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 Will this be the day I lose HUGE VAST SWATHS of readership forever? You could take the disorganized rants, the toddler-twaddle, the demi-arsed film commentary, even the substitution of a podcast for a daily entry, but a podcast with the kid? That’s it! You’re outta here!
It’s just a small segment, don’t worry. She walked into my room while I was gabbing away, and wanted to play Pretend Diner. She made up all her lines, and adopts this mannered actorly voice that’s charming – but I’d think so, wouldn’t I. The rest of the show features Louis Farrakhan (really), some guy named Lester Paul, Bent Fabric, and one of the more amazingly casual curses from a 1948 radio show you will ever hear. Keep your hand on the volume button, and head to the Diner for installment #3. Link's down below.
Meanwhile, I work. Not only am I running down to the end of the book project, but my wife’s out on social errands tonight and tomorrow, and we all know what that means. Rat E. Fromage, where I will empty a bottle of disinfectant on every surface before touching it; if the bird flu ever sweeps the land the Chuck E. Cheeses bathhouses should be the first place they close. C’mon, kids! Everyone wipe your nose, touch a variety of different surfaces, then eat with your hands! But that’s tomorrow.
This morning I was clicking around, following some links about Wolfowitz’ nomination to the World Bank (mrghmghfm) (surpressing mad laughter) (mrghmghfm) (Sorry, mwa HAHAHAHAHA) and encountered one of those brand-name sites I don’t visit much because the proprietor has nothing to say and no particular skill at saying it. He referred to that “filthy Wolfowitz.”
Do you often come across the word “filthy” applied to many politicians? No. Can you recall which group, in the last, oh, 60 years, got tarred with that word most frequently? Just curious. If the word rings no bells for you, then I’m overreacting. Obviously rung no bells for the author. I expect he will be equally unaffected if Trent Lott refers to “that uppity Rev. Jackson.”
Anyway. Spent part of the evening at Southdale with Gnat – Burger King for a Robots kid’s meal, the Apple Store (ran into a coworker who was getting his daughter’s iPod fixed; it had just gone dead. The fellow at the Genius Bar disappeared for a while, came back: behold Lazarus! Loose wire to the HD. Now: think of any other MP3 player. Imagine it’s broke. Imagine walking into a mall store to get it fixed. Imagine the guy bringing it back to life, handing to you, and smiling: no charge!) We had ice cream, then wandered through a men’s clothing store where many alluring spring hues were available for purchase in shirt form. I looked at a light pink shirt.
“It takes a real man to wear pink,” Gnat said.
Wha?
“Where did you hear that?”
“On the television,” she shrugged.
My little media sponge. Then she announced that she needed a bathroom, so we went to Gap Kids. “Let me ask, Daddy,” she said. She went up to the counter, put her hands behind her back.
“Excuse me,” she said. The clerk turned around.
“Uh – could you give me directions to the . . . the private room?”
Oh for cute. And that’s the highlight of my day, I think. That and the time we sat on the floor and rolled quarters down the hallway for half an hour, or the time that I noted she had taped her lesson book to the floor with 16 pieces of tape to keep the pages flat, or the time she said “I don’t like System 9, I like System X best” when I changed the OS on her iBook to play a game, or the time I caught her reading a book to her Care Bears, or the moment after I’d finished cleaning out a closet in the spare room – and I mean, cleaning; it was full of boxes of tissue paper and ribbon fragments and 12,234 dry-cleaning hangers. I reorganized the entire closet. She walked into the room, put a finger to her chin, and said “well, Daddy, I’m not impressed.” Those were the highlights. Those and forty other moments.
Enjoy the Diner; see you tomorrow. And now it’s back to the book.
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