Those of us who have grown up fans of the Phillies have lived with unfair reputations for as long as I can remember. There are idiot fans in every market...but we get hit particularly hard. It was good to see this last night. I was watching the game live when it happened. Thank you Steve, not only for giving us a lasting image of the love of a father for his daughter, but also for showing the world that Phillies fans, MOST Phillies fans, are not the hairless apes network TV likes to portray us as.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Prayer of a Teacher
Today is an anxious day in the life of a teacher.
The room is set up, copies are made, planning has been done.
Tomorrow is zero hour.
Tomorrow, the kids come.
Many teachers I know spend this day wandering around in a kind of trance, hoping the year they are about to embark on is a good one. Good students who come to class bright eyed, bushy tailed, and eager to learn. Excellent parents who share your educational philosophy to the letter, who show up, ON TIME, to every conference and dance through the halls, singing your praises so loud the principal cannot help but join in the joyous refrain. Test scores so high Oprah herself will take notice and have you as a guest on her show to share your wisdom with the masses. And who wouldn't want a few days worth of heavy snow sprinkled in just for fun.
These lofty aspirations aside, we all hope for a good, positive year.
In fact teachers so fervently hope for a successful year that they engage in many activities the day before the year begins to give themselves a leg up, an edge to push them past everyone else.
These have been theorized by some, guessed at by others, and were even predicted by the great prophet Nostradamus.
They have never been revealed outside of the hallowed halls of academia.
Until now.
So...what can you as a teacher do the night before school starts to ensure a smooth, successful year?
- Make sure your years supply of Prozac is filled.
- Spend the day watching Freedom Writers, Mr. Holland's Opus, Dangerous Minds, Akelah and the Bee, Lean on Me, Dead Poets Society, or any other completely true to life Hollywood film made about teachers that will make you feel that your year will turn out EXACTLY like them. After you have had a good laugh at this suggestion, move on.
- Obsessively plan out your entire year. Then plan a back up year. Then plan a back up for your back up. Ensure that all back up plans are completely structurally supported by the state standards. Email copies to your principal, the PTA president, and the Head of the Board.
- Sacrifice 50 spotless bulls and 20 virgins to the god Odin that he may bless your endeavors with strength and victory. (This one is very difficult to pull off due to the fact that it is easier to find 50 bulls than it is to find 20 virgins these days. I blame Baywatch.)
- Consume as much alcohol as is humanly possible so that, no matter how devastatingly hung over you are for the start of school in the morning, the year can only get better.
- Spend the entire day at the pool or beach in complete and total denial that summer is over. When a friend makes a joke that you have to go back to real work in the morning, pants them and shove them in the water.
- Lay on your living room floor, tucked into a protective, fetal ball, drooling and mumbling until your spouse kicks you and sends you up to bed.
As you see, there are many things a teacher can do to ensure a smooth and productive year.
I am, of course, kidding (except for the comment about how much easier it is to find bulls instead of virgins). It is true however that the night before a new school year begins is one filled with nervous anticipation and, hopefully, excitement.
I have a simple routine I follow, and after many years in education, it seems to work pretty well.
After spending a fun day with my family (The Wife is a teacher as well...The Peanut wants to be a teacher some day, as well as a presidential, soccer playing, policewoman firefighting violinist) I will read for a bit and then turn off the lights. Before I glide into the deep waters of sleep, I pray.
I pray for patience. I need to remember that each student is a unique individual. Like fingerprints, no two students are exactly alike. Each comes to me at a different stage of development, academically and socially. It is unreasonable to want them all to be at the same level just because it would make my life easier. I need to do the best I can for each student where they are.
I pray for energy. I know that I am the single most important influence in my classroom when it comes to setting the mood. If I am happy, upbeat, and enthusiastic I increase the odds for that energy to permeate into my students. Likewise, if I am negative, sour, or tired the same will occur. Like a hot air balloonist, I have much control over how inflated or deflated we all are.
I pray for sensitivity. Twenty-five human lives from twenty-five different backgrounds, religions, and home situations will come to me. They will look to me to understand them, to give them acceptance, validation, and support. I need to remember that just because someone did not grow up with what I had or was not raised the way I was, that does not make me superior to them. I need to accept and care for my students where they are when they come to me. I also need to be open to the things I can learn from my students on a daily basis.
I pray for compassion. Some of my families are single parent. Some of my students are being raised by their grandparents. Some are the oldest and the responsibility for raising their younger siblings falls to them because mom or dad work multiple jobs just to make ends meet. Some are going through active divorce proceedings. Some are coping with difficult custody arrangements from past divorce proceedings. Some are coping with life situations that are so terrible and confusing that I as a thirty-five year old adult would struggle to comprehend them. These children come to my door each day and are expected to learn. I must remember that some days this will be easier for them than others.
I pray for wisdom. I know I will make mistakes. It is an inevitable by-product of the human condition. I pray for the wisdom to minimize my mistakes. I also pray for the wisdom to learn from the ones I will make.
I pray for endurance. A school year is a marathon, one run no matter what the conditions are like. I need to be mindful that I must remain as strong on the last day of school as I plan to be on the first. There are parts of the year that pass with the ease of a down hill race. I pray that I do not get complacent at those times. But there are also times of a school year that pass with the gut wrenching agony of an uphill race. I pray that my energy will not fail me when I need it most.
I pray for my colleagues. Though a school may be comprised of a multitude of individual classrooms, it is a community. I need to remember that the other adults in my building will be just as nervous, just as excited, just as fallible as I will be. I pray that I can be an asset and encouragement to my fellow teachers, that I will reach out to them when they are in need. I also pray that I in turn will reach out to them when I find myself in need of assistance.
Lastly, I pray that when my students leave my room that I will have made as much of an impact on their lives as I know they will make on my own. There has not been a year that has passed by where a class has not taught me a multitude of things about myself and the way I view the world, for good or for ill. I will always be indebted to my students and their families for the things they have taught me.
These things I will pray. Then, I will sleep.
At some point in the night my clinically insane beagle will shove her cold, wet nose into the small of my back. And some time after that, as the sun begins to rise, The Peanut will pad not-so-softly into our room and hop into bed with us, snuggling in between us. I will lay there for a bit, savoring the preview of heaven that comes from having my dearest ones so close.
Then my feet will hit the floor...and another school year will begin.
The room is set up, copies are made, planning has been done.
Tomorrow is zero hour.
Tomorrow, the kids come.
Many teachers I know spend this day wandering around in a kind of trance, hoping the year they are about to embark on is a good one. Good students who come to class bright eyed, bushy tailed, and eager to learn. Excellent parents who share your educational philosophy to the letter, who show up, ON TIME, to every conference and dance through the halls, singing your praises so loud the principal cannot help but join in the joyous refrain. Test scores so high Oprah herself will take notice and have you as a guest on her show to share your wisdom with the masses. And who wouldn't want a few days worth of heavy snow sprinkled in just for fun.
These lofty aspirations aside, we all hope for a good, positive year.
In fact teachers so fervently hope for a successful year that they engage in many activities the day before the year begins to give themselves a leg up, an edge to push them past everyone else.
These have been theorized by some, guessed at by others, and were even predicted by the great prophet Nostradamus.
They have never been revealed outside of the hallowed halls of academia.
Until now.
So...what can you as a teacher do the night before school starts to ensure a smooth, successful year?
- Make sure your years supply of Prozac is filled.
- Spend the day watching Freedom Writers, Mr. Holland's Opus, Dangerous Minds, Akelah and the Bee, Lean on Me, Dead Poets Society, or any other completely true to life Hollywood film made about teachers that will make you feel that your year will turn out EXACTLY like them. After you have had a good laugh at this suggestion, move on.
- Obsessively plan out your entire year. Then plan a back up year. Then plan a back up for your back up. Ensure that all back up plans are completely structurally supported by the state standards. Email copies to your principal, the PTA president, and the Head of the Board.
- Sacrifice 50 spotless bulls and 20 virgins to the god Odin that he may bless your endeavors with strength and victory. (This one is very difficult to pull off due to the fact that it is easier to find 50 bulls than it is to find 20 virgins these days. I blame Baywatch.)
- Consume as much alcohol as is humanly possible so that, no matter how devastatingly hung over you are for the start of school in the morning, the year can only get better.
- Spend the entire day at the pool or beach in complete and total denial that summer is over. When a friend makes a joke that you have to go back to real work in the morning, pants them and shove them in the water.
- Lay on your living room floor, tucked into a protective, fetal ball, drooling and mumbling until your spouse kicks you and sends you up to bed.
As you see, there are many things a teacher can do to ensure a smooth and productive year.
I am, of course, kidding (except for the comment about how much easier it is to find bulls instead of virgins). It is true however that the night before a new school year begins is one filled with nervous anticipation and, hopefully, excitement.
I have a simple routine I follow, and after many years in education, it seems to work pretty well.
After spending a fun day with my family (The Wife is a teacher as well...The Peanut wants to be a teacher some day, as well as a presidential, soccer playing, policewoman firefighting violinist) I will read for a bit and then turn off the lights. Before I glide into the deep waters of sleep, I pray.
I pray for patience. I need to remember that each student is a unique individual. Like fingerprints, no two students are exactly alike. Each comes to me at a different stage of development, academically and socially. It is unreasonable to want them all to be at the same level just because it would make my life easier. I need to do the best I can for each student where they are.
I pray for energy. I know that I am the single most important influence in my classroom when it comes to setting the mood. If I am happy, upbeat, and enthusiastic I increase the odds for that energy to permeate into my students. Likewise, if I am negative, sour, or tired the same will occur. Like a hot air balloonist, I have much control over how inflated or deflated we all are.
I pray for sensitivity. Twenty-five human lives from twenty-five different backgrounds, religions, and home situations will come to me. They will look to me to understand them, to give them acceptance, validation, and support. I need to remember that just because someone did not grow up with what I had or was not raised the way I was, that does not make me superior to them. I need to accept and care for my students where they are when they come to me. I also need to be open to the things I can learn from my students on a daily basis.
I pray for compassion. Some of my families are single parent. Some of my students are being raised by their grandparents. Some are the oldest and the responsibility for raising their younger siblings falls to them because mom or dad work multiple jobs just to make ends meet. Some are going through active divorce proceedings. Some are coping with difficult custody arrangements from past divorce proceedings. Some are coping with life situations that are so terrible and confusing that I as a thirty-five year old adult would struggle to comprehend them. These children come to my door each day and are expected to learn. I must remember that some days this will be easier for them than others.
I pray for wisdom. I know I will make mistakes. It is an inevitable by-product of the human condition. I pray for the wisdom to minimize my mistakes. I also pray for the wisdom to learn from the ones I will make.
I pray for endurance. A school year is a marathon, one run no matter what the conditions are like. I need to be mindful that I must remain as strong on the last day of school as I plan to be on the first. There are parts of the year that pass with the ease of a down hill race. I pray that I do not get complacent at those times. But there are also times of a school year that pass with the gut wrenching agony of an uphill race. I pray that my energy will not fail me when I need it most.
I pray for my colleagues. Though a school may be comprised of a multitude of individual classrooms, it is a community. I need to remember that the other adults in my building will be just as nervous, just as excited, just as fallible as I will be. I pray that I can be an asset and encouragement to my fellow teachers, that I will reach out to them when they are in need. I also pray that I in turn will reach out to them when I find myself in need of assistance.
Lastly, I pray that when my students leave my room that I will have made as much of an impact on their lives as I know they will make on my own. There has not been a year that has passed by where a class has not taught me a multitude of things about myself and the way I view the world, for good or for ill. I will always be indebted to my students and their families for the things they have taught me.
These things I will pray. Then, I will sleep.
At some point in the night my clinically insane beagle will shove her cold, wet nose into the small of my back. And some time after that, as the sun begins to rise, The Peanut will pad not-so-softly into our room and hop into bed with us, snuggling in between us. I will lay there for a bit, savoring the preview of heaven that comes from having my dearest ones so close.
Then my feet will hit the floor...and another school year will begin.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
M.I.A.
Boxes, books, sweating, painting, moving, grunting, sweating, planning, copying, grunting, cutting, pasting, calling, visiting, sweating...
Must be time for another school year to begin.
Unfortunately the blog gets neglected like a Beverly Hills latchkey kid.
Hopefully this self imposed exile will end soon.
I know my six readers must be getting pretty antsy.
Back to the planning, and sweating, and calling...
Must be time for another school year to begin.
Unfortunately the blog gets neglected like a Beverly Hills latchkey kid.
Hopefully this self imposed exile will end soon.
I know my six readers must be getting pretty antsy.
Back to the planning, and sweating, and calling...
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Training Camp or I Should Have Been a Sports Photographer (maybe)
The Eagles new season begins today with a Pre-Season game against the New England Cheaters...er...I mean Patriots. And while I will spend the first quarter nervous as hell that the Eagles ride on The Injury Express will continue, it will be GREAT to have football back on the big screen and screaming out of the surround system.
So, in anticipation of tonight's game, as I clean off the grill, check the beer supply, and spice up the salsa, I offer these shots from our trip up to training camp in Lehigh two weeks ago.
Enjoy and, if you are so inclined, click into the comments section and give me your predictions for the season.
E-A-G-L-E-S...EAGLES!!!
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Saturday, August 8, 2009
I Am My Own Worst Enemy
Most days I consider myself to be a fairly intelligent and well-read guy. Not Mensa Society material to be sure, but comfortably in possession of a better than average intelligence. Other days I feel like I am one corked-fork poke in the eyepatch away from being Ruprecht.
Today was one of those Ruprecht days.
The Peanut spent the night with her grandparents and she successfully lobbied to spend the day after swimming in mom-mom's pool. Finding ourselves presented with a free morning, the wife and I decided to go catch a movie. So at 11:00 we hopped in the car and drove to the theater to see Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.
We got to the theater, mortgaged our home to afford two tickets, bought a small popcorn and a thimble full of soda, and headed for theater #9. As I passed the men's room nature's call grabbed my attention and, not wanting to miss any of the movie, I answered.
I walked into the empty stall swinging my keys in my hand, whistling the song Ma Nama Na. Why that particular song? I don't know. I already told you...it was a Ruprecht day.
I shut the door to the stall and went to unbutton my shorts when I realized that is not a task I can accomplish with my keys in hand. Now, on a Non-Ruprecht day I would put them in my pocket, as any slightly intelligent human being would do. But my mind was on the ridiculous song I was whistling and the movie I was looking forward to seeing so I put the ring of keys in the corner of my mouth.
(I think you can see where this is going)
There I stood, getting ready to take care of business with my keys hanging from my teeth, still humming that stupid song. Just as the flow was about to begin I got to the big "Ma NAMA Na" part of the song and instead of continuing to whistle, I opened my mouth to sing it loud and proud. Gravity, sensing it's opportunity, grabbed those keys and guided them straight into that questionably cleaned movie theater toilet.
There I stood, my pants around my ankles, mouth agape, staring at my green Eagles house key lying at the bottom of that porcelain bowl. With a silent thanks to the gods of urination that I had not yet commenced my bladder emptying activities, I quickly grabbed the keys out of the bowl and dropped them on the floor. This wonderful experience was accompanied by some colorful language from yours truly that I won't repeat here.
After completing my task, I washed the keys in the bathroom sink and put them in my pocket. Caught the movie (enjoyed it for the most part) and headed home.
The keys?
They are sitting in boiling water right now. I am debating just getting a new set.
Today was definitely a Ruprecht day.
Today was one of those Ruprecht days.
The Peanut spent the night with her grandparents and she successfully lobbied to spend the day after swimming in mom-mom's pool. Finding ourselves presented with a free morning, the wife and I decided to go catch a movie. So at 11:00 we hopped in the car and drove to the theater to see Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.
We got to the theater, mortgaged our home to afford two tickets, bought a small popcorn and a thimble full of soda, and headed for theater #9. As I passed the men's room nature's call grabbed my attention and, not wanting to miss any of the movie, I answered.
I walked into the empty stall swinging my keys in my hand, whistling the song Ma Nama Na. Why that particular song? I don't know. I already told you...it was a Ruprecht day.
I shut the door to the stall and went to unbutton my shorts when I realized that is not a task I can accomplish with my keys in hand. Now, on a Non-Ruprecht day I would put them in my pocket, as any slightly intelligent human being would do. But my mind was on the ridiculous song I was whistling and the movie I was looking forward to seeing so I put the ring of keys in the corner of my mouth.
(I think you can see where this is going)
There I stood, getting ready to take care of business with my keys hanging from my teeth, still humming that stupid song. Just as the flow was about to begin I got to the big "Ma NAMA Na" part of the song and instead of continuing to whistle, I opened my mouth to sing it loud and proud. Gravity, sensing it's opportunity, grabbed those keys and guided them straight into that questionably cleaned movie theater toilet.
There I stood, my pants around my ankles, mouth agape, staring at my green Eagles house key lying at the bottom of that porcelain bowl. With a silent thanks to the gods of urination that I had not yet commenced my bladder emptying activities, I quickly grabbed the keys out of the bowl and dropped them on the floor. This wonderful experience was accompanied by some colorful language from yours truly that I won't repeat here.
After completing my task, I washed the keys in the bathroom sink and put them in my pocket. Caught the movie (enjoyed it for the most part) and headed home.
The keys?
They are sitting in boiling water right now. I am debating just getting a new set.
Today was definitely a Ruprecht day.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Fatherhood Friday - A Warning
If you ever go to Sesame Place (A GREAT place to take the family by the way) and see this guy walking around the park...
...and you get the urge to tickle him and see if he really does have that cute little laugh, PLEASE DON'T!
The park employee wearing the costume will NOT be amused by the joke and the resultant meetings with park security and then the Pennsylvania State Police will not only be incredibly embarrassing for your loved ones, but it is also pretty much a buzz kill for the rest of the day.
Consider yourself warned.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Fatherhood Friday! On The Peanut's favorite movie - Coraline.
Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten. - G.K. Chesterton
The Peanut has a new favorite movie. UP has been her reigning favorite for months now (like her daddy the girl is all about Pixar...in fact, she helped me compose this list) but it has been supplanted by a movie that is based on a book I have loved since the first time I read it many years ago. The film adaptation is not perfect (what film adaptation truly is?) but it is an excellent movie and I am thrilled that she has chosen it as her new favorite.
Coraline, a stop-motion animated film directed by Henry Sellick (The Nightmare Before Christmas), is based on the book of the same name, written by Neil Gaiman (The Chesterton quote at the beginning of this post is actually the epigraph for the novel Coraline. It was the hook that drew me to the book as I am a huge admirer of G.K. Chesterton. I was sad that the quote was left out of the film). Neil is a writer of astounding uniqueness. He is the 2009 winner of the Newbery Medal for The Graveyard Book. I have read Coraline aloud to my fifth graders for years now and this past year added The Graveyard Book to our read-aloud list. The kids loved both stories, eagerly anticipating the next day's reading. Many bought or borrowed copies to read along with me as I read. Neil does not write only for children. He has also written several novels and many short stories for adults. His novel American Gods is an amazing book that will completely blow your mind. It is in my top ten list for the best novels of all time. If you have never read anything by Neil Gaiman you should.
Now.
Well, finish this first but then get on over to your local independent book store (if you live in Delaware, Browseabout Books is the best) and see for yourself what I am talking about.
I couldn't wait to show Coraline to The Peanut. As an already avowed fan of The Nightmare Before Christmas, I knew she would not be spooked by it. It does have some admittedly creepy parts but I wasn't worried. So last Tuesday night we popped some popcorn, turned off the lights, fired up the big screen, and sat back to enjoy. The Peanut has watched the movie once a day since that night. She has shown it to her auntie and her uncles. She talks about it to whomever will listen. She has called her grandparents to tell them about it. She loves the character Coraline, in fact she wants to be Coraline for Halloween, something that makes me very, very happy.
For the unfamiliar, Coraline Jones is a 12 year old girl who moves into a huge Victorian house that has been chopped up and divided into several apartments. She has no brothers or sisters and since she has just moved, has no one to talk to or play with. Her mother and father are both writers and are seemingly more concerned with their daily work than spending time with Coraline. They repeatedly tell her to leave them alone, find something to do and let them work. The only people Coraline has to talk to are two retired, dotty actresses (Misses Spink and Forcible) who occupy the basement apartment of the house, and a strange and possibly insane Russian man (Mr. Bobinski) who lives in the attic apartment of the house and claims to talk to mice. The film introduces a boy named Wybie who is about Coraline's age (he is not in the novel) who is also very peculiar. Coraline also encounters a black cat, who in the film version, hangs around with Wybie. In the book, the cat is aloof and alone, very cat like behavior for sure.
Without any real options for interaction Coraline sets off to investigate the old house and finds a strange door. This door ends up leading to a world that is a mirror image of Coraline's own but with some very real changes. The most noticeable is that her parents, not her actual parents but her "other" parents, have black buttons sewn into where their eyes should be. They are as attentive and loving to Coraline as her real parents are not. Her Other Mother cooks wonderful feasts with every imaginable food a 12 year old could ever want and her Other Father sings wonderful, Coraline centered songs and tends an amazingly beautiful garden that comes to animated life for Coraline. The other parents dote all their time, energy, and attention on Coraline. It is a world that seems designed primarily for her enjoyment. All the people from Coraline's new life in the real world, the two actresses downstairs, the Russian mouse circus trainer from upstairs, and even Wybie are present in the Other World, all with black buttons sewn into their eyes, all there for one purpose - to please Coraline. The cat also makes an appearance in the Other World, but aside from Coraline he is the only creature who does not have the button eyes. And he has no love for the Other Mother.
Coraline returns to this magical world repeatedly, each time having more and more fun. When the Other Mother asks her if she would like to stay, Coraline tells her of course she would. Who wouldn't? Coraline is given whatever she wants in this world, even the toys in her room fly around her room and talk to her. It is a child's dream world come to life. The Other Mother is happy to hear that Coraline wants to stay. There is one catch. Coraline has to let the Other Mother sew black buttons onto her eyes. Then Coraline can stay - forever. Naturally, Coraline balks at this horrifying idea and at last the movies tagline, Be Careful What You Wish For, makes sense. Coraline now sees the Other Mother's world for what it really is - a trap. Coraline then sets out on a quest...but to give any further away would spoil the story for you.
There is much about the character of Coraline that as a father I hope to see my own daughter grow to exhibit in her own character.
Coraline is unique, a trait she seeks to cultivate instead of hide like I see so many kids(and adults for that matter) doing today. Everyone wants to be the SAME, same clothes, same hair, same friends, same music, etc. Coraline strikes the watcher (and more so in the book, the reader) as a young girl who is very comfortable in her own skin. She has a self confidence that says I am who I am. I love that about her.
Coraline is a very brave girl. Not only is she brave, she understands the definition of true bravery. A beautiful line of dialog from the book that illustrates this was not included in the movie. Coraline is talking with the black cat as they are walking down the tunnel and back into the Other World. She is talking about being brave in the face of what they had to do, confront the Other Mother. She tells the cat a story about a time when Coraline was much younger and she and her dad were out exploring. They had startled a wasps nest and her father took the brunt of the stings so she could get away unharmed. Later he had to go back and retrieve his glasses which had fallen off in the mad dash to get away from the wasps. Her father told her that protecting her from the wasps wasn't the truly brave thing...it was his only real option, the only thing he could do in that situation. But going back to that place later to retrieve his glasses, knowing those wasps were still there, that was the truly brave thing. Coraline tells the cat "But going back again to get his glasses, when he knew the wasps were there, when he was really scared. That was brave." The cat then asks why that was brave. Coraline replies, "Because, when you're scared but you still do it anyway, that's brave." That's a good reminder for all of us, myself certainly included. Bravery is not the absence of fear. It is continuing on and doing what needs to be done in the face of fear itself.
Coraline is also extremely smart. Many times throughout the course of the story she is called upon to use her wits to get her out of tough situations. Sadly the movie fails to show this trait as strongly as the book because the movie changes the end (if you really want to see how clever this character truly is, read the book). A character of lesser intelligence and quickness of wit would be is deep trouble against the Other Mother. Coraline uses all her talents to their utmost effectiveness.
Coraline is not only smart, she is also wise. On Coraline's quest to escape the web that is the Other Mother's world, a character attempts to entice Coraline to stay. The dark figure first recounts for her all that is negative about life in her real home; how she will be bored, how her real parents will pay more attention to their computer screens than to Coraline herself, how she is too smart for the people in her world, how they are so neglectful and unintelligent that they cannot even get her name right (the adults in Coralines house always call her Caroline instead of Coraline, a mistake the adults in the Other Mother's world never make). The dark figure then tells Coraline to stay away from all of that foolishness, to stay in the Other Mother's world where everything will be perfect, where every day will be better and brighter than the one before it. Coraline then strings the figure along, asking if she can have all manner of things she wants, no matter how fantastical or expensive or impossible they may be and the figure ensures her that she can have all that and even more. Coraline than stops the figure short with an exasperated sigh. "You really don't understand, do you?" she asks the figure. Here the movie slips up again by leaving out the great dialog from the book. In the book Coraline goes on to say, "I don't want whatever I want. Nobody does. Not really. What kind of fun would it be if I just got everything I ever wanted? Just like that, and it didn't mean anything. What then?" The dark figure doesn't understand. Coraline understands at age 12 that the wish to be given everything your heart desires is a foolishly empty one. What meaning would your life have if you got everything you wanted? What would you have to dream about, to strive for? Such a lesson from a novel written for young people.
If you have not seen the movie or read the book, I encourage you to do so. Watch the movie first. As excellent as it is, the book is far superior to the film (which is always the way it is, and in my humble opinion, always should be). Coraline is an excellent role model for girls. She is an excellent model for boys as well, but so much of the literature available for young people focuses on male protagonists. It is good to have a tale where the girl is the hero. This is an excellent book (and movie) for a young girl to experience and learn from. It is storytelling at its finest, a tale that entertains, moves, scares, and ultimately teaches. What more could we want from a book or a movie for our children?
It also has many important lessons and reminders for all of us "grown-ups" as well.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
The BSOD - a TRUE International Problem.
Tomorrow at approximately 3:30 PM Eastern Standard Time it will have been one week since a great tragedy occurred. The foul pestilence that has darkened my soul is not something that is uniquely mine to endure. This horrid occurrence happens to many and goes by different names in many different parts of the world.
In Germany the event is know as Der Blaue Schirm des Todes und der Geschlechtskrankheit. It is accompanied by much swearing and forced consumption of NON-ALCOHOLIC beer, the likes of which my PG rated blog will not allow me to describe. Know that not even the call of Oktoberfest can break a person from the hold of the Blaue Schrim (or the Geschlechtskrankheit for that matter).
In Italy, Lo Schermo Blu Ha Assassinato La Mia Madre Ed Ha Causato Ai Miei Bambini La Grande Vergogna as it has come to be known, affects the entire community. When it strikes, a solemn parade is formed, with the dead machine laid out in a tiny coffin. The march begins at the afflicted's household and drags its way through the streets of town to the door of the local stregone di calcolatore. The afflicted's family is required to dress in black every day they are kept apart, until they are reunited.
La Pantalla Azul Ha Dañado Mi Alma, Causada Mi Perro Para Ir Estéril, Y Causado Dios A Dar Vuelta De Mí En Vergüenza is cause for great sorrow in Spanish speaking countries. There is a direct link between the suicide rates of middle aged men and this horrible event.
The Chinese government denies that 不甚而Godzilla可能击败的蓝色屏幕 occurs but smuggled cell phone videos and You Tube footage say other wise. Truly the 蓝色屏幕 is an international scourge that needs to be addressed.
Here in America you may have experienced this traumatic event yourself. There is no support group you can attend, no 12-Step-Program-To-Recovery you can purchase. Here, as in other nations around the world, you are on your own, left to seek refuge in a world that has been violently turned upside down.
I have attempted the following penances to help gain absolution from this vile affront to simple happiness. Some have worked...others have not.
- Curl up in a fetal ball for days on end, sucking on a thumb while drooling profusely and muttering the word "blue" over and over again.
- Construct an effigy of Bill Gates from blue Play-Doh.
- Burn the effigy in the backyard, using copious amounts of gasoline if the Play-Doh will not light. An M-80 can also be used if you have access to one.
- Plead ignorance with the county fire marshal when he arrives to arrest you for breaking several ordinances.
- Prank call Bill Gates and tell him, using a Franco-Hungarian accent, that Steve Jobs is more of a man than he will ever be. Cackle manically. Then hang up.
- Head to a house of worship. When the local cleric asks of you your problem, inform him of your desire to cure the screen of blue. Ignore, as best you can, the echoes of his laughter when you try to sleep at night.
- Set off the sprinkler system in the local Apple store in the hopes that you might appease the gods of Microsoft that they might have pity upon your festering soul.
- Paint yourself an electric blue color from head to toe. Hang a sign around your neck that says VISTA. Then walk around the local mall babbling aloud that your boot record is corrupted.
- Attempt to construct a functional laptop using your daughter's Lite-Brite and a Sony Walkman. Burst into hysterical tears when this pathetic attempt fails.
- Try not to scream too loudly when you awaken at 3 in the morning for the 5th night in a row with the phantom feel of your laptop keys lovingly caressing the tips of your fingers.
- Write a pointless blog post about your problem, attempting to distract yourself with the mediocre use of humor. When your wife reads the post and doesn't think it is very funny, don't let her see how a piece of you dies inside.
If anyone else out there has other ways of dealing with The Blue Screen of Death...please...for the love of all that is bright, shiny, and NOT BLUE...help me, because as they say in Holland, "Het blauwe Scherm heeft me machteloos gemaakt en veroorzaakt mijn vrouw de naar liefde van de een andere mens en niet zelfs ABBA kan streven helpen...".
If you desire to know the English equivalent of the German, Italian, Spanish, Chinese, and Dutch phrases used in this blog post, I have included them in the comments section of the blog. Or you can plug them into Yahoo's Babel Fish and experience the joy of finding out for yourself.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Fatherhood Friday - Daylight Savings Time...With Bibles.
Click the image above to catch other fantastic Fatherhood Friday posts at Dad-Blogs!
Yesterday afternoon, as I was putting the finishing touches on what was sure to be the most inspiring, life altering, moving post in Fatherhood Friday history, a horrible tragedy occurred. My laptop burped, hiccuped, froze, gasped...then spat the dreaded BLUE SCREEN OF DEATH at me. Ordinarily I rather enjoy the color blue. But the particular shade of blue that Microsoft chose to use for the BSOD is truly frightening, a color that must be mixed and created in the bowels of hell itself, somewhere around the 8th or 9th circle most likely, where Satan does most of his creative work.
After much weeping, wailing, gnashing of teeth (and that was just the calls to Dell Support!) I took my beloved laptop to a local wizard, with the hope that he will have her healed and once again back in my loving embrace.
Needless to say, the article for today's FF is floating somewhere in the 1st circle of hell, awaiting deliverance. Until I can make that magic happen I offer a post I wrote back in March about a conversation between myself, The Wife, and The Peanut during a morning commute.
I hope you enjoy and, if you get a chance, light a candle for my laptop.
Daylight Savings Time...With Bibles...
Making our way along the hallowed asphalt of I-95 on the 40 minute commute this morning, the wife and I were having a discussion concerning daylight savings time. Had you been a fly on the window, you would have been witness to a conversation that went something a little like this...
Wife:
Me: Hrmm. (While driving and Twittering on the phone at the same time...an activity I do not recommend)
Wife: I said I am really super tired this morning. Almost painfully so.
Me: (Putting the phone down and concentrating on the road before I mistakenly plunge the three of us into a fiery death) Why is that?
Wife: Well the clock right now says that it is 7:00, but the internal clock in my body is telling me it is really 6:00 because of the time change. So...I'm tired.
Me: (Pausing to digest the comment) That's crazy.
Wife: No it's not actually. It takes the body several days to adjust to the change of time when daylight savings time occurs. It's true, I saw it on Oprah once.
The phone beeps. I pick it up, new Tweets coming in. Swerve to miss car in front of me that was driving too slow. Heart rate increases. Resist urge to toss an offensive finger gesture to little old lady driving the Pinto I almost rear ended. Put phone back down, resolving not to pick it up again while behind the wheel.
Me: (slightly out of breath from my racing heart) That's silly. The clock said 10:00 when you fell asleep (You read correctly...10:00...I know, right?) and 5:30 when you woke up...as always.
Wife: Yeah but that was really going to sleep at 9:00 and getting up at 4:30.
Me: (Pausing once again while I try to get my head around this logic) But...it's still the same amount of time.
Wife: No...its not...its an hour earlier.
Me: But...its still the same amount of time.
At this point The Peanut, sitting in the booster seat in the back, breaks out in a rousing chorus of Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds. I can't make this stuff up. Not sure if it borders on broadening my daughter's horizons or bad parenting that she likes the Beatles...but it is the truth.
Me: Sweety, please sing a song that is not about mind altering drugs...we will be at preschool soon.
(REALLY don't want that call)
The Peanut ignores me and continues her Beatles tribute. I guess there are worse things...
Wife: It is not the same because my body -- Peanut, sweetheart...it's diamonds, not bibles -- because my body is used to the time the way it was, not the way it is now.
Me: (At this point feeling like I have taken LSD myself) WHAT? Whatever time the clock tells you, that is what time it IS. I went to sleep at 12:18...got up at 6:05...that six hours felt like the six hours all the weeks before it. I don't understand this metaphysical trickery you are talking about.
Peanut: Mommy...why does Lucy like diamonds? Are they like the diamonds you have on your ring?
Wife: Yes sweety...Lucy just likes expensive jewelry. Honey, I really think more people would agree with me on this than they would with you.
Me: No way. Maybe it is a male/female thing. Most guys I know don't walk around whining about their "internal clocks" being messed up because of daylight savings time.
Wife: That's because most men aren't smart enough to bother to read their internal clocks. Trust me...all normal people struggle with this when the time changes.
Peanut: Lucy in the sky with bibles...Lucy in the sky with bibles...
As you can see, our morning commutes are quite interesting.
I would like to pose our morning's debate question to my 6 blog readers out there. Which side of the fence do you live on?
Are you in my camp where the clock says what it says and you don't need to rely on tricky, mind/time bending excuses for why your body feels off?
Or are you in my wife's camp, where your "internal clock" takes days or weeks to reset because it is now confused. (No wonder women can't program VCRs)
If you feel so inclined...drop me your opinion (along with any other comments or backyard BBQ recipes) in the comments section here.
And, if you feel further inclined, subscribe to the feed here at the Hideaway. I LOVE my 6 readers...but there is always room for more!
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Whose Grill Cover Have Your Tongs Been Under?
Cooking on another man's grill is like sleeping with his wife.
Strange thought? Allow me to explain.
We are in scenic Leesburg, Virginia as I write this, spending the weekend with great friends and their young son, one of The Peanut's three boyfriends. More on that preschool love triangle at another time.
Earlier tonight our lovely hostess was preparing a vat of guacamole for a delectable snack before dinner. She was using an extremely sharp knife to cut the avocados in half so she could remove their large pits. As she worked the kids were in the other room playing with Go Diego, Go dominoes. The Peanut suddenly (and loudly) experienced a moment of selfishness and needed some time alone. I escorted her upstairs where we had a rudimentary review on the concept of sharing. The conversation could not have lasted longer then a few minutes. When we had finished our little review ("But daddy, sometimes kids just don't want to share, that's how we are!") we went back downstairs to find our hostess on the floor clutching her left hand, wrapped in a towel, to her chest. Her skin was pale and her expression pained. Being the Sherlock Holmesean genius that I am I took in these facts, put them together with the knife and half cut avocado that sat discarded on the marbled counter top, and deduced that something very bad had happened while I as away.
Moments later our host whisked our hostess away to the ER to have her laceration evaluated. This left The Wife, The Peanut, The Peanut's Friend, and myself. Our hostess had already prepared the food for dinner before attempting finger removal surgery on herself, so all that was left for me to do was to cook it.
I wheeled the grill out of the garage and set up shop in the driveway. I went into my Pregrill-Start-Up procedure, a list I have honed over many years of trial and error. As I made my way through the list, preparing my host's grill for a symphony of outdoor cooking, a strange feeling began to overcome me. I felt weird, as if God himself were looking down upon me in sadness at a transgression I was making, however unintentional it might be. It took me several minutes to figure out what it was. Not until I had slapped the first naked hamburger patties on the grill did it hit me.
This wasn't my grill I was cooking on. This was another man's grill. The basic set up was the same, but in many ways his grill differs from mine. I suddenly felt myself cringing to adjust the dials that control the degree of the heat. I found myself stealing furtive glances over my shoulder as I cooked, as if waiting for someone to drop from the sky, pointing a finger at me in righteous anger, demanding to know why I was defiling the grill of another man when my own sat cold, lonely, and unused back in Delaware.
And that's when it hit me. Cooking on another man's grill is like sleeping with his wife. It is a shameful, forbidden act, even when you are granted permission to do the cooking. I felt soiled when I was finished, guilty. When I get home...how will I break the news to my grill? What do I say? That the Virginia grill meant nothing to me? That I thought of only my own grill the entire time?
Guys...what do you think? Is my comparison a fair one? Have you ever found yourself in a similar situation?
Girls...What do you think? Is your man as obsessive about his grill as I am or do you think I need some deep psychological help? Or maybe both...
Make a comment...please help me feel better about this unfortunate transgression.
Strange thought? Allow me to explain.
We are in scenic Leesburg, Virginia as I write this, spending the weekend with great friends and their young son, one of The Peanut's three boyfriends. More on that preschool love triangle at another time.
Earlier tonight our lovely hostess was preparing a vat of guacamole for a delectable snack before dinner. She was using an extremely sharp knife to cut the avocados in half so she could remove their large pits. As she worked the kids were in the other room playing with Go Diego, Go dominoes. The Peanut suddenly (and loudly) experienced a moment of selfishness and needed some time alone. I escorted her upstairs where we had a rudimentary review on the concept of sharing. The conversation could not have lasted longer then a few minutes. When we had finished our little review ("But daddy, sometimes kids just don't want to share, that's how we are!") we went back downstairs to find our hostess on the floor clutching her left hand, wrapped in a towel, to her chest. Her skin was pale and her expression pained. Being the Sherlock Holmesean genius that I am I took in these facts, put them together with the knife and half cut avocado that sat discarded on the marbled counter top, and deduced that something very bad had happened while I as away.
Moments later our host whisked our hostess away to the ER to have her laceration evaluated. This left The Wife, The Peanut, The Peanut's Friend, and myself. Our hostess had already prepared the food for dinner before attempting finger removal surgery on herself, so all that was left for me to do was to cook it.
I wheeled the grill out of the garage and set up shop in the driveway. I went into my Pregrill-Start-Up procedure, a list I have honed over many years of trial and error. As I made my way through the list, preparing my host's grill for a symphony of outdoor cooking, a strange feeling began to overcome me. I felt weird, as if God himself were looking down upon me in sadness at a transgression I was making, however unintentional it might be. It took me several minutes to figure out what it was. Not until I had slapped the first naked hamburger patties on the grill did it hit me.
This wasn't my grill I was cooking on. This was another man's grill. The basic set up was the same, but in many ways his grill differs from mine. I suddenly felt myself cringing to adjust the dials that control the degree of the heat. I found myself stealing furtive glances over my shoulder as I cooked, as if waiting for someone to drop from the sky, pointing a finger at me in righteous anger, demanding to know why I was defiling the grill of another man when my own sat cold, lonely, and unused back in Delaware.
And that's when it hit me. Cooking on another man's grill is like sleeping with his wife. It is a shameful, forbidden act, even when you are granted permission to do the cooking. I felt soiled when I was finished, guilty. When I get home...how will I break the news to my grill? What do I say? That the Virginia grill meant nothing to me? That I thought of only my own grill the entire time?
Guys...what do you think? Is my comparison a fair one? Have you ever found yourself in a similar situation?
Girls...What do you think? Is your man as obsessive about his grill as I am or do you think I need some deep psychological help? Or maybe both...
Make a comment...please help me feel better about this unfortunate transgression.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Idiotic Parental Phrasing or "I MEAN it this time!"
Click the image above to catch other fantastic Fatherhood Friday posts at Dad-Blogs!Last Friday I took The Wife and The Peanut to Dutch Wonderland for the day. For those unfamiliar, Dutch Wonderland is a great amusement park for kids and families. If you live anywhere near Lancaster, PA, I highly recommend a trip. It was a perfect day. The temperature was 80 degrees with nary a cloud to be found in the sky. The park was not overcrowded. It was one of those perfect days that seem to be experienced only in books, the kind you wish you could bottle and save to experience again and again.
About three quarters of the way into our day The Peanut decided she wanted to go on a log ride that is located at the front of the park. Naturally, she chose to have this epiphany as we were wandering around at the back. The Wife's parents and her grandmother were with us for the day and her grandmother was getting a bit walked out so I engaged my caring, yet highly intelligent Husband Brain and suggested that we take the Sky Ride across the park. This suggestion was met with much rejoicing and we hitched a ride fifty feet or so above the park.
The Sky Ride at Dutch Wonderland is a typical ride that can be found in amusement parks across the country. A white plastic seat to sit with your legs dangling above the earth while a simple bar across your lap is all that is keeping you from plummeting to a messy end on top of the heads of your fellow park-goers below. With only a small canopy above your head, it is a pretty open ride. So, after ensuring that my left arm was clasped tightly around The Peanut's shoulders to prevent her from slipping (she probably wouldn't even fit under the bar but in my father's all-things-not-directly-controlled-by-me-are-accidents-waiting-to-happen vision I was taking no chances) I looked around and enjoyed the slow, gentle ride.
The Sky Ride is set up on a continual loop so that while you are going to one end of the park, other people are passing by on their way to the other. You don't pass close enough to touch, but it is pretty close. About halfway through the ride a young mother and her two boys approached. Mom sat in the middle of the two boys who looked to be about 5 and 8. The two brothers were clearly having an intense argument and the mother was literally caught in the middle. Her patience level was as depleted as the buffet at an over eaters convention. As their Sky Cart pulled even with ours I heard her hiss at the two boys "Knock it off right now. I'M SERIOUS!"
"I'm serious."
One of my all time favorite completely ineffective parenting expressions. Why do parents use this phrase or its distant cousin, "I'm NOT KIDDING!"? Think about it for a minute. When you yell at your child (more on the total ineffectiveness of yelling in a future post) that you are "serious" or "not kidding" do you realize what you are telling them? You are telling them that all the talking you did before you threw out that wonderful phrase is null and void. Unimportant. It's OK son...you don't have to obey me unless I tell you "I'm serious" or "I'm not kidding" or, my all time favorite "I MEAN IT THIS TIME!" What? The other three times you stood there with the veins in your forehead popping out, spittle flying out of your mouth with more velocity than Bill Cowher, you were KIDDING about those?
Why do parents cut their own legs out from under themselves like that? It is the equivalent of parental suicide. It is taking a gun to your credibility and blowing a hole right through it. Parents who use these ridiculous phrases are empowering their children to grow into immature whiners who feel entitled to be given consequence-free-chance after consequence-free-chance after consequence-free-chance by the world when they mess up. I'm sorry I was speeding and almost killed all the passengers in my car, officer. Don't write me a ticket, let me have another chance. Please?
Uh-uh. It doesn't work that way in the real world. So why do some parents raise their children like it does?
What kind of children would we be raising if all parents meant what they said the FIRST time they said it?
Thursday, July 9, 2009
3:10 to Yuma - A Cautionary Tale?
I watched 3:10 to Yuma last night.
3:10 is a fantastic movie. For those of you who have not seen it yet I highly recommend that you go to Blockbuster, or Netflix, or Redbox; whatever movie rental service you use and pick it up.
Yuma is the story of a struggling rancher who is being crushed under the weight of the debts he owes against his land. He sees himself as a failed soldier (he is a civil war vet), a failed husband, a failed father...basically a failed man living a failed existence. The countryside is in the grip of a prolonged drought and Dan Evans (Christian Bale), his wife and two boys are not even barely getting by. On a trip to sell some cattle and confront the men who are seeking to drive him off the land, Dan and his boys interrupt the notorious criminal Ben Wade (Russel Crowe) as he is robbing a stage coach. Later, after Dan goes into town to try to find the man he is indebted to, he sees Wade again and distracts him long enough so that he gets captured. The rest of the movie follows Dan and a band of men who are trying to get Ben Wade aboard the 3:10 train to Yuma so he can stand trial and face the hangman's noose for all the murder and theft he has had a hand in. They are pursued ruthlessly by Wade's gang, lead by his second in command Charlie Prince (masterfully played by Ben Foster).
I am not a film critic or reviewer. You may be reading this wondering what a western (even an EXCELLENT western) has to do with a post on Fatherhood Friday.
Dan's eldest son William goes against his parent's wishes and follows the men and eventually joins them in their quest to get Wade on that train. His disgust with his father is evident from the very beginning of the film. And one can hardly blame him. When we first meet Dan Evans, he has the look of a perpetually beaten dog. He is a defeated, failed man. He knows it, his sons know it. In the beginning Dan is telling his son that when he walks a mile in Dan's shoes, he will understand why Dan does the things he does. William looks right into his father's wounded eyes and coldly tells him "I ain't ever walking in your shoes." It almost seems like a challenge. 'Come on dad,' he is saying. 'Get mad. Fight for something!' Dan does nothing, simply sighs and moves on, accepting the rebuke as the truth he himself believes.
Failure is my biggest fear as a father. Hell, failure is my biggest fear in all areas of my life, not just fatherhood. It is very much a male thing. As men we feel deep inside that need, not just a desire but an almost flesh and blood need, to succeed, to be seen as competent. Because fatherhood is such a big part of who I am, failure in that arena is truly frightening.
But it really shouldn't be that way.
I know am going to have moments where I will fail as a father. I already have. I have made mistakes, I know I will make more. It is an inevitable fact of life. There is a bit of Dan Evans in me. That part of me that just wants to withdraw to a deep, dark cave when I fail. It is easier to turn from my failings than it is to confront them head on. That is what Dan did for so many years of his life. In the movie he gets to a place where he just can't take it anymore and has to risk not only his life, but also his son's life to break out of the cocoon of failure he has lived his life in. To make good on all his failures with one single act; one single, dangerous act.
I strive to never even get close to that point. We as fathers should not be afraid to fail. It is going to happen whether we like to admit it or not. And when it does happen we need to deal with it, admit to it. Whenever I fail my wife or my daughter, I should not be afraid to admit to them that I blew it. For my daughter especially, it is vitally important for her to see that with life comes failures and that when we make mistakes we need to learn from them so that when a similar situation arises we don't make the same ones. I want to teach her to think of failure as a tool instead of a disease, a tool she can use to make her a stronger person.
I don't want to spoil the movie by revealing how things turn out for and between Dan and William Evans. Watch the movie. And as a father, learn from Dan's mistakes. It's OK to let your children see you fail.
That gives you the chance to teach them how you stand.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Who Am I? or Why The Ninjas Won't Get My Daughter!
I came to a realization today.
I am one of "THOSE" parents. The kind I swore I would never be.
I made this discovery at 6:46 PM, July 5, 2009.
I was sitting on the deck of mom's place at the beach enjoying a good book. The weather, for early July, was unbelievably great. Cool, with a strong breeze that caressed the brow and carried with it the smells of the sea. I was completely immersed in the novel I was reading. Life was good, front cover illustration of a summer magazine good.
As I reclined and read, The Peanut approached. She is usually very good about waiting for me to look up at her when I have my nose in a book unless there is something she really wants. Since most times she approaches me when I am reading the reason is because there is something she really wants, the previous sentence is an outright fabrication.
She approached and launched her not-as-tiny-as-it-used-to-be body at my exposed and vulnerable lap. Bodily harm ensued. I won't dwell on the damage incurred here as this is a family friendly blog, but I will surmise that guys reading this are cringing and women reading this are smiling (would someone please answer for me why women find these types of injuries so amusing?).
When I was able to breathe again, I asked what she needed. She told me she really wanted to go to the park because, and I once again quote directly, "There are girls playing over there that are not my friends and I know they want to be my friends daddy."
Mom's place sits right next to a playground complete with a sandbox, several swings, wooden climbing structures, plastic slides, and several picnic benches. All playground accoutrements are arranged on an open piece of land, surrounded on three sides by trees. It is a great park, one that the Peanut and I have spent a lot of time at together. But lately, as in this occasion, she has been asking to go sans daddy.
The playground is clearly visible from the deck so I gave her my blessing to go forth and create as many new friendships as possible. She ran off to do just that and I settled back and resumed my reading, seeking to recapture the reverie I had been so enjoying.
And that is when it happened. As I resumed my reading I heard a noise that came from the direction of the playground. I don't know what it was, can't even remember it to describe it here, but it was a noise of unknown causation...and it had come from the direction my daughter had just departed for. I was up off of the couch in an instant, eyes searching the playground for The Peanut. I found her immediately, climbing around with two other little girls. All appeared well. No aliens or Russian spies attempting to kidnap my daughter. I sighed and returned to my spot.
After I picked the book up off the floor where it had fallen, I dusted it off and spent a minute or two finding my place. I found the last sentence I remembered reading and tried to pick up the thread. Seconds after I found it, a high pitched yell reached my ears.
I shot up off the couch like it was on fire - again; my book went flying - again. I ran to the edge of the deck, certain that The Peanut was being mauled by a 500 pound, HIV infected Rottweiler with rabies. But no. She and her two new friends were playing a game of tag on one of the wooden tree house climbing structures and they were doing what little girls tend to do when they are having fun chasing each other. Yelling and screaming, pig tails flying.
So I walked back to my couch and picked my book off the floor - again. After waiting a few minutes for my heart rate to climb back down to medically acceptable levels I returned to the same sentence. I read it and about seven or eight others that followed, trying to get back into the story. But my eyes kept leaving the printed page and gliding to the park, tracking The Peanut's red shirt.
The park is less than ten yards from the deck I was sitting on. It is fenced in on all three sides with a huge pavilion taking up the entire length of the fourth. The only human beings in the park were The Peanut and her two new friends. There were no exposed wires, dangerous animals, unfilled excavation pits, or unexploded WWII era land mines. No open flames, loaded firearms, or horribly distraught Michael Jackson impersonators (too soon?) anywhere to be found. Short of me standing right next to her, holding her hand, I am pretty sure she was as safe as she could possibly be.
Yet I could not return to my reading. Suddenly the idyllic afternoon I had been enjoying had become the possible stage for horrifying scenes of indescribable danger. I had to keep on eye on The Peanut. Peril lurked in every corner of that playground, I knew this to be true. When people walked by I smiled and pretended to be simply looking at my daughter playing with her new friends, a care free, happy smile on my face. I even kept the forgotten book open in my lap.
All the while keeping constant vigil for the midget ninjas that were going to drop out of the sky at any minute and fall upon The Peanut and her friends.
I did not breathe a sigh of relief until she was back in the house for dinner, sweaty and dirty, but by no means bleeding or bruised.
When did I become this parent?
Or worse...
Will I always BE this parent?
I am one of "THOSE" parents. The kind I swore I would never be.
I made this discovery at 6:46 PM, July 5, 2009.
I was sitting on the deck of mom's place at the beach enjoying a good book. The weather, for early July, was unbelievably great. Cool, with a strong breeze that caressed the brow and carried with it the smells of the sea. I was completely immersed in the novel I was reading. Life was good, front cover illustration of a summer magazine good.
As I reclined and read, The Peanut approached. She is usually very good about waiting for me to look up at her when I have my nose in a book unless there is something she really wants. Since most times she approaches me when I am reading the reason is because there is something she really wants, the previous sentence is an outright fabrication.
She approached and launched her not-as-tiny-as-it-used-to-be body at my exposed and vulnerable lap. Bodily harm ensued. I won't dwell on the damage incurred here as this is a family friendly blog, but I will surmise that guys reading this are cringing and women reading this are smiling (would someone please answer for me why women find these types of injuries so amusing?).
When I was able to breathe again, I asked what she needed. She told me she really wanted to go to the park because, and I once again quote directly, "There are girls playing over there that are not my friends and I know they want to be my friends daddy."
Mom's place sits right next to a playground complete with a sandbox, several swings, wooden climbing structures, plastic slides, and several picnic benches. All playground accoutrements are arranged on an open piece of land, surrounded on three sides by trees. It is a great park, one that the Peanut and I have spent a lot of time at together. But lately, as in this occasion, she has been asking to go sans daddy.
The playground is clearly visible from the deck so I gave her my blessing to go forth and create as many new friendships as possible. She ran off to do just that and I settled back and resumed my reading, seeking to recapture the reverie I had been so enjoying.
And that is when it happened. As I resumed my reading I heard a noise that came from the direction of the playground. I don't know what it was, can't even remember it to describe it here, but it was a noise of unknown causation...and it had come from the direction my daughter had just departed for. I was up off of the couch in an instant, eyes searching the playground for The Peanut. I found her immediately, climbing around with two other little girls. All appeared well. No aliens or Russian spies attempting to kidnap my daughter. I sighed and returned to my spot.
After I picked the book up off the floor where it had fallen, I dusted it off and spent a minute or two finding my place. I found the last sentence I remembered reading and tried to pick up the thread. Seconds after I found it, a high pitched yell reached my ears.
I shot up off the couch like it was on fire - again; my book went flying - again. I ran to the edge of the deck, certain that The Peanut was being mauled by a 500 pound, HIV infected Rottweiler with rabies. But no. She and her two new friends were playing a game of tag on one of the wooden tree house climbing structures and they were doing what little girls tend to do when they are having fun chasing each other. Yelling and screaming, pig tails flying.
So I walked back to my couch and picked my book off the floor - again. After waiting a few minutes for my heart rate to climb back down to medically acceptable levels I returned to the same sentence. I read it and about seven or eight others that followed, trying to get back into the story. But my eyes kept leaving the printed page and gliding to the park, tracking The Peanut's red shirt.
The park is less than ten yards from the deck I was sitting on. It is fenced in on all three sides with a huge pavilion taking up the entire length of the fourth. The only human beings in the park were The Peanut and her two new friends. There were no exposed wires, dangerous animals, unfilled excavation pits, or unexploded WWII era land mines. No open flames, loaded firearms, or horribly distraught Michael Jackson impersonators (too soon?) anywhere to be found. Short of me standing right next to her, holding her hand, I am pretty sure she was as safe as she could possibly be.
Yet I could not return to my reading. Suddenly the idyllic afternoon I had been enjoying had become the possible stage for horrifying scenes of indescribable danger. I had to keep on eye on The Peanut. Peril lurked in every corner of that playground, I knew this to be true. When people walked by I smiled and pretended to be simply looking at my daughter playing with her new friends, a care free, happy smile on my face. I even kept the forgotten book open in my lap.
All the while keeping constant vigil for the midget ninjas that were going to drop out of the sky at any minute and fall upon The Peanut and her friends.
I did not breathe a sigh of relief until she was back in the house for dinner, sweaty and dirty, but by no means bleeding or bruised.
When did I become this parent?
Or worse...
Will I always BE this parent?
Thursday, July 2, 2009
I survived the Great Delaware Earthquake of 2009...and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.
No really.
We had an earthquake at around 9:45 this morning. I was tutoring a kid in math, talking about ratios and percents when the 95 year old building we were in shuddered from top to bottom, like it had been struck by a very large, fast moving truck. The shuddering of the building was accompanied by a low rumble, more felt than heard.
It did not last long, two seconds maybe. We all ran into the hall to find several other people. All were very confused. One secretary started calling maintenance guys to make sure one of them had not gotten blown up in some freak explosion. They were all fine, confused, but in possession of all the fingers and toes they had brought in to work with them.
Immediately people took to Twitter. In about 20 minutes it was posted there that we had felt a 2.8 magnitude earthquake. Now, before anyone in California or any other earthquake rich region begins to laugh at me, you have to realize that Delaware is not a place where earthquakes happen frequently. The last one we had, which was less than a 2.0, was back in 2005. The earth here is usually as still and quiet as a Britney Spears concert is loud and obnoxious (that was for you Erin). SO...while this would barely even register on your radar, Californians, for me it is a fairly big deal. Let me have my little earthshaking moment.
When your day begins with an earthquake, it generally should be looking up from that point on.
Got some good writing in today...1,073 words to be exact. Wanted to keep going but sleep keeps pulling me by the ear.
Heading to the beach tomorrow for several days of overcrowded fun. I hope to get much reading, writing, and beaching in.
If the earth will stop shaking us around, we should be in good shape!
We had an earthquake at around 9:45 this morning. I was tutoring a kid in math, talking about ratios and percents when the 95 year old building we were in shuddered from top to bottom, like it had been struck by a very large, fast moving truck. The shuddering of the building was accompanied by a low rumble, more felt than heard.
It did not last long, two seconds maybe. We all ran into the hall to find several other people. All were very confused. One secretary started calling maintenance guys to make sure one of them had not gotten blown up in some freak explosion. They were all fine, confused, but in possession of all the fingers and toes they had brought in to work with them.
Immediately people took to Twitter. In about 20 minutes it was posted there that we had felt a 2.8 magnitude earthquake. Now, before anyone in California or any other earthquake rich region begins to laugh at me, you have to realize that Delaware is not a place where earthquakes happen frequently. The last one we had, which was less than a 2.0, was back in 2005. The earth here is usually as still and quiet as a Britney Spears concert is loud and obnoxious (that was for you Erin). SO...while this would barely even register on your radar, Californians, for me it is a fairly big deal. Let me have my little earthshaking moment.
When your day begins with an earthquake, it generally should be looking up from that point on.
Got some good writing in today...1,073 words to be exact. Wanted to keep going but sleep keeps pulling me by the ear.
Heading to the beach tomorrow for several days of overcrowded fun. I hope to get much reading, writing, and beaching in.
If the earth will stop shaking us around, we should be in good shape!
Monday, June 29, 2009
It Was the Breast of Times...
Let me start by apologizing for the title of today's post. I know there are some who find body part puns childish and/or offensive in nature. If that includes you I recommend you surf away from The Hideaway right now and come back tomorrow. I am not discussing anything overly inappropriate here, but there will be talk of topless nakedness herein...consider yourself warned (No Chris...no pictures. Sorry to disappoint you).
So we were driving over to my dad's today for a dip in the pool. The Peanut (who is now four and a half if you can believe that crazy math) was sitting in her car seat, pontificating as she so often does about the people she sees outside the car window. About two minutes into the journey she spots a young man walking down the road. He is not wearing a shirt, he has it draped over one shoulder in the heat of the day. Caroline begins to yell at this Sunday stroller.
"Hey you BOY! Put your shirt on. I don't wanna see that!" (Now, I know that those of you reading this who do not know The Peanut are thinking this is a piece of exaggerated dialogue. I also know that those of you who do know The Peanut are smiling because you have no difficulty whatsoever imagining her saying this. This is my daughter, no narrative exaggeration necessary.)
Fortunately the windows were up and the young man kept walking on his merry way, unaware that he was being criticized by a preschooler. The wife and I, after choking back laughter, a skill I still suck at as a parent, tried to tell her what she had said was not a nice thing to yell. The boy wasn't hurting anyone and it was hot out so he just wanted to feel a little relief from the heat.
She of course, being The Peanut, more full of a questions than a Jeopardy marathon, demanded to know why it is OK for a boy to walk down the street with no shirt on but it is not OK for a girl.
The Wife and I just looked at each other, parental panic passing between us.
"Uhh," I began. (I really know how to lay on the parental wisdom, don't I?) "That's just the way it is sweetheart."
I knew that answer was not going to fly. It was just a delaying tactic to formulate a more solid response.
I was right.
"Why?" my daughter wanted to know. Her favorite word. "That's not fair." Her favorite phrase.
The Wife, seeing my utter lack of direction as to where to take my response chipped in. "Babe, what do girls have that boys don't have?" (There is a loaded question if ever I have ever heard one.)
The Peanut thought for a second. "Long hair?"
"No, boys can have long hair," The Wife said.
"Freckles?"
"No boys have freckles...daddy has freckles right?"
The Peanut giggled. "Yeah. Ummm...dolls and dresses?"
I excel at making inappropriate jokes that are never as funny as I think they are. "No, some funny kinds of boys have those as well and they use the - OWWW!!"
My joke was cut off by a sharp poke in the ribs from The Wife.
"What do you mean daddy? What do you mean by funny?"
Yeah, I guess I deserved the poke. "Nothing kiddo, daddy was just joking."
With a glare in my direction, The Wife continued. "What do girls have under their shirts that boys don't?"
"Boobies?" (I can always be grateful to my mother for introducing this word into my daughter's vocabulary)
"Yes sweety. Girls keep theirs covered but boys don't have to," said the wife, which was pretty much the defense I had already tried.
"But I don't have boobies," said The Peanut. "See?" And she proceeded to hike her Dora and Boots t-shirt up over her head.
Booby talk with my 4 year old makes me uneasy enough as it is. "Put your shirt down!" I said. "Peanut, that is just the way things are," I continued to spout my fatherly wisdom. "Girls have to keep their shirts on and boys don't always have to."
Should I write a book on fatherly wisdom or what?
The Peanut was still not satisfied. "But why do...LOOK DADDY...A puppy!" Fortuitously a car drove by with a cute golden retriever puppy hanging it's head out of the window. This distraction promptly caused The Peanut to lose interest in the conversation.
We drove on for a minute or so more. As we drove I thought about the question.
"You know," I said to The Wife, "she brings up a good question."
I get nothing but a look from The Wife.
"No, really. Think about it. Why do we have that social norm in place do you think?"
"Are you trying to suggest that women should just walk around topless all the time?" asked The Wife with the verbal equivalent of a double edged sword.
I knew I was not just on shaky ground here, I was on ice as thin as a sheet of paper.
"OF COURSE NOT dear, that would be...uh...silly," I said. She grunted. I didn't get hit so I figured I could continue on for a bit.
"All I meant was why is it that way? Where do you think it came from? If we grew up in a world where everyone was free to walk around as topless as they wanted to be, do you think there would be a big deal about it?"
"No, probably not," she said.
"So it is a fair question then right? Why is it socially acceptable for a man to walk around topless and not a woman?"
She thought about it for a second as we pulled into my dad's driveway. "I guess it is a pretty interesting question."
So I offer it here, on this blog. Be you male or female, why do YOU think it is socially acceptable for a man to be shirtless but not a woman? Or maybe you think it isn't acceptable. Post your opinion in the comments section. Let's make this the breast conversation in the Hideaway yet.
(Yes, I know I used the same unfunny, possibly offensive pun in this post. I figured since most people are born with two that I should do the same...in hindsight it wasn't anywhere near as funny as I wanted it to be. THIS is why I should not stay up so late writing.)
NOVEL UPDATE: Got 681 more words in tonight. Brings the new total to 2.233.
So we were driving over to my dad's today for a dip in the pool. The Peanut (who is now four and a half if you can believe that crazy math) was sitting in her car seat, pontificating as she so often does about the people she sees outside the car window. About two minutes into the journey she spots a young man walking down the road. He is not wearing a shirt, he has it draped over one shoulder in the heat of the day. Caroline begins to yell at this Sunday stroller.
"Hey you BOY! Put your shirt on. I don't wanna see that!" (Now, I know that those of you reading this who do not know The Peanut are thinking this is a piece of exaggerated dialogue. I also know that those of you who do know The Peanut are smiling because you have no difficulty whatsoever imagining her saying this. This is my daughter, no narrative exaggeration necessary.)
Fortunately the windows were up and the young man kept walking on his merry way, unaware that he was being criticized by a preschooler. The wife and I, after choking back laughter, a skill I still suck at as a parent, tried to tell her what she had said was not a nice thing to yell. The boy wasn't hurting anyone and it was hot out so he just wanted to feel a little relief from the heat.
She of course, being The Peanut, more full of a questions than a Jeopardy marathon, demanded to know why it is OK for a boy to walk down the street with no shirt on but it is not OK for a girl.
The Wife and I just looked at each other, parental panic passing between us.
"Uhh," I began. (I really know how to lay on the parental wisdom, don't I?) "That's just the way it is sweetheart."
I knew that answer was not going to fly. It was just a delaying tactic to formulate a more solid response.
I was right.
"Why?" my daughter wanted to know. Her favorite word. "That's not fair." Her favorite phrase.
The Wife, seeing my utter lack of direction as to where to take my response chipped in. "Babe, what do girls have that boys don't have?" (There is a loaded question if ever I have ever heard one.)
The Peanut thought for a second. "Long hair?"
"No, boys can have long hair," The Wife said.
"Freckles?"
"No boys have freckles...daddy has freckles right?"
The Peanut giggled. "Yeah. Ummm...dolls and dresses?"
I excel at making inappropriate jokes that are never as funny as I think they are. "No, some funny kinds of boys have those as well and they use the - OWWW!!"
My joke was cut off by a sharp poke in the ribs from The Wife.
"What do you mean daddy? What do you mean by funny?"
Yeah, I guess I deserved the poke. "Nothing kiddo, daddy was just joking."
With a glare in my direction, The Wife continued. "What do girls have under their shirts that boys don't?"
"Boobies?" (I can always be grateful to my mother for introducing this word into my daughter's vocabulary)
"Yes sweety. Girls keep theirs covered but boys don't have to," said the wife, which was pretty much the defense I had already tried.
"But I don't have boobies," said The Peanut. "See?" And she proceeded to hike her Dora and Boots t-shirt up over her head.
Booby talk with my 4 year old makes me uneasy enough as it is. "Put your shirt down!" I said. "Peanut, that is just the way things are," I continued to spout my fatherly wisdom. "Girls have to keep their shirts on and boys don't always have to."
Should I write a book on fatherly wisdom or what?
The Peanut was still not satisfied. "But why do...LOOK DADDY...A puppy!" Fortuitously a car drove by with a cute golden retriever puppy hanging it's head out of the window. This distraction promptly caused The Peanut to lose interest in the conversation.
We drove on for a minute or so more. As we drove I thought about the question.
"You know," I said to The Wife, "she brings up a good question."
I get nothing but a look from The Wife.
"No, really. Think about it. Why do we have that social norm in place do you think?"
"Are you trying to suggest that women should just walk around topless all the time?" asked The Wife with the verbal equivalent of a double edged sword.
I knew I was not just on shaky ground here, I was on ice as thin as a sheet of paper.
"OF COURSE NOT dear, that would be...uh...silly," I said. She grunted. I didn't get hit so I figured I could continue on for a bit.
"All I meant was why is it that way? Where do you think it came from? If we grew up in a world where everyone was free to walk around as topless as they wanted to be, do you think there would be a big deal about it?"
"No, probably not," she said.
"So it is a fair question then right? Why is it socially acceptable for a man to walk around topless and not a woman?"
She thought about it for a second as we pulled into my dad's driveway. "I guess it is a pretty interesting question."
So I offer it here, on this blog. Be you male or female, why do YOU think it is socially acceptable for a man to be shirtless but not a woman? Or maybe you think it isn't acceptable. Post your opinion in the comments section. Let's make this the breast conversation in the Hideaway yet.
(Yes, I know I used the same unfunny, possibly offensive pun in this post. I figured since most people are born with two that I should do the same...in hindsight it wasn't anywhere near as funny as I wanted it to be. THIS is why I should not stay up so late writing.)
NOVEL UPDATE: Got 681 more words in tonight. Brings the new total to 2.233.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
God Help Me Now...
Well I did it.
I jumped in the water, clothes, shoes, and all (but I took enough time to place my Treo and my Ipod Touch a safe distance from the water because I love those two little machines).
I have been wanting to do it for 10 years, always putting it off for one lame excuse or another. Well tonight, I finally did it. I began to write a novel.
I do not know where it will go or how far it will take me. I don't know if anyone will ever read it or if it will sit in a trunk in my attic to be uncovered and dusted off by my grandchildren after I die.
But I have started it. It is no longer a should be doing. It is now an AM doing (I know that sentence is a grammatical travesty and I do apologize).
I will be using this blog, as well as my friends in my writer's group to keep me motivated. I know this is going to be a long, arduous journey. I feel like I have decided I want to see the Great Wall of China but have decided for some bizarre reason to WALK there...with no money...or treo...or Ipod. In other words, a long damn walk with a lot of obstacles in the way. But I am walking.
I will probably keep word and chapter counts updated here. Motivation for me, curiosity for my six readers.
I got in 1,553 words tonight...1st draft of chapter one.
Gotta run...the Great Wall of China is a long way away and I already have to pee.
I jumped in the water, clothes, shoes, and all (but I took enough time to place my Treo and my Ipod Touch a safe distance from the water because I love those two little machines).
I have been wanting to do it for 10 years, always putting it off for one lame excuse or another. Well tonight, I finally did it. I began to write a novel.
I do not know where it will go or how far it will take me. I don't know if anyone will ever read it or if it will sit in a trunk in my attic to be uncovered and dusted off by my grandchildren after I die.
But I have started it. It is no longer a should be doing. It is now an AM doing (I know that sentence is a grammatical travesty and I do apologize).
I will be using this blog, as well as my friends in my writer's group to keep me motivated. I know this is going to be a long, arduous journey. I feel like I have decided I want to see the Great Wall of China but have decided for some bizarre reason to WALK there...with no money...or treo...or Ipod. In other words, a long damn walk with a lot of obstacles in the way. But I am walking.
I will probably keep word and chapter counts updated here. Motivation for me, curiosity for my six readers.
I got in 1,553 words tonight...1st draft of chapter one.
Gotta run...the Great Wall of China is a long way away and I already have to pee.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Sticking my big toe into the pool...
I have stood at the edge of the great void that is my unfulfilled and until now, unvoiced dream; that of writing and publishing stories for people to read and enjoy, perhaps even be inspired by (or at least get some laughs). I have always loved to write and recently I have taken to writing here on the blog and writing down many of the silly fictions that live in my head. Some have been so awful I am surprised the computer did not shut down in disgust, refusing to have the horrible words rest upon its glowing screen, even if for only for a brief time. But others have been pretty OK I think, and have gotten positive reviews from those who have read them.
Yesterday I approached that vast, mysterious void and placed my big toe into its frigid waters.
I took one of my short stories and turned it into an eBook. It can be found living at two sites.
If you are the proud owner of a Kindle, you can pop over to Amazon.com and type my name, Brian D. Horne in the search window and they will take you to my Kindle page. Or you could just click here.
For some reason Amazon has not uploaded the description of the story to the page yet so I will include it here, and the eBooks dedication...
Teaching is a difficult profession, with its own unique set of demands and challenges. A young man who thinks he has a handle on this fact finds out one day that he is wrong. Dead wrong. While administering the state examination he finds out how difficult, and how deadly, teaching can really be.
Dedication for The Testing Police
This eBook was originally written for Val. It is also dedicated to hard working, professional educators everywhere who have to contend with the cosmic silliness that is standardized state testing.
The other site where you can find my first eBook is over at Smashwords. What I like about this site is they offer nine choices for how one can download the story. You don't have to own a Kindle. You could have another kind of digital reader or just the browser you are using to read this here blog. As my wife always says...it's all about choices!
If you have the time and are so inclined please check it out. Teachers especially will like the story I think, but you don't have to be a teacher to get and enjoy it.
If you do pick up the story, I would be eternally grateful if you could take a moment or two to review it. Either site, Amazon or Smashwords, has a section where you can let me (and the rest of the world) know what you thought about it.
Thank you for your time dear friends, I know how valuable it is.
If you DO grab and read the story, come back here and tell me what you think the note said. I look forward to reading any responses.
My toe is getting cold...time to decide if I should take my foot out of the water or just dive right in, clothes and all.
Yesterday I approached that vast, mysterious void and placed my big toe into its frigid waters.
I took one of my short stories and turned it into an eBook. It can be found living at two sites.
If you are the proud owner of a Kindle, you can pop over to Amazon.com and type my name, Brian D. Horne in the search window and they will take you to my Kindle page. Or you could just click here.
For some reason Amazon has not uploaded the description of the story to the page yet so I will include it here, and the eBooks dedication...
Teaching is a difficult profession, with its own unique set of demands and challenges. A young man who thinks he has a handle on this fact finds out one day that he is wrong. Dead wrong. While administering the state examination he finds out how difficult, and how deadly, teaching can really be.
Dedication for The Testing Police
This eBook was originally written for Val. It is also dedicated to hard working, professional educators everywhere who have to contend with the cosmic silliness that is standardized state testing.
The other site where you can find my first eBook is over at Smashwords. What I like about this site is they offer nine choices for how one can download the story. You don't have to own a Kindle. You could have another kind of digital reader or just the browser you are using to read this here blog. As my wife always says...it's all about choices!
If you have the time and are so inclined please check it out. Teachers especially will like the story I think, but you don't have to be a teacher to get and enjoy it.
If you do pick up the story, I would be eternally grateful if you could take a moment or two to review it. Either site, Amazon or Smashwords, has a section where you can let me (and the rest of the world) know what you thought about it.
Thank you for your time dear friends, I know how valuable it is.
If you DO grab and read the story, come back here and tell me what you think the note said. I look forward to reading any responses.
My toe is getting cold...time to decide if I should take my foot out of the water or just dive right in, clothes and all.
Friday, June 12, 2009
FPS Disease...act NOW...before it's too late!
Please pay attention to this very important public service announcement.
If you or someone you know suffers from this affliction there IS hope. My wife and I are starting a local Delaware support group.
Message me if you want to learn more.
If you or someone you know suffers from this affliction there IS hope. My wife and I are starting a local Delaware support group.
Message me if you want to learn more.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
On Pixar, a list.
The Wife, the Peanut, and I went to the movies a few days ago. We paid (many) shekels to see the movie in Disney 3D, a first for me. I hadn't been to a 3D movie in years, back when you had the cardboard glasses with the red and blue flimsy lenses. The technology, I am happy to say, has improved greatly. The Ray-Ban like Real 3D glasses are not only much more aesthetically pleasing than their clunky predecessors...they work better too. The Peanut was transfixed, attempting to clutch the 3D images right out of the air.
I am a huge fan of Pixar. They hooked me in 1995 when they confirmed what my inner child has always known to be true, that toys come to life when we humans get out of their way, and John Lasseter and company have yet to let me down. Their latest offering, UP, continues their streak of movie making perfection. As I always do when I see a new Pixar movie I have to decide where it falls in the pantheon of their collected work. UP is not one that I can classify right away. I enjoyed it so much that another viewing or two will be required to judge where it should fall. But in the mean time I offer this list, hoping it will inspire much debate, discussion, and ultimately, more love for these nine wonderful movies.
9. A Bug's Life.
The problem with ranking a list of films is that some film always has to come last. When I showed my list to my brother his first reaction was "Hey! I love Bug's Life. Why is it last?" Just because Bug's Life fell to number nine on my list does not mean I dislike it. The opposite is in fact true. I love A Bug's Life. The rendering of the world from an insects perspective was an amazing feat. BL has some of my all time favorite Pixar characters, which will make another excellent blog at some point. Tuck and Roll, Francis the Ladybug, and Heimlich are some of Pixar's best creations. Kevin Spacey as Hopper; one of their best villains. It is a well written story that is masterfully told in Pixar's unique way. A nine seed does not indicate dislike.
8. Ratatouille
I remember reading the premise for Ratatouille and not being very interested. A rat who likes to cook? How could I possibly care about that? At least Bug's Life had a story where oppressed ants learned to fight back and win their independence from a caste of bullying grasshoppers. But a rat who cooks? I made sure to reserve time to see it as I do with all Pixar movies, but this is the one I went into most nervous that I wouldn't like it. I was happy that my nervousness was proven unnecessary. Ratatouille works because I think many of us who have dreamed dreams that seem out of reach can instantly relate to Remy. As Ego says in the closing moments of the film "Not everyone can be a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere." Remy's rise to cooking fame, in spite of what nature bore him to be, speaks to all who dare to dream about anything. Ratatouille is fantastic, with one of my favorite scenes in any Pixar film. The old lady with the gas mask and the shotgun drives me to silly giggles each time I see it. That entire sequence is one of Pixar's best.
7. Toy Story 2
I like sequels as long as they follow three conditions:
1. They return the characters from the first film without any major changes.
2. While the characters are the same, the story is not. References to the prior film are
acceptable, but the driving force of the plot needs to be different.
3. They can introduce us to new characters that enrich the world the movie is set in, not
distract from it.
Happily, Toy Story 2 filled all three requirements. All my favorite toys were back, and the additions were great. The story, a classic buddy adventure, was well written. Excellent moments include Woody's creepy dream of being thrown away by Andy because of his broken arm, the Barbie doll guide in the toy store, any scene Wayne Knight was a part of (Newman ROCKS), the "New" Buzz, and Kelsey Grammer as Stinky Pete, one of the more subtly evil characters in any Pixar movie.
The scene where Jessie recounts for Woody the tale of her former owner Emily's growing up and what that meant for Jessie, told to the beautifully written and performed song "When She Loved Me" ranks as one of Pixar's most moving.
6. Cars
I am a NASCAR fan. I was not born one, I married into it. Still holding off on growing the mullet, but a lot of the jokes in Talladega Nights did hit uncomfortably close. I very much looked forward to the release of Cars in 2006. What's not to like about cars that not only race, but taunt each other while they do so? I knew this one was a no-brainer and I was right. It is an old story given a new shine, so to speak. Pampered, spoiled, prima donna goes through a trial and comes out on the other side humble, kind, transformed. It is a story that resonates because we all know we have things in our character that we should change or at the very least clean up and it is good to experience a world where some person (or car) is able to do so successfully. I also liked the movie's sub plot, a commentary on the death of small town America and a tribute to its memory, captured beautifully in a montage backed by James Taylor's song Our Town.
Cars also has might might be my all time favorite piece of dialogue in any Pixar film...
LIGHTNING MCQUEEN: I'm serious! He's won THREE Piston Cups!
MATER: [spits out the fuel he was drinking] He did WHAT in his cup?
Cars also has Guido, my favorite character out of any other they have created.
5. Toy Story
In some ways this will always be my sentimental favorite, the one where I was introduced to John Lasseter and Pixar magic. Rarely have I walked out of a movie theater so in awe of what I have just seen the way I did back in 1995. I was initially blown away by the animation. It was something totally new, totally original. Sure I had seen computer animation in other movies but never before had I seen the technology used to tell an entire story. It was mind blowingly awesome. I talked about it for weeks afterward, much to the annoyance of friends and family. Then, after repeated viewings in the theatre the story really began to sink in. The plot, the characters, the dialogue...so well developed. Toy Story contains one of my top three scenes out of any Pixar film. It is the scene in Sid's yard when Buzz is strapped to the rocket, awaiting a messy end. Using "zombie toys" to exact revenge on Sid makes me laugh each time I see it. In a movie filled with amazing and memorable moments, it is the one that steals the show.
4. Finding Nemo
So a young fish gets separated from his father. The father must brave the dangers of the ocean to rescue his son, who has been nabbed by a human. Much like Ratatouille, when I first read about the premise of the movie my interest was not peaked. Cute fish movies? Yeah...no thanks. But then I saw the trailer with Dory and Marlin. At that point I was hooked (pun SLIGHTLY intended). Nemo is the most visually stunning of Pixar's ten films, only the space scenes from Wall-E even come close. Nemo also has the second most touching opening, when Marlin's wife is killed protecting the newly hatched eggs. Albert Brooks, Ellen DeGeneres, Willem Dafoe, and Geoffrey Rush all turn in superb voice work as does the rest of the "tank gang". The shark support group 'Fish Eaters Anonymous' is also a personal favorite.
But the best scene in the entire film is when Darla is in the dentist's chair and everything goes haywire. As the dentist chases Nigel around the tiny room the camera cuts to a young boy sitting on a bench in the office (reading an Incredibles comic by the way) with his mother. The boy's mouth drops open into the comically universal symbol for shocked astonishment...that perfect O. The camera cuts back to the action and moments later cuts back to the lobby where other adults have begun to look in with shocked curiosity...and the boy's expression has not changed at all.
3. Monster's Incorporated
Next to Wall-E, Monster's Inc is the most original and clever story. I was afraid of monsters growing up...weren't we all? The idea that these monsters were just working stiffs, pulling a nine to five job at a power plant is creative story telling at its finest. These monsters don't really want to scare kids, not most of them anyway. It is simply a job-nothing personal. Sulley and Mike are the best two man (monster) team in the Pixar universe. Steve Buscemi as Randall is one of Pixar's best villains. The movie is as funny as it is clever. Monster's Incorporated has the best ending out of all the other films. It is the first Pixar movie that actually gave me a lump in my throat and caused a tear to trace its way down my cheek. When Sulley opens the reconstructed door and hears Boo call his name, the look of pure and unashamed joy that lights up his furry features can STILL get me when I watch it. I had never been so moved by an animated film before. And the only ones that have been able to do so since have been Pixar.
2. The Incredibles
The Incredibles held the top spot until last summer. This is one that I wanted to see as soon as I read the premise. It really captured my imagination...what WOULD super heroes do if they were no longer allowed to be supers? Super though they may be, they still put their pants (tights) on one leg at a time, like we all do. There's not much that I don't like about The Incredibles. The characters are excellent...Edna Modes is a top ten favorite. Jason Lee as Syndrome is excellent as well...I wish they hadn't offed him, as much as I did enjoy the running gag about the capes.
Who doesn't like the scene where Samuel L. Jackson's character Frozone is getting ready for a date night with his wife when the Omnidroid lumbers past his high-rise window, spewing destruction in its wake?
1. Wall-E
Wall-E is the most perfectly told story of the Pixar films. The beginning is brilliant, not a single word of dialogue, with the exception of some simple, one word communication between two robots, for more than a half hour. But lack of dialogue does not equal lack of story. Like the silent film masters of old, Andrew Stanton draws us into his story without a single complete sentence during that time. Wall-E is my second favorite Pixar creation to date (I can't imagine anyone knocking Guido off...although Dug from UP might come close). At his core he wants what we all want...to be loved. Wall-E is a love story. Yes there are those that say it is an environmental move, that it is a movie about the dangers of dependence on too much technology, that it is a movie about obese Americans, that it is a movie about solipsism. It may contain elements of all those things but for me, it is simply a wonderful story about that deepest of all needs that we all have, the longing for love and acceptance. It is funny, moving, and flawlessly executed. Wall-E is not only my top Pixar movie...it is also pretty high up on my all time best movies list as well.
So that's my list. I would really like to know what you think. Agreements, disagreements, corrections...all are welcome to jump into the comments section and contribute.
As Ego says in the closing seconds of Ratatouille, "Surprise me!" What is YOUR favorite Pixar movie?
I am a huge fan of Pixar. They hooked me in 1995 when they confirmed what my inner child has always known to be true, that toys come to life when we humans get out of their way, and John Lasseter and company have yet to let me down. Their latest offering, UP, continues their streak of movie making perfection. As I always do when I see a new Pixar movie I have to decide where it falls in the pantheon of their collected work. UP is not one that I can classify right away. I enjoyed it so much that another viewing or two will be required to judge where it should fall. But in the mean time I offer this list, hoping it will inspire much debate, discussion, and ultimately, more love for these nine wonderful movies.
9. A Bug's Life.
The problem with ranking a list of films is that some film always has to come last. When I showed my list to my brother his first reaction was "Hey! I love Bug's Life. Why is it last?" Just because Bug's Life fell to number nine on my list does not mean I dislike it. The opposite is in fact true. I love A Bug's Life. The rendering of the world from an insects perspective was an amazing feat. BL has some of my all time favorite Pixar characters, which will make another excellent blog at some point. Tuck and Roll, Francis the Ladybug, and Heimlich are some of Pixar's best creations. Kevin Spacey as Hopper; one of their best villains. It is a well written story that is masterfully told in Pixar's unique way. A nine seed does not indicate dislike.
8. Ratatouille
I remember reading the premise for Ratatouille and not being very interested. A rat who likes to cook? How could I possibly care about that? At least Bug's Life had a story where oppressed ants learned to fight back and win their independence from a caste of bullying grasshoppers. But a rat who cooks? I made sure to reserve time to see it as I do with all Pixar movies, but this is the one I went into most nervous that I wouldn't like it. I was happy that my nervousness was proven unnecessary. Ratatouille works because I think many of us who have dreamed dreams that seem out of reach can instantly relate to Remy. As Ego says in the closing moments of the film "Not everyone can be a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere." Remy's rise to cooking fame, in spite of what nature bore him to be, speaks to all who dare to dream about anything. Ratatouille is fantastic, with one of my favorite scenes in any Pixar film. The old lady with the gas mask and the shotgun drives me to silly giggles each time I see it. That entire sequence is one of Pixar's best.
7. Toy Story 2
I like sequels as long as they follow three conditions:
1. They return the characters from the first film without any major changes.
2. While the characters are the same, the story is not. References to the prior film are
acceptable, but the driving force of the plot needs to be different.
3. They can introduce us to new characters that enrich the world the movie is set in, not
distract from it.
Happily, Toy Story 2 filled all three requirements. All my favorite toys were back, and the additions were great. The story, a classic buddy adventure, was well written. Excellent moments include Woody's creepy dream of being thrown away by Andy because of his broken arm, the Barbie doll guide in the toy store, any scene Wayne Knight was a part of (Newman ROCKS), the "New" Buzz, and Kelsey Grammer as Stinky Pete, one of the more subtly evil characters in any Pixar movie.
The scene where Jessie recounts for Woody the tale of her former owner Emily's growing up and what that meant for Jessie, told to the beautifully written and performed song "When She Loved Me" ranks as one of Pixar's most moving.
6. Cars
I am a NASCAR fan. I was not born one, I married into it. Still holding off on growing the mullet, but a lot of the jokes in Talladega Nights did hit uncomfortably close. I very much looked forward to the release of Cars in 2006. What's not to like about cars that not only race, but taunt each other while they do so? I knew this one was a no-brainer and I was right. It is an old story given a new shine, so to speak. Pampered, spoiled, prima donna goes through a trial and comes out on the other side humble, kind, transformed. It is a story that resonates because we all know we have things in our character that we should change or at the very least clean up and it is good to experience a world where some person (or car) is able to do so successfully. I also liked the movie's sub plot, a commentary on the death of small town America and a tribute to its memory, captured beautifully in a montage backed by James Taylor's song Our Town.
Cars also has might might be my all time favorite piece of dialogue in any Pixar film...
LIGHTNING MCQUEEN: I'm serious! He's won THREE Piston Cups!
MATER: [spits out the fuel he was drinking] He did WHAT in his cup?
Cars also has Guido, my favorite character out of any other they have created.
5. Toy Story
In some ways this will always be my sentimental favorite, the one where I was introduced to John Lasseter and Pixar magic. Rarely have I walked out of a movie theater so in awe of what I have just seen the way I did back in 1995. I was initially blown away by the animation. It was something totally new, totally original. Sure I had seen computer animation in other movies but never before had I seen the technology used to tell an entire story. It was mind blowingly awesome. I talked about it for weeks afterward, much to the annoyance of friends and family. Then, after repeated viewings in the theatre the story really began to sink in. The plot, the characters, the dialogue...so well developed. Toy Story contains one of my top three scenes out of any Pixar film. It is the scene in Sid's yard when Buzz is strapped to the rocket, awaiting a messy end. Using "zombie toys" to exact revenge on Sid makes me laugh each time I see it. In a movie filled with amazing and memorable moments, it is the one that steals the show.
4. Finding Nemo
So a young fish gets separated from his father. The father must brave the dangers of the ocean to rescue his son, who has been nabbed by a human. Much like Ratatouille, when I first read about the premise of the movie my interest was not peaked. Cute fish movies? Yeah...no thanks. But then I saw the trailer with Dory and Marlin. At that point I was hooked (pun SLIGHTLY intended). Nemo is the most visually stunning of Pixar's ten films, only the space scenes from Wall-E even come close. Nemo also has the second most touching opening, when Marlin's wife is killed protecting the newly hatched eggs. Albert Brooks, Ellen DeGeneres, Willem Dafoe, and Geoffrey Rush all turn in superb voice work as does the rest of the "tank gang". The shark support group 'Fish Eaters Anonymous' is also a personal favorite.
But the best scene in the entire film is when Darla is in the dentist's chair and everything goes haywire. As the dentist chases Nigel around the tiny room the camera cuts to a young boy sitting on a bench in the office (reading an Incredibles comic by the way) with his mother. The boy's mouth drops open into the comically universal symbol for shocked astonishment...that perfect O. The camera cuts back to the action and moments later cuts back to the lobby where other adults have begun to look in with shocked curiosity...and the boy's expression has not changed at all.
3. Monster's Incorporated
Next to Wall-E, Monster's Inc is the most original and clever story. I was afraid of monsters growing up...weren't we all? The idea that these monsters were just working stiffs, pulling a nine to five job at a power plant is creative story telling at its finest. These monsters don't really want to scare kids, not most of them anyway. It is simply a job-nothing personal. Sulley and Mike are the best two man (monster) team in the Pixar universe. Steve Buscemi as Randall is one of Pixar's best villains. The movie is as funny as it is clever. Monster's Incorporated has the best ending out of all the other films. It is the first Pixar movie that actually gave me a lump in my throat and caused a tear to trace its way down my cheek. When Sulley opens the reconstructed door and hears Boo call his name, the look of pure and unashamed joy that lights up his furry features can STILL get me when I watch it. I had never been so moved by an animated film before. And the only ones that have been able to do so since have been Pixar.
2. The Incredibles
The Incredibles held the top spot until last summer. This is one that I wanted to see as soon as I read the premise. It really captured my imagination...what WOULD super heroes do if they were no longer allowed to be supers? Super though they may be, they still put their pants (tights) on one leg at a time, like we all do. There's not much that I don't like about The Incredibles. The characters are excellent...Edna Modes is a top ten favorite. Jason Lee as Syndrome is excellent as well...I wish they hadn't offed him, as much as I did enjoy the running gag about the capes.
Who doesn't like the scene where Samuel L. Jackson's character Frozone is getting ready for a date night with his wife when the Omnidroid lumbers past his high-rise window, spewing destruction in its wake?
1. Wall-E
Wall-E is the most perfectly told story of the Pixar films. The beginning is brilliant, not a single word of dialogue, with the exception of some simple, one word communication between two robots, for more than a half hour. But lack of dialogue does not equal lack of story. Like the silent film masters of old, Andrew Stanton draws us into his story without a single complete sentence during that time. Wall-E is my second favorite Pixar creation to date (I can't imagine anyone knocking Guido off...although Dug from UP might come close). At his core he wants what we all want...to be loved. Wall-E is a love story. Yes there are those that say it is an environmental move, that it is a movie about the dangers of dependence on too much technology, that it is a movie about obese Americans, that it is a movie about solipsism. It may contain elements of all those things but for me, it is simply a wonderful story about that deepest of all needs that we all have, the longing for love and acceptance. It is funny, moving, and flawlessly executed. Wall-E is not only my top Pixar movie...it is also pretty high up on my all time best movies list as well.
So that's my list. I would really like to know what you think. Agreements, disagreements, corrections...all are welcome to jump into the comments section and contribute.
As Ego says in the closing seconds of Ratatouille, "Surprise me!" What is YOUR favorite Pixar movie?
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