Archive for July, 2006
The Footnotes
Posted on July 31, 2006
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Footeater said he likes the footnotes better than the actual posts. Davecat requested an all footnote posting. I am nothing if not accommodating. If one clicks a footnote one gets a prize*.
After three repetitions of his experiment each concluded with not only the historically inaccurate defeat of the Romans, but with the extremely unlikely sacking of Rome(1), he was put to death in front of a group of weeping classical mathemeticians.
* If you understand that ‘prize’ means a trip to the pathetic post from which the out-of-context footnote was extracted, then I am not technically lying. For the sake of my moral integrity, I humbly request that you consider it such.
** Riley’s doing great! Thanks for asking. She’s small, cute, jiggly, and good toward a handsome exemption on my income taxes. And I love her.
*** Heather’s doing great, too! You’re so thoughtful. She got her staples out this morning. She’s expressing herself well.
Time Warp and Other Things
Posted on July 30, 2006
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All these things I am doing, this stuff I’m using, are things I’ve done and stuff I’ve used before.
Like these underpants. And this coffee mug. And my digital piano squattin’ over yonder looking all innocent-like*.
But this bassinet, swing, bouncy-chair, crib, breast-pump**, etc, all seem oddly out of place and time as I begin to use them again. This five year old Samantha was tiny when we used these things. She’s five…a child of the new century.
Consider this: I was reading Samantha a storybook yesterday. At the end of the story, Sam said,
”Put this in so we can pause it.”
She was handing me a bookmark. Whatever.
Anyway, back to the five-year-old baby things: I’d assumed all this time that I hadn’t really changed much, but as I wound the spring of this swing, I remember where I was, who I was, and what I felt like when last I wound it… and I am different… in more ways than hairlines, crows feet, and alarming flatulence can delineate.
Perhaps it was a newness of purpose. I had it then, I don’t now. I don’t know. I don’t know now.
Times up; leave your money on the dresser.
* Its up to something. Sneaky atonal bastard. When I was its age I had some respect for my elders.
** Not of the “Swedish Enlarger” variety, this is more of a human milking machine. My wife’s breasts are somewhat less erotic when a wee yellow motor sucks foodstuffs from them while humming the theme song from “Jaws”
Piece Offering
Posted on July 29, 2006
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The sump pump, ripped from its moorings and cast, bleeding ruddy iron deposits upon the soil and crabgrass, steams.
Neighbors serreptitiously cast their gazes at me through drawn curtains as I violently stab the evacuation tube over and over and over again with the noodley coil brush.
Drops of cold claret and clots of slime spew from the tube and arc through the morning sky on the rebound of each stroke, and the pump, plugged in and nestled in a bucket, caughs and splutters a filthy pint or two at each brief respite.
In seeming to kill it I bring it new life, though I cannot say the same for my ochre spattered clothes and shoes.
* I had no camera handy at the time. My sump pump is now back at work in a hole in my basement, and so I bring you a picture of a nice, new one.
Syntactics
Posted on July 27, 2006
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To the Beaumont hospital cafeteria, a ‘pot pie’ is a puddle of coagulated cream-of-chicken soup topped with a flattened buttermilk biscuit.
It may be that they are correct, as the result is surprisingly pie-like in the same way that my Ford Focus is like a boogie-board.
It’s a Girl!!!
Posted on July 25, 2006
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Born: 24, July 2006 12:26pm (-5GMT)
Stats: 8lbs (3.63kg), 20″ (51cm), Female
A Pulchritudinous Potent Potential Potentate
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I look so cool! I’m all pimped out in paper clothes! Time to go watch ‘em cut my wife open. I pooped my pants. My paper pants. |
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