February 23, 2006

Three years old and counting

Today, my angelic looking golden haired, green (they seem to be changing color) eyed boy turns three. He is very excited. "People come mine party?!?" Yes, people come his party. On Saturday.

I did an entry last year about his birthday and I doubt I can improve on it, so: The Birth of the Boy Child.

I'm leaving early today to take them all out for pizza, a child's best friend. Hopefully, I will not forget to get cupcakes.

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Off to D.C. for the day

Tomorrow finds me leaving the house at 5:00 (right around my usual time, come to think of it) to head off to D.C. for a morning meeting. One meeting. Many hours of travel to partake in said meeting. While in D.C., after my meeting, I will have lunch with my cousin and ride back on the train with my bestest and dearest friend from law school. It should, from a social perspective, by quite a snappy day.

Oh, and the meeting, if it all goes swimmingly, could just result in a change of career somewhere down the line. It is an "informational interview". You know, you get to ask all sorts of questions while the other guy gets to decide whether you are smart enough to interview for a real job without any pressure to make a decision. At least, that's how I hope it will all pan out. We will see, won't we.

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Today's reason why I'm happy art history never panned out

I read the following statement by a curator of a new exhibit and it filled me with joy, the kind of joy you can only get when you realize you dodged a blivet (a fifty pound sack filled with one hundred pounds of horse manure):

"This exhibition is about arriving at a point of hypervision, where our senses are acute and we finally perceive the act of looking as a physical, emotional and transformative experience,” said Markonish. “The artists participating in ‘Hypervision’ bring viewers into this space of increased perception and make them conscious of their own act of looking."

Can you imagine spending your days in an environment where such language was not only acceptable but actually encouraged?

*exaggerated shudder*

I'm happy to keep thinking about art. Its the reading about it I can't seem to do anymore.

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February 22, 2006

Punishment

When nursing a hangover brought on by mixing too much bourbon, white wine, red wine and a lovely post-prandial MacCallan 12 year old and then trying, but failing to sweat it all out after 60 minutes of working out (890 calories burned), it is just the height of unfairness for the guys laying carpet in the hallway outside of my office to be playing the Bee-Gees. At high volume.

I have no idea how I am going to get that song out of my head today.

I just hope it happens before I have to give remarks to 75 people at a dinner tonight at 6:00.

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February 21, 2006

Silence, etc.

Sorry for all the quiet. My office has been receiving a new paint job and new carpet. I have moved out and back. I have helped others move out and back. I am exhausted. Regular posting to commence again shortly.

I'm off to put on my tuxedo and have a drink.

Pax tibi.

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February 17, 2006

The Cult of Secrecy: Where is Cheney in this?

At least two days have passed and there has been no news from the Vice-President's office. Not one word. No interviews, no statements, nothing. And you know what really bothers me? The media is totally complacent and not calling him on it.

Vivi escaped from her cage at the airport two days ago. Despite a massive search, no one can find her.

It was all over CNN this morning like it was an issue of critical national importance.

And yet the Vice-President still hasn't spoken.

And the media still hasn't asked him to.

What is happening to this country?

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February 16, 2006

Random walk through my brain

I have been way too swamped to put together a decent, coherent post. So, I choose instead to punish you all with a post consisting of semi-coherent, not totally thought out reflections. Your choice to read it, of course. No one will force you.

* * *

Defer my gratification? Please. I don't do that so well. I am not a good waiter. I am not patient in lines. I don't see everything as a plot to frustrate me when I am waiting in line, I just don't like it.

The same goes the other way. Good news? A present? I cannot wait to share them. I can barely wait for the birthday to roll around to give my wife her gift. Good news is the same thing. Even if it is a secret or if discretion is the better part of valor, I burn to share my happiness. Of course, that doesn't apply if it is somebody else's secret; those I can keep without a problem.

So, care to hazard a guess about what state I am in right now after being told that something marvelous is happening? Something splendid? That the chances of the something happening have now gotten way, way more better? But that the something I am referring to won't really start to be great, if it happens at all, until the end of 2008?

Two years to wait. Two years to count down until I know for sure. Two years before . . . I'm not even close to sure how to finish that sentence.

I got two years to count before I know. A lot can happen in two years. A lot of things can change or slip or mutate. Wars take place, circumstances are altered, capital markets can collapse. The Girl Child will be almost 7 by then and the Boy Child 5. The New Baby, assuming everything goes well, will be looking forward to his/her 2nd birthday.

So, here's to change properly directed and more good news in 2008.

* * *

Cheney in a hunting accident and CNN can barely keep its panties on. Does anyone really care about this? Would it be any different if he had whacked some guy in the face with a frisbee? Or smacked someone with his squash racquet?

I spent an hour in the gym listening to CNN go on and on about all sorts of things. I can't recall hearing one single positive word about America or our government. I don't get it. Really. According to CNN we are either Satan's spawn or terribly incompetent. For goodness sake, just pick one already.

* * *

New pictures of old abuse in Iraq. Timing of release? Suspicious. Behavior of news media who mention, as if an afterthought, that the pics are from 2003 and are not current, horrid.

* * *

Danish cartoons. Islamic reactions. Over-reactions, really. Can you imagine, if you tried, a more prickly less self confident group of people than those who are so terribly wounded by a Danish newspaper?

Come on, we're talking about Danes, here. A people so placid that their Prime Minister (or maybe Foreign Minister, can't recall) said that this was the worst foreign relations crisis for Denmark since World War II. Must be nice to be Danish.

Cartoonists pick up pens and people die. Just goes to show, the most dangerous thing in the world is not a nuclear weapon, it is an idea.

* * *

Work is, once again, kicking my butt. I think a new career is in order. I've been saying that for some time, however. Next Friday, I venture down to Washington D.C. to meet with someone who, if all the stars are aligned, might actually be able to help me. Maybe I can squeeze in a drink or late lunch with my cousin on the same trip. That would be nice.

* * *

I am feeling more curmudgeonly with every passing day. At this rate, I am going to just calcify in place.

Good thing we're having another baby. That keeps you young.

Or leaves you so tired you can't remember how old you are.

* * *

They are painting my office on Monday. That means I have to pack the whole thing into boxes and move it out into another room so they can paint. Everything has to go.

Tomorrow I wear jeans to work. And throw out a lot of stuff. Time to be ruthless since the situation is forced upon me.

I look around at the accumulated shite and I shudder. Probably easier to just fire to the whole thing and dance around it like some savage.

* * *

I learned that it is not true that you have to drink a bottle of vintage Port the same day you open it. This is happy news. You can keep it for between four days and a week, depending on which of the two experts I spoke to you care to believe. I err on the low estimate. Either way, I am glad to hear this.

* * *

Back to the salt mines.

Pax tibi.

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February 09, 2006

Time Suck of the Day: Ask Oxford

The Time Suck of the Day, been a long time since I found a decent one is: Ask the Experts at Oxford about Language.

What word rhymes with orange in English? There isn't one. Know what the other color is that doesn't rhyme with anything? Go check out the link and find out. Find out what is so interesting about the word "bookkeeper". (Hint: oo-kk-ee).

Hours of fun, I tell you. Hours.

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Our weekend away

We were adults last weekend. Childless adults. If you have kids, you know the kind I'm talking about. The kind who dress beautifully for dinner (because nobody is there to smear food on you by accident), the kind who goes to museums to spend as much time as they want there, the kind who gets up an hour before breakfast is served at their quaint b&b so that they can read Civil War history without fear of interruption or demands that other books by read to small critters, the kind who can imbibe adult beverages whenever they felt like it, the kind who could sleep without baby monitors buzzing away, the kind. . . No. Here I stop. You get the idea and if I keep this up the memories of my pre-child days, most of which I have carefully locked away, will return and drive me batty. No, instead, I will simply review our weekend.

Since it is a very long entry, the rest is below in extended entry. more...

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February 07, 2006

An important reminder

If I get a chance later, I will blog about the lovely long weekend away with the Viking Bride. However, I may not get to it right away while this experience, this one I wanted to memorialize right away before any of the details faded.

The Boy Child has taken the word no, internalized it, and turned it around as his new mantra. Everything not involving candy/cookies/dessert is no. Everything. To say that this tests my patience, the little I have, is sometimes distressingly clear, despite my very best efforts. Last night, maybe, my efforts were not as good as they should have been and I snapped at him. Not loud and not hard and not mean, but I was certainly exasperated and short.

The Boy Child reminds me, at times, of our old Kuvasz. My wife will understand. The Kuvasz is a very sensitive animal. The Boy Child is a very sensitive animal. You have to be careful with both. You really have to pick your moments if you intend to yell at either one. Neither took it well. The Kuvasz would hide his 120 pound white furred body on the black couch. The Boy Child will burst into tears and seek his mother's arms. I know this.

After being short with him, he left the Girl Child's room, I was trying to get them both to bed, and sought out his mother's tender embrace. His mother is a bit exasperated with the constant "nei, nei, nei" (no in Norwegian) that she gets, too. I got the Girl Child into bed. Good. I went in to collect the Boy Child from his mother because the Viking Bride can't really lift him so easily in this the sixth month of her pregnancy.

At his mother's urging, he apologized for his earlier disobedience, which I had actually kind of forgotten about, especially since I was just sort of a little ticked and not really angry before. I told him it was ok and that I forgave him and I thanked him for saying he was sorry. Then I picked him up to cuddle him while my wife went to bid good night to the Girl Child (who, by the way, knowing that her mother's back bothers her, untucks herself to stand on the bed to receive her good night hug and kiss so that her mother does not have to bend down to give them).

After we cuddled, I put him down to sleep. The room was dark, lit only by the nightlight. He lay with his head on the baby blanket he uses for a pillow, having rejected all other pillows but the blanket my mother knit for him. I stroked his fine and golden hair and told him that I loved him and, as I ran my fingers through his head, he told me the following:

You hurt mine feelings.

Me: I know, honey, and I'm so sorry.

BC: Not nice, make people sad.

I know it isn't. And years from now, when you read this, it will be more than ok for you to know that when you told me that I hurt your feelings, I had to choke back a sob. It was a very close thing as to whether I was going to cry.

So, an important reminder, words to live by, whatever: Not nice, make people sad.

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February 01, 2006

Overheard on the Street: A long wait for a table

This was not overheard by me, but was overheard outside of an Upper East Side restaurant and reported at the end of a review in the NY Observer:

Outside the restaurant, one of the customers was smoking a cigarette and talking on his cell phone. “I went home with one of the hostesses two weeks ago,” he said. “When she saw me tonight, she said I’d be waiting a long time for my table.”

Made me smile.

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The quiet is deafening, ain't it?

I have been terribly busy and thus without sufficient time to really blog. This makes me feel a little bad because, no matter how putrid the outcome, I really enjoy the writing. Hopefully, I will have more time to blog going forward.

In the meantime, I hope not to lack for material as my lovely wife has given me a subscription to the Economist. How did I survive for so long without such a subscription? Partially there has been an intimidation factor. It is a serious obligation to read the Economist every week. Mighty time consuming and I just wasn't sure I would do such an expensive (around $100 a year) subscription justice. But, with my longer train ride, it looks like I will be able to fit it in just fine. Yay!

Look for more posts soon, I hope.

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Media biased? Really?

Unless you've been living in a cave, you are aware of the current debate that the media in the United States does not present an unbiased view point when covering, well, just about everything. This is not a secret and should not come as an earth shaking revelation. But whatever. You kind of note it and file it away and move on, most of the time. But sometimes, just sometimes, it jumps off the page at you, or off of the television, and you just stand there, gobsmacked, like I was this morning.

I was watching CNN during my morning perspiration at the gym today and the talking heads were discussing the whole Cindy Sheehan thing -- you know, she got tossed from the chamber before the State of the Union speech, right? Now, I had to go to CNN to get the name of the talking head who said this, because they are kind of all interchangeable for me, but it was Miles O'Brien talking to Soledad O'Brien and here's what happened. Soledad said that Cindy was asked to cover up her shirt and refused and that's why she was escorted out. Miles expressed confusion when Soledad said that and referred to some papers in front of him, saying, "that's not what it says happened on her blog or on the letter she wrote to the Michael Moore website". Excuse me, Miles, Cindy's blog and Moore's webpage are supposed to qualify as authoritative news sources? Are you kidding me?

Who says that the media ain't biased? I'd rather believe that they were biased than that they were just this fuc*ing stupid, ok?

Posted by: Random Penseur at 09:43 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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