I took a reasonably early train home yesterday night and got home in time to hang out with the kids for a bit. The Girl Child, who is an eating machine, helped herself to a second dinner / light snack while I was eating. When she went to serve herself some more, that process brought to mind an earlier incident at school that I guess she thought we might find interesting. And so, in a very matter of fact tone, she related the following.

She was sitting at snack time with two other friends when one little girl said:

I hate my life; I wish I was dead. I want to kill myself.

The little girl in question is 7 years old and in first grade. Without trying to get too serious here, I questioned my daughter at some length and determine that this is about the 3rd time she has heard this little girl say this or something like this in the last month. The little girl, the daughter of immigrants from India, is unhappy because: her parents yell all the time; her parents regularly make her cry; and, her parents force her to spend all her time doing extracurricular homework that they create for her. No adult, according to my daughter, has overheard the little girl say these things.

I called the teacher and left a detailed message relating what I had learned from my daughter. I decided not to call the parents. I am not at all sure that this was the right decision, but, just the same, it was the decision I made. The school is well equipped with mental health types who will take this kind of thing very seriously and the threats or comments have all been made at school. Besides, I donÂ’t know the parents. Maybe this was not the right decision. I donÂ’t know.

I asked my daughter what she thought of all this and, bless her heart, she replied without hesitation:

I think it is just so stupid. I mean, if you hate your life: change it!. DonÂ’t kill yourself. You can grow up and move out if you are so unhappy.

It made my wife and me very sad to hear all this.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 09:58 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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We were down in Florida over Memorial Day weekend to attend my sister's my pretty pony wedding. The less said, perhaps. . .

Anyway, one night, we were having dinner outside at a barbecue joint called "Slow and Low". Pretty good, actually. Towards the end of the meal, the live music started. It was a singer with an acoustic guitar. He played some James Taylor and then he played some Jimmy Buffet. That prompted the Girl Child to want to ask him to play a song for her. So, she grabbed my hand and pulled me along for moral support. The song he was playing ended and she walked up to the singer:

GC: [Shyly peering up at him from under her too long bangs she quietly asks] Can you please play a song for me?

Singer: [Into the Mic] This little lady has a request! What would you like me to play, miss?

GC: Can you play me a Jimmy Buffet song?

Singer: Sure! What do you want to hear?

GC: Can you play, My head hurts, my feet stink, and I don't love Jesus?

Singer: Errr, [long pause] I don't know that one. I've heard it but I don't know it. How about I play, Son of a Sailor?

GC: Ok. Sure, if you don't know the other one.

GC: [As we walk back to our seats} Pappa, that really wasn't the song I wanted to hear, you know.

I'm sorry I cannot describe the look on the singer's face when he heard her request. No way he saw that one coming.

No way for him to know that the Girl Child thinks of herself as a Parrot Head. No way at all.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 10:51 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Last night, we attended a sold out performance at Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center. It was a grand performance by the Suzuki School of Westport, where the Girl Child (aged 7) studies violin and the Boy Child (aged 5) studies the cello. [The baby (aged 2), by the way, while studying neither, can often be found in his car seat, humming “twinkle” and moving his arm as if he were handling a bow.] There were 160+ students on the stage last night. All of them dressed in white shirts and black pants or skirts.

The program lasted for an hour. We (I was there with my parents) had the worst seats in the house, all the way in the farthest most back row. The music was lovely and the children performed terrifically. The BC was seated on the stage the entire time, in the front row by the left side. The GC came on stage with the other beginning violinists towards the end. I suppose it was easier to make the little violinists walk in with their much smaller instruments than it was to make the cellists come in with their stools and straps and big cellos. The BC behaved impeccably during the concert. He didn’t drop his bow on the stage once, unlike some of the other kids. He was scheduled to play at the last song of the program – some twinkle variations.

The GC was on stage and playing and we were about three songs from the end when the BC did something quite strange. He put his cello down and stood up. He looked around for a moment and then walked over the stairs and descended into the audience where he then began to march up the aisle of the concert hall. He was on the other side of the hall from me. The Viking Bride was a chaperone and was backstage so really didnÂ’t see any of this. I jumped out of my seat, ran around the outside of the hall and met him at the door on his side.

Me: BC! Are you ok? What are you doing?

BC: I have to go to the potty really bad.

Me: BC, we are one song away from your song. YouÂ’re going to miss the whole thing if you go to the potty! Can you hold it?

BC: [Bites back a sob] IÂ’ll try.

Me: Good for you! LetÂ’s hurry and get you back!

We walk very quickly halfway down the aisle and I stop to let him continue by himself.

He mounts the stage as the second to last piece is coming to an end.

Avery Fisher Hall erupts in applause as the BC takes the stage and picks his cello back up. Everyone clapped for him.

They launch right in to the last piece and he plays his cello with tremendous gusto. He gets up, bows, and exits.

The GC, by the way, was sick going in and did not want to play. But she got out there and played her best, even though, as she confided in me later on the way home, she was not able to make her violin sing.

And so the concert ends.

I was so proud of them both.

And yes, the BC made it to the potty in time. Or so he said.

While waiting for them to all come out of the stage door on 65th Street, one of the mothers told me

When he got back on the stage, at the end, and everyone applauded: I cried.

I didnÂ’t cry. But I did stand in the middle of the aisle, in the middle of Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center, bursting with pride and pleasure as I watched as my son mounted the stage to thunderous applause and played his very big heart out.

I wasnÂ’t sure what to expect last night but I certainly didnÂ’t expect that. It was a heck of a show.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 10:40 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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1 I read the pride all the way here. What wonderful children you are growing.

Posted by: jules at May 28, 2008 01:03 PM (XA8OW)

2 Wow.

Posted by: Hannah at May 28, 2008 02:55 PM (lUH62)

3 What a little trooper he is. I bet he was scared to come down off the stage into the crowd, but he did the right thing anyway. I am sure they were both wonderful.

Posted by: caltechgirl at May 28, 2008 05:09 PM (IfXtw)

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I feel a bit unbalanced today. You may not know this about me, but I am completely ambidextrous. In fact, I normally write with my left hand but play tennis or squash or throw with my right hand.

I play a lot of squash. I probably play a minimum of 4 and sometimes up to 6 times a week. Lately, however, I have begun to experience some pain in my elbow and my shoulder. I decided to take it easy and rest the arm, opting to not play this week. I got talked into giving it a try this morning, though. I easily won my first game and then the shoulder started to ache, kind of sharply. So I did the smart thing and resigned the match. That should have ended it.

Except that my partner suggested that I switch hands and play lefty. I have never tried that before but, sure, why not. We hit some balls so I could get used to it and then we went for it. I lost three games very quickly: 9-0; 9-0; 9-1. So we played three more and I lost all of them, too but by a much better score: 9-5; 9-6; 9-6. Yes, I took respectable losses against an experienced player by using my weak hand for the first time ever.

Cool. I was so pleased when we walked off the court.

But then it got weird. I went to get a cup of coffee to take into the locker room and I ended up using my left hand as my dominant hand. I have continued, off and on, to confuse which hand is dominant. I have felt slightly off balance, too, like I used my body in a familiar task but in an unfamiliar way. All very odd.

I highly recommend this experience, if you think you have the ability to switch it up a little.

Change your perspective. Use your other hand (good luck serving, though).

Posted by: Random Penseur at 01:05 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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1 I do it all the time, very useful. :-P Plus it makes me feel smart and able, to use both hands fairly well.

Posted by: Hannah at May 09, 2008 02:47 PM (lUH62)

2 Joe is a big softball player. For the longest time he was hitting right handed, but would practice left handed sometimes. In one game, he wasn't doing so well. He stepped up to the plate and proceeded to get into position left handed. I thought the coach was going to lose his mind. He was yelling for Joe not to do it, but Joe moved forward. Joe scored a home run which essentially won the game. Josh, my younger son, is ambidextrous. He throws right handed, but eats left handed. He alternates which hand he uses in drawing, but mostly uses his right hand, but will pick up a bat (or light saber, actually) with his left hand. It will be interesting to see what he does with that in the future.

Posted by: Linda at May 14, 2008 10:11 AM (lm8Uy)

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The Girl Child spoke early. And often. But above all else, she spoke early. Somewhat like me, my aunt has told me. Anyway, she spoke her first real words at almost exactly six months old. I came in to pick her up from her crib and she looked at me with those huge, astonishingly blue eyes, and said: "Hi, Dada. Dada, hi!"

Boom. I was blown away. I looked at this little creature and said, "My sweet, Pappa is going to buy you a horse!"

Well, I should have been more careful. I have not bought her a horse. No, I have leased her a pony. A lovely little strawberry-roan pony who jumps like a big guy and who eats while we sleep (which is expensive). The Girl Child thought it was a strawberry-ROME, by the way, but I felt I had to correct that cute little misunderstanding.

So, we have acquired a pony. It is, if you were wondering, expensive to lease a good pony for a year. Thousands of dollars expensive. But that's ok, I don't think that she'll miss much by not going to college.

We have also, by the way, acquired a tack box to keep her boots and hat and gloves and chaps and half chaps and crop and grooming stuff and spurs and it keeps on going and going. This box was a gift from her riding instructor who just got a new tack box. She gave her old tack box, a gift to her from her mother when she was young, to the Girl Child. It has, as you might think, huge sentimental value and we are really touched.

So, if you see me at a horse show and I have a sort of pinched expression on my face, that's because I now lease a pony.

I never should have said anything when she was 6 months old. A lesson to you all, I expect.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 10:08 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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The Viking Bride, who is now a stay at home mom, emailed me with the following:

I berated the Girl Child (age 7) for some poor behavior this morning, and she stalked off, sulky & sad. She must have confided in / complained to her brother (age 5), because I hear the dulcet tones of his gentle voice wafting over from the sun room

Girl Child, I'm tired of sticking up for you. I'm SICK of yelling at Mamma!

Brilliant.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 08:19 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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1 Your kids are still great, RP!

Posted by: Hannah at May 02, 2008 03:32 PM (lUH62)

2 Priceless!

Posted by: Wicked H at May 03, 2008 02:00 PM (Uta3g)

3 Wow, cool man, big thanks! http://wkkseqdwvyioo.com

Posted by: xbzmjqgnld at May 17, 2008 07:06 AM (d9HRz)

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Saturday found me in a local upscale grocery store with the Girl Child to buy cupcakes to celebrate, later, the Boy Child's first little league game (he did great, more on that later). I ran into my neighbor, who I have not seen in some time. He lives right next door and just got remarried to a lovely French woman and they are raising her young children together. I was pleased to see him. I asked him how he was and he said, looking at the Girl Child, that he got some news but would call me later to discuss. I understood and sent her off to the smoked fish to find something yummy (her favorite stuff, really). And he told me that he was just diagnosed with lung cancer and it was in his lymph nodes. None of the kids know yet. He just found out this week.

His wife told me on Sunday that he is now taking anti-depressants. I was out in the yard practicing baseball with the Boy Child when her 7 year old son came running out with his glove to join in.

So, here's the question: would you take drugs to adjust your emotional reaction to devastating news? Or would you say, forget it, this may be the last ride of my life and I am going to fully experience the highs and the lows?

Posted by: Random Penseur at 11:19 AM | Comments (10) | Add Comment
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Have you, by any chance, been as fascinated as I have by the doings up North in lovely Canada where people like Ezra Levant are being prosecuted/persecuted for "hate crimes" or violations of Canada's revolting human rights statutes? Mark Steyn is also victim of a complaint brought by some jerk in front of one of the human rights commissions. Ezra's website is a damn good place to go to get some background. He's defending himself from some Islamic organization's complaint that he hurt their feelings by publishing the dreaded Danish Cartoons of Blasphemy.

Anyway, I have been following this, with a sick fascination, for months. I mean, Canadians are so very much like us, we think, only kind of cleaner and nicer and a bit more polite. Toronto v. New York. Mounties v. NYC Cops. You get it, right? So, when I read that they are prepared to accept all sorts of governmental interference with freedom of expression, I am dumbfounded. It is absolutely absurd. I just have not been able to wrap my mind around the concept.

Until now. Now, I get it. I was reading Mark Steyn's recent piece in Macleans when it suddenly clicked for me. Here's the excerpt that brought it together for me:

Last week's letters page included a missive from Jennifer Lynch, Q.C., chief commissioner of the Canadian "Human Rights" Commission, defending her employees from the accusation of "improper investigative techniques" by yours truly. Steyn, she writes, "provides no substantiation for these claims," and then concludes:

"Why is this all important? Because words are important. Steyn would have us believe that words, however hateful, should be given free rein. History has shown us that hateful words sometimes lead to hurtful actions that undermine freedom and have led to unspeakable crimes. That is why Canada and most other democracies have enacted legislation to place reasonable limits on the expression of hatred."

It is the bit in bold that triggered it for me. The need for HRC's (human rights commissions) is because the liberal, at his/her base, cannot and will not trust to the fundemental decency of the Canadian. In older times, and perhaps still, at least where I am, I believe that you would see people stand up for victims of hatred at an individual level. I believe that people, individually and en masse, would stand together and say: "No, your behavior is not acceptable when you called that other person a ______". I believe that we, as a people, individually and collectively, would not put up with witnessing blatantly racist behavior and not try to intervene on behalf of the victim.

The people who put the HRCs in place do not share my faith. They think that the only way to protect people from hurtful speech is to proscribe the speech and for the Government to take the place of the People (in loco populi?). They think that no one will protect anyone but them. In consecrating to themselves the rights of a free people to. . . No, the obligations of a free people to stand for themselves and to defend the limits of socially acceptable speech by engaging in spirited debate and in more speech, by saying, "no, no, no, dear people, don't bother, let us, the helpful anti-racist professionals do it", what you do is kill the spirit of the body politic. It is not necessary any more for Canadians to stand themselves and be counted in the face of anti-Canadian behavior. It is only necessary that they pick up the phone and ask the HRC to do it for them. Perhaps anonymously. Can you see how this is practically an invitation to abdicate your responsibilities as a citizen and an individual?

You may hate the image of the cowboy. Chances are, if you are European, you certainly do. But can you imagine a cowboy picking up the phone and not solving his community's problems himself?

To sum up, I hate the HRC because they are animated by the belief that the individual will not protect the weak. I disagree. That is not how I was raised. It is un-American. I bet it is also un-Canadian. But, who can say, maybe the welfare state and the multi-culti types have successfully whittled away at the concept of individual responsibility so well and replaced it with an over-reliance on the State as the beginning and the end of everything that the HRC's and the beliefs they represent will never go away.

I just hope it won't happen here.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 02:22 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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An article in the NY Law Journal (a must read for everyone, I know) caught my eye a moment ago. A lawfirm filed a preemptive lawsuit against a former employee, a secretary, who has threatened to bring a $9 million sexual harassment suit. The lawfirm/plaintiff denies that she was raped but admits that she gave a partner a "consensual lap dance" in the privacy of his office.

Consensual lap dance. In his office. The lucky recipient has been practicing for 32 years and is a former assistant district attorney. Old enough to know better, you see.

When you hire a lawyer, you want someone with good judgment. Not someone getting free lap dances from the staff.

You cannot make this stuff up.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 10:25 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Baseball was huge fun. We had 8 kids show up. 7 of them bat lefty. What are the odds of that happening?

At the conclusion of practice, which I tried my best to make as fun as possible, I formed a prediction of what our first game will be like. Here's what I see happening. We have a runner on 1st and 3rd. Our batter makes contact. Every single player on the other team, including the first baseman, goes for the ball. Our batter makes it easily to first. Our runner on 1st runs across the diamond to go straight to third. Our runner on 3rd runs back to 2nd where he finds a flower he wants to pick to give to his mother later. Bases will be loaded and the coaches will be hiding behind the backstop so no one can see us laughing.

Thanks for the comments yesterday, y'all, I had no idea anyone still knew this poor neglected blog was still here.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 10:04 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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1 LOL Lefties rock! And I love your scenario, sounds wonderful. :-P RSS is so useful - so of course I'm still here. Nice to hear that things are still ok with you.

Posted by: Hannah at April 25, 2008 11:28 AM (lUH62)

2 7 lefties? Must be the fluoride in the water.

Posted by: Howard at April 25, 2008 03:37 PM (u2JaN)

3 Well, with 7 lefties, it's safe to say you'll have a ... *creative* team, at least! Your vision about the fist game's conclusion? I've actually seen that movie. In person. With my son being the character who runs from first to third across the pitcher's mound. :-) Ah, the good ol' days. Here's to home video!

Posted by: Jennifer at April 27, 2008 05:16 PM (s7/kM)

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Nope, not gone.

Just so totally whip sawed between work and home and outside obligations that I have barely had time to think, let alone write.

So, if anyone is still reading this, I will try to write some more soon. Truth is, I miss it. Finally.

Off early today from work. I am going to coach the first practice for my five year old son's little league team. I am, probably, more excited than he is.

And I could use that kind of fun. I watched, yesterday, as they performed a funeral mass for my partner's young cousin. He was 20 and the cancer he had been fighting finally did him in. I know his mother and father, too, and have for years. The grandmother, too, come to think of it. As I watched the boy's mother walk into the church, behind the casket, all I could think was that grief had destroyed her face in a way I had never seen before. Usually, if there really is such a thing, grief eats away at the flesh and the fat and leaves the bones etched in sharp relief on the face. Here, her face, as she followed the body of her only child into the church, was collapsed as if grief had rendered the bones of her face brittle and they had shattered under the weight of her sadness. It was heart rending.

So, today, I go out into the sunlight with nine little boys and I teach them how to run, to hit, to throw, and to cheer for their team mates. It is a beautiful day and a blue sky and I am happy to be alive.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 11:58 AM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
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As of Sunday night, Bear Stearns basically ceased to exist as JP Morgan Chase purchased it for $2 a share. This may be the bargain of the century, by the way. The building alone is supposedly worth $8 a share. The CDO Book, which is illiquid and not tradeable, and therefore not really possible to value, is apparently performing. This means that the debt obligations which were sliced up to create the debt instruments are still paying out. In other words, while you can't trade 'em, at its most basic, people are paying the debts that make them up. If the instruments pay out and perform, it will be one hell of a coup for JP Morgan Chase.

Of course, the roughly 14,000 people of Bear and the investors who bought Bear are fucked. The retirement portfolios made up of Bear stock are ash. The jobs are questionable. The investments are up in smoke.

But there is still liquidity.

I do not share the view of the fellow this morning in my train station. I was buying my paper and overheard the following exchange as a man came in:

Woman: Hey! What are you doing here this early [5 a.m.]? I never see you this early.

Man: I always come in early when the earth is about to end.

Who was it who said that eternal nothingness was ok so long as you were dressed for it?

It is going to get a lot uglier out there before it gets better.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 08:56 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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As you may recall (or not, I don't flatter myself that what I wrote about some time ago was so interesting that, however central it may be to my life, you might actually have burned a brain cell to remember it), we applied to private school for the Boy Child for kindergarten. He was waitlisted on an unranked waitlist. We viewed his chances of actually getting in as dim and were waiting for the final confirmation that he would be attending public school along with his sister. We figured that would come shortly. It didn't. I got a call today with the news that despite the odds, he is the only child being admitted off the waitlist. The school had one slot, one single, solitary place open up and they have offered it to the Boy Child.

It is expensive. One year is more than one year of undergraduate university cost me some (*sob*) 18 years ago. One year is one thing but we will be buying twelve years of this. And, of course, our inclination would be to unite the children at the same school so that the Girl Child might go there, too. Her chances of acceptance, by the way, will go way up if she is a sibling of a current student.

The public schools in our town are very good, for sure. Most people, us included, move to this town for the schools. So, are we crazy to be contemplating this?

The college acceptance list for this charming, beautiful little school is un-freaking-real. I was astonished by their reach at the top of the top of the top universities in the country.

I don't know. I am a big believer in independent education. I prefer it, truthfully.

I look forward to the extended conversation my wife and I are going to have tonight, that is for certain. It ought to be interesting. We will have that conversation in the car in the way home from the City after a Scotch Whisky Tasting Dinner. I will endeavor to restrain myself.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 01:20 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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I caught the Girl Child, just aged seven, in a lie last Sunday. It was a stupid lie, uttered without thinking about it, to avoid getting yelled at. Not a great success as the world came down around her shoulders. I detest dishonesty and am doing my best in inculcate in my children habitual honesty in response to questions, even in response to questions which might get them in trouble. They are always in worse trouble for lying than for telling me the truth.

Anyway, while I was putting the lass to bed on Monday night, we had the following exchange:

Me: Did you lie to anyone today?

GC: I have no recollection.

When I was seven, I doubt I even knew the word recollection, much less how to use it in a sentence.

Upon further probing the matter, she told me that she didn't think that she had lied that day. Still, I am regularly surprised when I have to cross examine my daughter as if she were a witness.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 03:09 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Breaking news (not that this is the first place I would suggest coming for breaking news, but, just the same): Gov. Elliot Spitzer, Democrat of New York, has been caught up in a high-priced prostitution scandal and will be taking some time to deal with the personal issues (you know, the ones where his wife kills him?). He was found on a Federal wire tap placing an order for a call girl while in Washington D.C. That explains why, when the prostitution ring indictments were handed down in Federal Court here in New York, the Assistant United States Attorneys were all from the Public Integrity Unit and not from the regular Criminal Division.

Next step? Resignation from office?

Bye, Gov!

Posted by: Random Penseur at 02:44 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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William F. Buckley, Jr. has died. It is a tremendous loss to the nation and to anyone who values precision in language and passion in defense of conservative beliefs.

I was privileged to have spent many hours with him, in email correspondence, in telephone calls, and at a dinner. We were not friends, mind you, the distance in accomplishment and age was too great. But I respected him tremendously.

In tribute, I give you the retrospective of the best of his interviews on Charlie Rose:

My condolences to his family.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 03:44 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Any evening that starts with a glass, a generous glass, of Rebel Yell bourbon in a small bar room with beautiful paintings of dogs and horses and ends with a recitation of Kipling poetry, at a table in a dark room lit only by candles in gleaming candelabra, shiny silver table decorations (I think they were quail) and a very good glass of port in a crystal port glass is clearly going to be a perfect evening. In between those two things, we eight people spoke mainly of PG Wodehouse.

It is difficult to imagine how the evening could have been improved upon.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 12:44 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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High, very high, on the list of unwelcome sounds is the following sound I heard at 1:07 a.m. on Monday morning:

Mamma? I don't feel so BLACH SPLASH!

And just like that, there I am, wiping vomit off the rug in my bedroom.

A lovely way to wake up and the poor Boy Child was sick all day on Monday.

On Tuesday, I went off to work quite merrily.

I felt unwell on the train ride in.

I left early and was home in bed, teeth chattering, by 12:30 where I slept until at least 4:00 in the afternoon.

The Viking Bride was then struck down.

We both sat in the den -- her supine on the sofa and me reclining in a chair -- while the two oldest kids supervised the baby.

The Girl Child cleaned the baby's mouth and hands after his dinner and got him out of his booster seat. The GC and the BC then traded off watching over him. At one point, the GC ran upstairs for a moment and I heard the BC say the following to the baby:

Ok, Baby, can you be super, extra good for me? The GC had to go upstairs and this is the first time I am watching you all by myself and it is very hard work.

The GC and the BC then discussed, in detail, how they were going to hoist the baby up into his crib to put him to bed (it already having been agreed between them that the GC was going to read the good night story to the BC and put him to bed) if neither the Viking Bride nor myself could do it. The BC remembered that the front of the crib came down so they felt comfortable getting that down and boosting him into the crib.

While they felt they had it under control, I just the same summoned the energy to get the baby changed, read to, and put to bed without their kind offers of assistance. They still had to brush their own teeth and the GC still performed story reading duties.

The next day (yesterday) dawned somewhat better for me but the Viking Bride was still weak as a kitten. I had to go to work to take a conference call on a really important deal -- not changing the face of Western Society as we know it important but still pretty significant for my client just the same.

I took a 12:07 train home, stopped off to get some soup and other easy to digest foods, and let the Viking Bride go to bed. The baby and the BC both got up from their naps on the very early side and I took all the kids to the library. We took out a Warner Bros. cartoon video and a copy of the Magic Flute (yes, the Mozart opera) to watch while we were sick (or, while the wife and I were sick). We also got a bunch of books, including 5 firetruck books for the BC.

It actually turned into a great day. After dinner, the BC and the GC practiced their instruments and we watched cartoons. Good cartoons. Funny cartoons. Not the crappy stuff that tries to pass for cartoons today with their pious multi-cultural messages and . . . well, I have written about that before.

The kids were in bed by 7:30. The Viking Bride and I were in bed by 8:30.

I managed, somehow, to get my ass on the squash court this morning for my weekly torture session with a former Division I athlete. Happily, he was recovering from a flu, too. We played ok and I did not vomit on the court, although I did have to pass on pilates this morning. That was simply even more unwise than playing squash, if you can believe it.

Anyway, here we are. Back at work. Almost at full strength.

I trust you all have been well this week?

Posted by: Random Penseur at 11:20 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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This day has gone from inconvenient to annoying to down right so angry that I just actually told my accountant: "You have disturbed my serenity to such an alarming degree that I actually cannot adequately communicate it to you". Much, much better than telling him to go f**k himself.

To begin, I could not sleep from between 12:30 and 1:30 this morning. I lay on the sofa downstairs and listened to the storm battering the house. It was loud, persistent, and somewhat violent.

I left the house at 4:56 this morning to go to the train station, as is my custom. There was a huge tree branch, like half a tree, down and blocking my driveway. I had to go over the lawn to get out of my house. I should have just gone back to bed.

It was a slow train ride in to Stamford. Once in Stamford, they announced that the train had hit some debris and they had to change equipment. That meant that they had to cancel our train and stick all of us on to the local -- the one that makes every stop between Stamford and Grand Central. Having left the house at 4:56, I arrived in Grand Central at 7:05.

No time to play squash this morning, due to late arrival. My partner picked up another game, you see.

Get a call from the accountant who got call from my wife who got a letter from the IRS asking in that really gentle IRS kind of way, where are your 2006 tax returns? For gentle, read: there could be criminal penalties associated with failure to file returns. As much as I would like to say, kiss my Wesley Snipes ass, you jerks, I resist. I tell my accountant that I am puzzled since I have his letter telling me that my returns (joint returns) were filed electronically. Ah, says he, let me call you back. See, if e-filed, that means that his firm did it.

His partner calls me. Turns out, for reasons he cannot explain, none of our tax returns (we file federal and in two states) were filed for 2006. Their mistake. He is going to re-prepare them and send them over to me for my and my wife's signature so that we can file them by mail. He will, I insisted, include a cover letter on his firm's letterhead taking full responsibility for the mistake.

Sure.

And if this mistake screws up my wife's application for US citizenship? What do I do if that happens?

I am now terribly concerned about what bad and stupid thing is about to happen next.

I have not had lunch yet. I bet I break a tooth when I bite into something and the dentist won't be able to see my until June. If I was a betting man, that's what I would bet will happen.

I am really beyond angry here. Way beyond. As only a guy who hasn't slept well in two days can be.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 01:06 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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I give you, Minnesotans for Global Warming:

I just wish I had thought of this first.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 10:39 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
Post contains 22 words, total size 1 kb.