cities and towns, 15 Biblical events, 33 plants, animals, birds and strange creatures, 32 images of the peoples of the world and 8 pictures from classical mythology.

Christopher de Hamel, a leading authority on medieval manuscripts, has said of the Mappa Mundi, '... it is without parallel the most important and most celebrated medieval map in any form, the most remarkable illustrated English manuscript of any kind, and certainly the greatest extant thirteenth-century pictorial manuscript.'

Sounds very cool to me.

By the way, while you're visiting, it sounds as if the Chained Library might also be worth a look. It dates from the 1600's.

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U.S. Tax Code

Let me just observe, after breaking the tax code in the hot sun all day, and then reading the "Regs", that I am so glad that I did not elect to take an LLM in Tax and specialize in the area. I am only blogging now, in fact, because I feel like I've hit a wall and need a break.

I listened yesterday morning to a former treasury official say that the United States deserves a tax code that looks as if it was created on purpose. Hear, hear. Can we get any volunteers to re-write the Code? And the Regs?

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February 16, 2005

A moment I would freeze if I could

My little post about the way my two children hold hands in the car received some really beautiful comments and seemed, for whatever reason, to resonate with people. So, as much for those nice people who left those comments, as for myself so I can fix this memory firmly in my mind, let me share with you a little vignette from last night.

I came home from work and I took the kids from the nanny. She had bathed them and put them in their pj's. They were running around up stairs. Playing and carrying on happily. I went into my room to take my suit and tie off. Generally, I like to get out of the work clothes as soon as I get home so I can get on the floor and roll around with the kids without worrying about the clothes. The Boy Child followed me in. As with everything else, all things being equal, he was moving at a speed just above what he can safely control. And, as is usually the case, he went sprawling on to my floor, face first. He caught himself on his hands and kind of lay there, crying.

I said to him, "you're ok", and "come on, get up and show me what hurts". I could see that there was nothing that could have been too serious about the fall and, as is my habit, I didn't want to make too big a deal out of it. He ignored me for a bit, continuing to cry, and then he got up and pointed to his hands.

At that point, his sister came in. The Girl Child is tall for her age and he is on the normal side. His head comes up to about the top of her rib cage. She asked what was wrong and I told her. And this is the bit I want to freeze forever in my mind.

She holds her arms out to him and says "kom til meg, lille venn" (meaning: come to me, little friend). He takes three steps, very quickly, and throws his arms around her and lays his head on her chest as he continues to cry. She enfolds him with her arms and alternates between rubbing his back and patting him gently on the back, all while telling him that it was ok. They just stood there, her giving comfort and him receiving it. His cries slowly faded away to little hiccups as his breath caught in little gasps as he tried to recover his poise and stop crying. All while she stood there with him. Their arms around each other, his around her waist and lower back and hers around his upper back. Her head inclined so that her cheek was resting on the top of his head. Bathed in the glow from the over head lights, their hair gleamingly damp from the water.

It was so beautiful that I thought my heart was going to break.

When they finished their hug, he leaned forward and kissed her on her chest.

It is moments like this that enrich my life.

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A conversation or two that I've had the past week

Did you form the impression yet that I'm what my grandmother used to call a smart aleck? Let me share with you two conversations I've had recently that amused me, at least, to no end.

Conversation 1:
Place: Walking up the train platform with a commuting buddy

Her: What was that language I heard you speaking to your children the other day? Was it French?

Me: No, it was Norwegian. We speak Norwegian to the children. We only speak French to the servants.

The look I got was priceless.

Conversation 2:
Place: Gym, this morning

Her: If you need to reach me tomorrow, I should tell you that I will be out of the office all day.

Me: What are you doing?

Her: It is my art and culture day. You know what I mean? I'm going to see Christo's installation in Central Park.

Me: Oh. Its good that you explained what you meant there because when you said culture, I assumed you meant yogurt.

Another incredulous look.

Its just sometimes, I forget to turn on the filter between my brain and my mouth. Fortunately, that doesn't happen too often, but still, it does happen.

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A small, if not confined, world

The world of law is a small, if not confined world. You practice, especially in big cities, among an ever changing cast of characters but often in front of the same judges. It feels closed and sometimes insular. The same names pop up, again and again. If you meet someone new, you can usually find a common point of reference, a school, a case, another lawyer, pretty quickly. In this regard, I doubt that the practice of law is really very different from, say, the world of high yield bonds. Especially at the higher end of things. But back to law.

In my world, reputation is everything. Again, I doubt that is a unique situation. For instance, diamond traders live by their reputation. And so do I. So, when I get a compliment from another attorney, a sincere compliment not a I'm blowing smoke up your ass so you'll drop your guard a bit and I can either slip one in or manipulate you, I'm pretty darn pleased.

I found one today in my email box as a lawyer I know from previous litigation sent me a referral. In this email, he described me as "wickedly smart" and possessed of a "mildly professorial demeanor", which he assures me and the potential new client he means as a compliment.

It is so nice to shine, just a little bit, even if no one outside of my insular little world really knows about it. Or cares. But I know and I can enjoy his little description. It is awful nice to be appreciated. Even nicer if the potential new client signs up, of course!

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February 14, 2005

Holding hands through life

My children are not like my sister and me. They are close, already, in ways that my sister and I never experienced. I am a tad bit envious. The Girl Child's name is the first word that passes the Boy Child's lips every morning and, indeed, was the first word he even learned how to say. She was the recipient of his first real kiss. I got to see it. He put his lips to her cheek and actually made a kissing noise. She tells us that when they get older, she intends to marry him. My wife assumes that means we have to move way down South.

I've gotten some little boy kisses, too, now, and they are terribly sweet things. Even better then when he would simply press his open and very wet mouth against the side of your face and leave behind a huge slick of saliva.

But here's the really cute thing.

We put them in the car, each in their own car seats, and the same thing happens almost every single time. Her arm goes out, hand open, palm up. His hand goes into it. And they both sit back and relax into their seats. They hold hands most of the ride to wherever it is we are taking them. If he is too slow with his hand, then we hear the Girl Child say, "Boy Child, give me your hand" (usually in Norwegian). And he does.

I feel unusually blessed, almost all the time.

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February 11, 2005

Public Speaking

I love public speaking. I have no fear about getting up in front of a group of people and speaking. This is a useful thing for a trial lawyer. In fact, I don't know how I could be a trial lawyer if public speaking bothered me. But Wednesday night was a bit different. I had to give a small speech to a small group -- about 60 people -- in my new role as chairman of a committee that was sponsoring an event. As chairman, I was the master of ceremonies. The dinner ran for about 3 hours and my speech was very well received. The crowd laughed in the right places and were solemn in the right places. It was very satisfying.

There is something about good public speaking that is a combination of Aikido and seduction. Aikido, in part, is premised on the belief that you can take another person's energy, control it, redirect it and then throw the person. Seduction? Well, you know what it is even if you can't explain it. When it goes well, it goes like this. You stand in front of the group. You make eye contact with some and you speak. And as you speak, you sense the energy of the group. You change your tone and your rhythm and your cadence and your volume as you speak. You force them to pay attention. To be drawn in to your words. Then you pull them along with you and make them think that they are interacting with you, that you are speaking to them. It feels seductive and you know you succeed when people you've never met before come up to you afterwards to say how much they enjoyed your talk and you can tell that they want to just linger, just to chat. You've seduced them. You've taken them from cold, although mildly interested, to warm, to hot. You can feel the energy in the room as it changes and you wrap yourself up in it. I really like that.

And the corollary, of course, is that sometimes your speech goes over as well as a "come here often" line. Happily, that didn't happen this time. And if you have a decent sense of rhythm, you ought to be able to avoid that entirely.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 09:39 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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Making her laugh her way out of crying

I can make my daughter laugh her way out of crying. It is a gift, there is no question about it. I can take her right off the edge of the hysterical ledge to calm and laughing in under 5 seconds. I don't know how this came about, but as long as it works, I will continue to do it. Case in point, last night. As you know, from below, she has got pink eye. It makes her eyes hurt she says and she is very unhappy. When we put her into bed last night, she noticed that I switched out her little pillows for a big one from the guest room bed. Not happy, not happy. I had to explain that she could re-infect herself from her old pillows since she had her head on them. "Not my head", she corrected me, "my face". Right. She puts her golden little head on the pillow and consents to be covered up with the blanket. And then the tears come.

GC: I want my old pillows back! I don't like this [sob] pillow! Its [sob] too hard! [more sobbing as she begins to work herself up]

Me: Good! I want it to be hard! I want you to have the hardest, most uncomfortable pillow in the whole world!!

GC: [stops crying, starts to giggle] Huh? You do? For real?

Me: Yes! For real!

GC: No, you don't mean for real.

Me: [take pillow, fluff it up six different ways and put it back down] Try that.

GC: Ok. Still kind of hard [suspiciously], but better [grudgingly].

Kisses exchanged and off to the land of nod she goes, calmly and happily.

Thank goodness she enjoys the absurd. Absurdity, a parent's best weapon against tears.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 09:24 AM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
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London trip

Remember when I said that I was going to London to see the Queen? Just for the record, that was not a sly reference to the upcoming wedding of Prince Charles and Ms. Parker Bowles.

Nope. I declined that invitation.

Why did I turn that invitation down? Because Helen, who lives in London, is free while I am there and we're going to get together for drinks! Yay! You can see how, faced with the choice of Prince Charles or Helen, the Prince just had to go. Besides, Helen met him at Ascot last year, I seem to recall, and she can fill me in on all the gossip.

I'm really looking forward to it. Helen is the one who sponsored me for MuNu and, as I've already promised, I've got first shout.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 08:47 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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R.I.P. National Hockey League

I think it is pretty much over. Hockey season this year died before it was born, taking with it some hundreds of millions of Canadian dollars out of the Canadian economy, I read in Sports Illustrated recently. The Union and the League have called off talks and I think that there is really no hope that we are going to see a zamboni again this year on the ice at Madison Square Garden.

The sad part is that I only now just really noticed. I mean, I was excited and all to take part in the Inter-Munuvian Hockey Bitch Slap (hence the Rangers image on my sidebar) even knowing that my local team was going to feel the bitch slap a lot. But I didn't miss it for more than a minute. I barely noticed that no one was playing. And why would I? I think that these greedy asswipes have effectively destroyed their league, their game, their place in the pantheon of professional sports. My bet is that no one is coming back when they turn the lights back on again. I wrote about hockey before, asking: when did hockey lose its relevance. I guess it happened when most of us were doing other things.

Sprint training for baseball begins really soon. That, I'm excited about.

Rest in Peace, Hockey. We hardly knew ya.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 08:39 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
Post contains 233 words, total size 1 kb.

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