THE PUTZMEISTER CP-01
Because When It Rains, It Pours
I dropped my computer yesterday.
The hard drive broke.
I have a report due tomorrow.
First idiot that says anything about backup is going to have his ass handed to him on a chrome plate.
With hollandaise sauce.
OK, but but why does the plate have to be chrome?
Because there’s no plate like chrome for the hollandaise.
Lazy Sunday–The Week in Pictures
Mille torbidi pensieri mi s’aggiran per la testa se mi salvo in tal tempesta è un prodigio in verità
My son pitched 3 innings yesterday and had 6 Ks. I missed it! I was working on a project long overdue. I’m trying to learn a computer language at the same time so that I don’t have to look for as much outside help next time. That is, assuming that there is a next time.
I’m a bit too verklemmt for any real thinking. So, instead of working on less than a thousand words that I will struggle over, I will dispense the value of 8,000 words. Time-saver.
La Bruja Continues A Costly–Emotionally and $$–War of Attrition
Aren’t we done with this shit?
My friend’s cousin is from the Caribbean,and when she heard stories about the ex she just started referring to her as La Bruja. It wasn’t as if she said, I will call her La Bruja! or, She is really a bruja. Rather, the next time she referred to her it just came out in passing, as in, Is La Bruja watching the kids? There was no question as to who it was. I rather prefer it to saying her name–one, because I have, alas, grown to dislike her name, and secondly, it seems more descriptive than derogatory. I never say it around the children. By this point, I’d rather have nothing to do with her and not to have to refer to her at all.
But the need for punishing me in any way possible goes on, no matter the collateral damage.
Today I had to retain a Parent Coordinator–one is specified in our divorce agreement for the purpose of settling disputes concerning the children (there goes my son’s summer camp). You see: last year the kids were with their mother and her family in MA for Thanksgiving. This year, of course, was Dad’s family’s year– they were supposed to be in Chicago (which they look forward to) with my mom, sisters, etc.(whom they love immensely–my nephew is my daughter’s favorite cousin), but the edit that I put in the divorce agreement (the years were reversed )somehow got deleted before the final version. I should have looked closer, but the other edits were in and I must have overlooked it. A purposeful trick, I’m sure, especially as La Bruja flat-out lied to me, saying the kids were in Chicago last year, as if that couldn’t be verified, as if the children don’t know. Anyway, she refuses to do the right thing.
My remedy is going to the Parent Coordinator, at $275/hour, and the war of attrition continues. I would rather spend this money on my kid’s summer camp, but I cannot take away my 79 year-old mom’s time with her grandchildren.
Or can I ? What is this about? I hope it’s not about winning, but about the children. Is it about not letting someone get away with a purposely nasty act? Not letting a precedent get set that this won’t be tolerated? Shouldn’t I just suck it up (again!) so that my son can go to camp? Why should he suffer (additionally) for our idiocy (mind you of course, I’m responsible for only 49% of the idiocy)?
I’m NOT Taking Pictures of My Food
It’s only food, you nitwits!
However, the new Maple Walnut Blondies at Trader Joe’s might be a new addiction.
Unbelievably, It’s Available for Streaming
A Tale of the Search for a Formula of Youth
or that part of life which Grant’s character refers to as a period of
“maladjustment, near-idiocy, and a series of low-comedy disasters.”
OK, we all know that Netflix sucks raw eggs, even while we let it suck up half of the nation’s bandwith every evening. Given that most of the offerings are movies you’d never want to see, or bad cable fodder (which my 10 year-old daughter can’t seem to get enough of–she’s been through all of Cake Boss and Toddlers and Tiaras), imagine how surprised I was when the movie I wanted to see was actually available for streaming:
Monkey Business (1952), a Howard Hawks comedy with Cary Grant, Ginger Rogers, and Marilyn Monroe. Thar she was!
Really, dahlinks, you must watch this. It is a brilliant comedy, at least for the first half, and a good one for the second.
I’m looking for some pre-posting feedback givers
Any volunteers?
Packing and Moving, part 7
The things we find. I really shouldn’t be holding on to stuff like this, but whose house isn’t enhanced by the long playing version of “Organ Fantasy”.
In
I HAVE BEEN INFORMED
THAT I AM NOT POSITIVE ENOUGH.
FINE.
ROSH HASHANAH IS COMING UP, SO I PRESENT THE ENTIRE WORLD WITH THIS:
I LOVE YOU ALL, FOREVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
The Birthday Party, part I
Ever since my dog got hit by a car the day before my 20th birthday, the occasion has seemed less than auspicious. After all, if the magic of your birthday can’t keep your dog from getting hit, how much power does it really have?
When I was a kid, of course, birthdays were magic. By themselves, they turned a day no different on the calendar from any other into the most special day of the year.Did we have to do anything special in those days, other than cover a cake with candles, sing a song, and open up cards from every relative I knew? I remember that one year we had all my party at the Frontier Inn (of blessed memory), a cowboy-themed hamburger joint, but mostly I remember parties in the house. I remember a lot of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, dropping clothespins into milk bottles (clothespins! milk bottles!), duck-duck-goose, red rover if we could play outside, and then the same games at other kids’ houses. What I don’t remember is coming back from those parties thinking that they were lame, or that the goody bags weren’t good enough, or that the experience wasn’t novel enough. Sure, in time party anxiety crept in–were other people having a good time, was the party a success, but not until late junior high.
At least that’s how I remember it.
My last birthday party, my 50th, was horrid. My best and oldest friend had just died, I wasn’t happy about turning 50, I didn’t like where I was in life, and I sure as hell made it fucking well clear that I DID NOT WANT A FUCKING BIRTHDAY PARTY. But that’s another story.
This story is about my daughter’s forthcoming party, and how difficult it is to plan the damn thing. As a parent, I want her birthdays at this age to still retain that aforementioned magic but it’s getting harder.
On top of it all, there’s even a more than reasonable chance that I won’t have a home to throw the birthday party in.
The Meta-Bug 