16Nov / 2009

Fun with Gamma

My sense of humor seems to be matching Gamma’s pretty well lately. We were smelling shower soaps at the supermarket last Saturday, standing there in the aisle and making fun of the loopy names and scents and laughing our heads off.

She’s 12 now, with all that entails.

We have a family tradition of stealing one another’s food. It goes back generations but has been perfected by Gamma and the cats. Gamma would rather steal your food than share it with you when you offer.

Last night I offered her the last tomato soup, for example. No thanks, she said. Then she yelled at the cat to get out of the living room. I jumped up and searched the living room, yelling all the while at a hypothetical cat which may or may not have been in the living room but is definitely not allowed to be in there. When I returned to the kitchen without spotting the cat, Gamma was polishing off the tomato soup and laughing and laughing.

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21Oct / 2009

The Monster Index, I

The number eight looks so round and feels so eckig. Angular.

What color will the sky be when the sun expands to consume its child? Will mankind retreat to the outer planets? Will it be calculable, when to move to Mars, when beyond? When to seek a new galaxy?

Is it out of proportion, how we who know ourselves to be finite cling to infinity with our stories of afterlife, of reincarnation, of scientific possibility?

Here on this weenie little mote.

And yet: the dice stood on their corners. Did his hand touch mine when I picked them up for another roll?

Why do we need ghost stories? Because we see ghosts. Why do we need monster stories? Because we are monsters. Because we walk at night and sleep during the day and hide our true selves.

A society so adept at channeling desires, at controlling thoughts must perforce create monsters. When I think thoughts not my own, when experts tell me what to want and feel, and someone else’s desires steer me and my own die or hide, I am a monster. Never in recorded history have there been so many of us.

Unless religion did the same thing. Maybe it did. Was religion the advertising, marketing and entertainment of its age?

The democrats have a majority everywhere and still refuse to get anything big done. How would that work? What would be a step on the path to a big thing? How do you throw out those who should be thrown out, but have been preparing for the fight, without triggering 1. a (fake) civil war followed by 2. a (real) draconian crackdown?

Thanks for everything.

You’re welcome.

It’s over so fast, the world, so constant and permanent at first, changing so quickly here towards the end. Concerns not so important as we take them to be. So many ways to hurt a soul, to inflict pain, and so many blown opportunities to allay it. Also, though, this: so much more to every second than just this.

There is curiosity. There are lions prowling our neighborhoods. There is the possibility of everything while we (I) eat our (my) breakfast rolls and quietly die vor uns hin, someone talks to foxes in their dreams.

My wife met a fox on the sidewalk before our house one night, for real, which (reality) although hard to nail down we sometimes see as the opposite of dreaming.

Rod Serling: But is it?

What is the difference between loving someone and touching someone? Why touch them, anyway? Does it reduce pain or multiply it?

Five thirty in the morning, dark as shit, he looks for something at the kitchen table. Will he find it? He looks for peace and love and happiness. He finds joy and sadness do not contradict. He wants his daughters to smile, and mean it.

Do you know I’m here for you? Am I failing you? Isn’t that what father’s do?

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21Oct / 2009

My mom

Just got off the phone with my mom. She just had two bionic knees installed. My understanding is this works like this: they take a saw and trade your old knees for new knees. The funny part is, she’s already walking around, and is not taking any painkillers. Zero. This woman should be cage fighting.

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19Aug / 2009

Fences

So I just finished sanding and repainting the part of our fence along the sidewalk. When I got home last night my wife informed me that all our neighbors are redoing their fences now.

Heh.

The joke’s on them: next spring we’re painting our house.

Something on the radio this morning about an event to commemorate a picnic on the Austrian/Hungarian border 20 years ago. This is what happened: 20 years ago, they had a picnic. They. A peace thing. And they temporarily took down the fence. And as soon as they did, a zillion East Germans vacationing in Hungary shot across the border into Austria.

One thing led to another, and there I was, in a living room outside Tokyo, holding a baby in my arms and crying as I watched news footage of the Berlin wall coming down. In the memory I am drinking champagne, but I suspect only the people on TV were, and I was wishing I could share it with them.

Maybe I’ll drink some this weekend with the baby, when she and her little sister get back from their trip to the States.

One thing led to another, and there I stood at a urinal in the Moscow airport, and Boris Yeltsin walked in and we took a leak together, a couple urinals apart. Not the linty, grey, puffy, gobsmacked-looking Yeltsin, either, but the tall, silver-haired, handsome, charismatic Yeltsin, on his way to a book-signing or something.

One thing led to another, and there I stood last night at a diplomatic reception, watching gate-crashers getting de-crashed. Potential gate-crashers please listen: they are looking for you. They will throw your ass out if they catch you.

Gate-crashing tips:

Don’t bother. Just get yourself invited.
If you are going to try anyway, render yourself invisible to the anti-gate-crasher people, as follows.
Appearance: Look like everyone else. Don’t overdress, don’t underdress. For a diplomatic reception/garden party, a nice suit with matching shoes and tie is okay. Also haircut and facial hair should not look too feral. Women: nice dress. Not too long, not too short either. One woman was wearing trousers last night. She had an invitation. Note: if you have a genuine invitation, wear whatever you want.
Arrival time: don’t come too early or too late, when the AGC people have lots of time for you. Come a few minutes after the party is scheduled to start, during the crush.
Story: This is key. Both tossees last night messed this part up. Actually, they messed everything up, which is where I got this list. Don’t change your story. Don’t claim to be from an obviously non-existent organization. Don’t claim to be from somewhere famous, either, where the AGC people know all the invitees. Claim to be from somewhere obscure, but known, where there is a good chance of someone inviting someone at the last minute or something.
If you can’t make your own realistic-looking invitation to present at the door, make at least a realistic-looking business card from your “organization” to lend credence to your story. And have genuine ID matching the name on the business card, which will therefore be your own name. In case they ask for it.
Don’t insist on getting in. This just draws attention to you. Be all apologetic for forgetting your invitation, while sort of implying that there will be hell to pay but, sure, fine, you understand their position, but they’ll hear about it, later, maybe, sure, you’re going if that’s what they want. And then leave.
Because if you sneak in anyway, law enforcement officers will escort you out and that’s embarrassing, even if they are discrete about it.
This is all theoretical, based on mistakes I saw made last night. I haven’t tried crashing a party like this yet. I imagine it’s basically impossible where they have an actual guest list and you’re not on it.

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11May / 2009

Placeholder post

That was fun.

More as soon as the snow settles in the sort of globe-shaped/flat-on-the-bottom/scenery-inside paperweight that is my head.

PS: who knew that I had so many friends? And such good ones?

PPS: the rain outside sure sounds pretty.

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18Jan / 2006

On the interpretation of dreams

No, honey. I told you I quit. I haven’t smoked all year.

Oh yeah?

See? How could I smoke if I washed my cigarettes first?

Also, the back seat of my Mazda looks as if a fairy got carsick back there. Glitter all over.

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02Jan / 2006

Ski trip

The week after Christmas was devoted to skiing. We went to the same ski area as usual, but stayed in a different pension, more centrally located. Beta timed us the first night when we walked to the Kirchenwirt, the inn across the street from the church, where we usually eat. It took us 15 seconds to get there.
Not only that: although we took the ski bus to the lifts, we were able to ski right up to our pension on our way back. I have dreamed of doing that ever since reading about Hemingway doing that on his stays in Tyrol or somewhere. So basically, I had a Hemingway ski trip this winter, if Hemingway had spent his time skiing behind an 8-year old girl. And had drunk less. Quite a bit less, in fact, because he was afraid of falling down too much if he got drunk while skiing.
The weather was perfect. Lots of good, powdery snow. Nice and cold. Trees all thickly flocked in the white. Didn’t even fall down the first day. Not until we were on our way home, anyhow. By then I was tired. I didn’t feel tired, but I could tell I was because I began to crash a lot.
Even though we spent some time in the lodge, eating and stuff.
The second day it was foggy so we went swimming at a water-slide place. Aquapulco, it was called, but Gamma called it Apocapulco. That’s my girl.
If you’re new here, Gamma is the 8-year old.
Happy New Year, by the way.
Evenings we spent fighting over the remote control device and jockeying for position on the couch.
When Beta had the remote, we watched MTV, at least part of the time. I was a bit worried when Rammstein came on, because it was visually impressive and included a monk-type fellow stabbing someone to death, and several shirtless flagellants (as opposed to flagellates which are something biological) scourging themselves vigorously and in time with the music.
“Papa,” Gamma said once the video had finished, “can you get me a copy of this?”
The third day of skiing was the coldest, so we went into the lodge earlier in the day, to make sure we got a table because it’s no fun to lurk around in the lodge looking for a corner to rest in.
We had a good family ski trip. We fought and bickered quite a bit, because we have been doing that this holiday season, but the external conditions couldn’t have been better, is what I’m saying. The landscape was quite marvelous. My wife led us around the slopes with calm expertise, and the snow was good with very little ice. I got in a few nice chats with Beta on the ski lifts. We had a good time. But it’s nice to be back.