Alpha does the cutest goofy Mr. MacGregor voice when she reads The Complete Adventures of Peter Rabbit to Gamma.

Condensed from post below.

1. Novel etc etc. TMC 2004? Not sure about that one, Bauke. I’m still sore from the last one.

2. More making fun of memes
3. See if Amazon has resolve for Eeksy-Peeksy
4. More fiction etc etc. (Or at least get rid of the date-stamping over at Pain Suit so it’s not so obvious when I go so long between posts there)
5. “Reach detente with the cat.” Which pissed on bath mat again yesterday, and appears to like dodging snowballs in back yard.
6. Reduce creepiness about daughter’s friend. Now listen: no creepiness, seriously. She is a talented, intelligent kid who I wish would get more support for that from her environment. Who is at this moment vacationing in Mexico with family. Probably in a bikini.
7. More glitter. This is an easy one, I have two daughters. When I vacuum the house, the bag is half full of glitter, and half of tinsel. “Shlick” is the sound a Barbie shoe makes shooting up the vacuum hose.
8. Post often. Aw.
9. More bluegrass? What about Irish trad?
10. King of the Hill, is that something to do with TV?
11. Exercize and eat my silliness.
12. Something weekly with Alpha.
13. Something with Bug. Emulate success of Chrales Shclutz.
14. Hook up Zambian deathrock lioness thingy with agent, helicopters. Enjoy advance, massive dinner.

1. On phone with mom: “We got about a foot,” she said. “And now they expect freezing rain on top of that. I might have to four-wheel your dad in for dialysis tomorrow.” “We’re getting a few measly flakes,” I said. “It won’t amount to anything.”

2. Out shoveling snow the next morning, glance across street when there is an expensive-sounding crash. A woman lost control of her car and drove it into a frozen snowbank along the sidewalk and got stuck. Front-wheel drive. The tires go “zzzzzz!” A man (passing? got out of passenger seat?) tells her she’s leaking coolant. He picks up her front bumper and puts it in the trunk.
3. In-between shoveling the walk I listened to the news. Trucks blocking roads here and there.
4. Shovel a few more times. It works like this: shoveled, then when finished the falling snow had pretty much covered things up again, start over directly or say the hell with it and go in for a coffee or something. Call in to work and say won’t be coming in. Monday was a “window day” here, which is what they call days wedged in between weekends and holidays (Tuesday, today, is a religious holiday here).
5. Later, shovel more snow, sweep the cars clean, trudge through snow with family. Confess to wife that “I’m not a snow person,” but then realize that one, I’m not cold anywhere, being bundled up quite professionally and two I’m having fun. Make snow angel. Pull little one on sled.
6. Shovel walk. Actually, when the snow is dry you can get away with sweeping it if it’s not too deep. Then go into town to try on ski boots. Being a neophyte, I have no idea how a ski boot is supposed to fit. Wife, being a true expert on this, knows far more than the salesman. I got carving skis for Christmas, you see. Occasionally I get this belief in gadgets. This gadget will change my life. Turn my life around. I felt like that when a great uncle gave me a wallet full of fishing flies when I was a boy, when I got my first camera, my first typewriter, my first word processor, this PC here. Now I’m putting my faith in skis and whatever flashy pair of skiboots my wife picks out for me.

This year you get to make my New Year’s Resolutions for 2004.
In the comments.
[Take it easy, remember my kid reads this.]

Television needs interesting shows. Something based on the naughty cheesecake sensibility of the 1940-1960 era, roughly, for example. I’d eventually watch that.

Or a series of makeovers. Here are some ideas:

• Black Eye for the White Guy: Non-white consultants punch white people in the face.

• Plain Eye for the Hochmut Guy: Amish consultants help flashy subjects be more down-to-earth.
• Rich Eye for the White Trash Guy: Wealthy consultants teach subjects how to play golf, how to insider trade, etc.
• Poor Eye for the Rich Guy: Consultants from poor countries teach subjects from rich countries how to cope with contaminated drinking water and mine fields, how to decorate for Christmas when your hamlet is being bombarded.
• Zen Eye for the Something Guy: Consultants in long robes hit kneeling subjects with bamboo rods every time one of their cell phones goes off and oh shut up, Mig.

I set the alarm for five-thirty and snuck out of bed and ate breakfast quietly but my wife got up and came down to keep me company before I could sneak out of the house. I had a second bowl of Special-K and another mug of coffee and we chatted amiably. Then I showered and shaved; drying my hair I once again had to ask myself what my hair stylist was thinking; she gave me this stylish cut this time that reminds me of nothing except a baby mullet. Oh well. It’ll grow out. Then, bye wife, drive careful Mig, and there I was. In the car. On the way to work. Adieu, holidays.

Sometimes a man needs to go to work, you know? Listen to Sepultura, for example the CD he got himself for Xmas, Against, without anyone telling him to turn it down or put something else in. Without having to go on about what a nice baritone their lead singer has on some of their songs – not on this particular album, but when he slows down and stops screaming, seriously, nice baritone. Without having to feel bad when they just rock out.

Take the tenth cut on Against, for example. Reza, it’s called. Their singer sounds like he’s in the trunk of a Cadillac on that one, with someone sticking a mop into his mouth. Only instead of a mop on the end of the handle, there’s a live sable. I mean this in a good way. Do you ever think this – that Orcs would listen to AC/DC and Uruk-Hai would listen to Sepultura? Listening to Reza, one tends to envision two young Uruk-Hai gals on American Bandstand, leaning against the podium, sort of bouncing as it plays; their hair up and strings of stinking rotting human heads garlanded around their thick necks, medallions around their necks of screaming faces, hammered out of pitchblende. And the song ends and the one says, “I like it, Dick, it’s got a good steady beat and… where are you sneaking off to, Dick?” And Dick Clark, smile frozen on his face, goes “gack” as she grabs him by the throat and the second Uruk-Hai teen says, “oh, great, Ginger, now look what you’ve done, like they’re going to let us on any more teevee shows after this.”

Sometimes you need a holiday, and sometimes you need to go to work, is all I’m saying.