Skipping past Writober and Nanoblomo . . ? Shit, I dunno. I'm as bored as you are.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Wild!
Aaaaaaaaand we’re BACK from our wild adventure at Wild Adventures. Actually, we’ve been back since Saturday afternoon. And it wasn’t all that wild. For instance, the days we were there, the park was open for 23 hours (combined). I think we spent a grand total of nine hours there. Did we get our money’s worth? Mia looks happy in the pictures we took, so I’ll go with a qualified “yes.”
There was a lot of half-joking about Wild Adventures being a “redneck Disney” before leaving for Valdosta, and I was somewhat afraid that it was gonna be a fixed-base version of the Fair. Luckily, it was more grand (and clean!) than the Fair. But without the kiddie-stimulation-overload of Disney. Which I think was good for Mia’s first “real” amusement park experience. And Michelle and I had some adult-ride time (separately), and you’d be hard pressed to find un-pussified rides like The Hangman at Disney. (Definitely one of the better coasters I’ve ridden. The old-school wooden Cheetah left me feeling more beaten up than the Red Sox in a five-game series with the Yankees. Won’t say it wasn’t thrilling, though. Just painful.)
Mia only cried one ride to an early conclusion . . . ironically a motion simulator that featured Spongebob Squarepants. She did whine about getting off another ride, but I think that was because it was beneath her. Yeah, no more riding alone in a giant bee or frog and going in circles. Her favorite ride: the motherfucking tilt-a-whirl. Jesus. On Day Two, she and I rode it while Michelle went to ride the Swamp Thing (weak!), and Mia went into hysterics when I had to pull her off because, unlike the day before, there was actually a line to get on the ride.* And when Michelle took her BACK to ride it (while I was riding the Swamp Thing), someone actually threw up on it before they could get on and it had to be shut down for “cleaning” (i.e., the hose).
Mia rode three of the nine coasters at the park, which brings me to an important issue. While there’s the selling point that Wild Adventure does, in fact, HAVE nine rollercoasters, it’s close to physically impossible for anyone to ride all of them in a single visit. Why? Because the smallest is for kids around 3 feet tall, and The Hangman has a minimum height limit of 52”. I’m guessing there aren’t a lot of “kids” who’d confidently stride off the biggest, scariest coaster in the park and then say they wanna wind down on the Fiesta Whatever-the-Fuck.
Still, I give this park a strong thumb sideways. While not being magical or transcendent, it had all the requisite charm. The sometimes sullen ride operators. The surprisingly edible food (even though we were, charmingly, gouged for it). And the really nice clown (Mia’s “fairy” friend), who went a little out of her way to make sure Mia had a nice birthday.
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Friday, August 25, 2006
Monthly Newsletter: Month Forty-Nine?
You’re asleep in the next room here at the Hampton Inn & Suites in Valdosta, Georgia. We spent the day (well, four hours of it) at Wild Adventures to celebrate your birthday. Tomorrow, after we wake up, take in the complimentary “hot breakfast,” and repack our belongings, we’re gonna swing by Wild Adventures again for a hopefully longer session of fun before making the 90-minute drive back to Tallahassee. Sunday is the family “party” and the many presents.
You “officially” started preschool two weeks ago, and you’re already asking about kindergarten. Which kind-of worries us, as we’re really torn about the various schooling options that lie before us . . . the overly diverse magnet school (focus on the arts) we’re zone for, the “charter” school that may or may not be run by hippies, or the school your mommy’s office is zoned for (demographically resembling the city as a whole and a solid performer). I feel like a racist worrying about these kinds of issues, but your early homecare had excluded African-American children as a business decision*, and the subsequent preschool years have been overwhelmingly whitebread.
(ASIDE: I really tried, just now, to be fair in the battle of Pepsi vs. Coke as manifested in the third-floor vending area. Of course your mommy was gonna want Diet Coke, so that was a given. But I tried to get Sierra Mist instead of Sprite, and Aquafina over Dasani, and the fucking Pepsi machine would NOT take my dollar bills. The Coke machine sucked those things right in. So we’re drinking their horrible corporate water over Pepsi’s.)
Look, Mia, we really couldn’t ask for a better daughter. Is what I’m trying to say. Sadly, you’re cursed with imperfect parents . . . your mother, who won’t eat ketchup because it’s made from tomatoes but loves barbeque sauce (denying that it’s just spiced-up ketchup), and your father, who until a year ago thought that wasabi was, like guacamole, made from avocados, and just earlier this evening uttered the phrase, “I bet Tallahassee is gettin’ tore up by rain right now.”
Rise above, sweet Mia. Rise above.
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Monday, August 21, 2006
A Plague on BOTH of the Other People in My House
If you’ve run into Michelle on Vox, she’s doing better. The special “neck gimp shit” that’s been beating her down is letting up . . . we think. Turns out that there’s an outbreak of that in Tallahassee right now. We found out because Mia had a rash over the weekend that the Internets revealed to be Fifth Disease (confirmed by the doctor this morning). The virus for that quite likely caused Michelle’s “neck gimp shit,” too. And it’s funny, because once you’re showing symptoms, you’re past the contagious phase. It incubates for weeks. This is adding a new and fun variable in our upcoming trips to Wild Adventures (for Mia’s birthday) and Atlanta, as we have no idea whether I’ll (also) succumb to this Plague.
So, y’know, understandably, this wasn’t the most eventful weekend on record. What, you need proof?
- Friday night, I left Michelle at home “to rot” (her words) while I went on my planned poker outing.* There were around a dozen people, so there were initially two tables. I started a little slow, but once I got into the rhythm of the game and figured out the style of the guys I didn’t know, I got more comfortable. Even bluffed a couple times. For a little bit, I was the “chip leader” at our table . . . and then things went predictably downhill. What sucked was, after several rounds of raising the blinds, NO-ONE was getting eliminated. I think I was the fourth person knocked out . . . which allowed those moving on to congregate at one table. Finishing in the bottom third of THAT group wasn’t very encouraging.
- Saturday, we left Michelle to rest while making the hastily arranged run to Woodville to see my dad and his wife, and Mia’s step-cousin. Actually, I had once again forgotten my dad’s wife’s birthday and had to swing by Target on the way down to pick up a gift, along with the frozen chicken nuggets she’d asked me to bring down.
- We learned that, despite limited exposure to puzzles, Mia’s quite skilled at them. As long as, y’know, they have about 24 pieces.
- I made some corn muffins. Our mixer only has one beater that stays in place, so I’m guessing we’ll be getting a new mixer.
- ***CAITLIN, STOP READING; DEADWOOD SPOILERS TO FOLLOW*** So, how about the flopping-tittied Avenging Motherfucking Angel with a derringer? I love how the coddling shadow of Trixie reverted back to her former angry determination. During her willful and topless walk to Hearst’s hotel room, my heart was leaping for some cold, hard killin’. . . even though I know that Hearst didn’t die in Deadwood (in “real” life). But, hey, made-up Mr. Ellsworth did!
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Saturday, August 19, 2006
Black Belt
I gotta say, and I’m a little ashamed to do so, but all this JonBenet upheaval is bringing up some really difficult feelings. This is hard, but . . . y’see, I have this . . . black belt. And I can’t wear it anymore.
It started a few weeks ago, some time after I purchased the belt (used) at a thrift store. I’d been trying to find a narrow black belt to wear with dress pants to work, where most people wear shorts and flip flops and tight tops with no bras. Anyway, I showed up at my daughter’s preschool to pick her up and, well, my belt was undone. Which I discovered rather conspicuously in front of some other child’s mother. There is some strange law of physics at work here, wherein the belt-hole-metal-thingy can slip BACKWARDS through the buckle and just come open. Some part of this has to do with me having the belt too tight, I’m sure. And some part has resulted in me looking like a child molester.
I hope I see that woman next Wednesday at the PTO meeting. I’ll be sure to wear my special belt.*
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Monday, August 14, 2006
It’s Been Too, Too Long
I don’t really have an excuse for all the slackitude here at Kamikaze Lunchmeat. Things at work have shifted from Maximum Overdrive to a more normal, maintainable pace. There’s been a lot of downtime at home, too, as our bands had shows combined with light practice schedules this past week. And I have a renewed sense of purpose and optimism . . . relatively, anyway.
So, yeah, Tuesday nights have never proved to be a boon for our band. When we signed on to open for an up-and-coming local goth band’s CD-release show last week, there wasn’t a wellspring of enthusiasm. But it turned out really great. Even if I did knock over one of their guitars while setting up (no harm, no foul, right?). There was a healthy crowd, bolstered by people to see the three very different-sounding performances (the first act was a solo-acoustic friend of the band).
Speaking of music, my life has been a little bit taken over by Mew. I think I’d heard of them when their previous CD came out, but I’d forgotten them until I read the review on Pitchfork for their new one. Sounded like a nice find (frankly rare on Pitchfork), so I went looking for some MP3s and stumbled onto their MySpace page. Where, for the first time ever, I listened to every second of every song available and found myself swinging by Vinyl Fever on my way to pick up equipment for the show Tuesday night. In short, this band is amazing. I figured after Interpol and Metric, I’d never be this excited about discovering another band again.
In other news:
- Our DVD player died recently, and I ended up with a backlog of things to watch, including my mom’s entire Netflix queue. So, after buying a (cheap) replacement player, I suckered Michelle into watching the entire first season of Weeds.
- I’d emailed fellow Dead(wood) Head, Erin/Estella, about my sad feelings regarding the mid-season slow period that Al and Seth and Alma and friends had stumbled into. But the end of the season is gonna prove to be a water/blood-shed moment. (And, sorry, Erin, but it looks like our pal Ellsworth is gonna die this coming Sunday.)
- Mia started VPK (Florida’s “Voluntary Pre-K”) this morning. Which’ll be a lot like the preschool curriculum she’s already been on . . . but now it’s for real. Oh, and now she and her cousin/BFF are in different classes.
- Watch this (NSFW). If you have the opportunity and don’t click that link, you have no soul.
- Right this second, I’m listening to a mix CD of Coldplay songs I made this past weekend. I’m titling it, “Y’know how I know you’re gay? You like Coldplay.”
Monday, August 07, 2006
Like His Hero, Superman, That Kid IS Faster Than a Speeding Bullet
First of all, shout out to Tallahassee. If you live anywhere like us, you’re often plagued by noisy menaces of the road, and I’m torn as to which is worse: the souped-up pickups with too-large aggressive tires that apparently require in-board tugboat engines to fucking rotate the wheels*, or the tricked-out Honda Civics that are dropped to the ground and made to sound like mopeds**. Seriously, I don’t know which is worse, but I’m leaning toward the pickups.
So, the party was a good time. It was another one featuring horses, pony rides, and a hay ride. Figures that when the kids find out that the horses eat 40 pounds of hay a day, they’re going to abandon the just-for-fun feeding and play on the big mound of dirt in the barn. The birthday boy didn’t bully anyone because he was totally TWEAKED OUT on sugar. Seriously, the kid was running CONSTANTLY and sweating more than Patrick Ewing. The only food served at the party? Cupcakes. With tons of icing. Before lunch. The birthday boy sat down long enough to blow out a candle and lick all of the icing off one of the cupcakes. My only conversation with his mother centered on the fact that he takes really long naps every day. And watching him running around like Roadrunner, I’d say they were well-earned.
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Thursday, August 03, 2006
‘Tis the Season
It’s birthday time, apparently, at Mia’s preschool. In the past week, we’ve gotten two invitations to birthday parties for classmates. The first one is this Saturday, and it’s for That Mean Boy Who Pushes Mia Down a Lot.
As Michelle and I have a history of attending social functions that we don’t want to be at, thrown by people we don’t really like, Mia seems to have inherited our Socially Curious Misanthrope gene. Observe:
Me: “Do you like TMBWPMDaL?”
Mia shakes her head.
Me: “But you want to go to his birthday party?”
Mia nods.
I guess to protect her as we protected ourselves in similar situations, we should send Mia to the party with a fifth of vodka. Or some Monte Alban.