This could be worse than we thought. Apparently Ludicrous U has a 1000 acer field site and historic pioneer village complete with trails and fishing ponds. Again very suspicions! He stayed out there last weekend, and guess what he did; he went fishing and mountain biking.
Oh sure, he called it field work, but we know what he's up to-- he's OurDad. He was the personal guest of the field site's director. We'll call him Conservation Guru. The Guru lives on site in one of the historic stone pioneer houses with his dog and cat. Apparently the Guru is desperate for company and OurDad was all too willing make the Guru feel at home. Well the Guru was at home, unlike OurDad.
OurDad just raved about the place and said it had all sorts of potential, but he didn't say for what. Hey we are the ones up here in Michigan with the puppy. The whole reason we got the puppy was so OurDad would come back and see us every few weeks.
This Ludicrous U thing better be worth it because we miss OurDad.
Showing posts with label GirlChild. Show all posts
Showing posts with label GirlChild. Show all posts
Monday, September 24, 2007
Monday, September 10, 2007
Where the Hell has OurDad Been?
After a month at New U we thought OurDad would come crying home to moma, meaning GreatMom, but apparently not. Perhaps all that time being a stay-at-home dad actally taught him to take care of himself. But that still doesn't explain how he's waking up at six each morning and actually being in the classroom and ready to teach, meaning dressed, by 8- am! "I wish I was there to see it", said GreatMom. "He's never been anywhere at 8:00 in the morning if it didn't involve fishing, golfing or mountain biking."
This made us wonder: Just what is dad teaching at New U. We did a little research into New U and it doesn't look good. For one it's not new at all it's more than 100 years old, and for west of the Mississippi that's pretty old. OurDad has said they do things a little differently there, but we thought he was talking about having to teach at 8:00 in the morning. Check this they have a cycling team--very suspicious! A cycling team at a university in America that's strange and maybe unAmerican. They also list flyfishing classes in their catalog, again very suspicious. Sure OurDad says he's teaching biology there, but we think he's trying to weasel his way into teaching things like Sports Nutrition for Cycling Fitness or the Molecular Biology of the Missouri Brown trout Salmo trutta redneckii or Genetic Engineering for Golf Course Sod Management.
Let's face it there's got to be something wrong with any place that'd hire OurDad to be in charge of a group of willful twenty year olds. It's just the place for him-- Ludicrous U.
If the housing market doesn't turn around soon allowing us to move there to be with him, we may never see OurDad again because he sure won't want to leave Ludicrous U for the Old CC or the frozen waste land of Michigan.
This made us wonder: Just what is dad teaching at New U. We did a little research into New U and it doesn't look good. For one it's not new at all it's more than 100 years old, and for west of the Mississippi that's pretty old. OurDad has said they do things a little differently there, but we thought he was talking about having to teach at 8:00 in the morning. Check this they have a cycling team--very suspicious! A cycling team at a university in America that's strange and maybe unAmerican. They also list flyfishing classes in their catalog, again very suspicious. Sure OurDad says he's teaching biology there, but we think he's trying to weasel his way into teaching things like Sports Nutrition for Cycling Fitness or the Molecular Biology of the Missouri Brown trout Salmo trutta redneckii or Genetic Engineering for Golf Course Sod Management.
Let's face it there's got to be something wrong with any place that'd hire OurDad to be in charge of a group of willful twenty year olds. It's just the place for him-- Ludicrous U.
If the housing market doesn't turn around soon allowing us to move there to be with him, we may never see OurDad again because he sure won't want to leave Ludicrous U for the Old CC or the frozen waste land of Michigan.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
The Corn of Elendil
OurDad started it. He hit me with corn, but I would not give in!
Who'd have thought that fresh unshucked Michigan bicolor could be such a formidable weapon in the hands of OurDad. The first blow struck my shoulder; I ducked the next and ran. But it was no retreat: I headed around and though the living and dining room and back into the kitchen where the last remaining ear of corn lay unprotected.
OurDad had fallen for it and chased me around the house only to find me his armed equal upon his return to the kitchen. He was right on my tail, and when I grabbed the corn I wheeled on him, "Ha!" With a viscous swing I struck at him sure to end the battle with a single shocking blow, but surprise was not enough. He parried, and with two hands upon the corn he struck back. I blocked his counter and ran for the safety of the far side of the kitchen table.
From our separate sides of the table we crossed ears again and again, and then OurDad ran round the table. I fled-- the battle now spilling out of control and with GreatMom sitting peacefully at the computer in the living room the fight raged on around her. "Would you two stop it." "Never!" We both declared. On we fought I did my best to counter his attacks, but I was forced into retreat again and again by his crashing two handed strikes. Around the house we battled sending silk threads flying about the house, and as the ears continued to clash the shucks began to give way and with each new blow the sweet juicy kernels flew like sparks.
I was becoming tired and hungry, but OurDad raged on. GreatMom pleaded, but was helpless to stop us. Once out of earshot I asked "Is this what Mom means when she says, 'Don't Play with your food." OurDad laughed, and the distraction was enough. I saw an opening, and with a mighty blow I struck him square in the chest. Corn silks and juice splattered across his shirt, but it was not enough to deter him. He brought the corn down upon my head. I was showered with squished and soggy kernels. I screamed for him to stop, but drew back and parried and countered now fueled on by raw anger and raw corn. With each new blow the more sparks of kernel, shuck, silk and juice flew from our swords of maize. Until it happened. The glorious blow that should have ended it. His corn cob cracked and half of it flew across the diningroom. Victory should have been mine! But OurDad, who can't accept losing, struck back with renewed vigor, but I thwarted his attack and his corn broke again.
"HA! Surrender for I am the Lord of the Corn!", I declared.
"OK THAT"S IT," roared GreatMom. "I declare the GirlChild victorious, but you still have to help clean up this mess." she said to me, and then to OurDad she said, "And then you have to cook dinner-- including that corn."
And so with the Corn that was Broken a new age dawned an age of victorious women and girls.
Actually we just cleaned up. It was a pretty big mess with corn silks, shucks and kernels on the floor and even on furniture. Then, as commanded by GreatMom, OurDad tossed the corn into the microwave and we ate it. It was really tender. Who knew you could make Michigan's sweet bicolor even better!
It was the most fun we'd had all day-- heck all week.
We are definitely going to the Farmers Market tomorrow.
Who'd have thought that fresh unshucked Michigan bicolor could be such a formidable weapon in the hands of OurDad. The first blow struck my shoulder; I ducked the next and ran. But it was no retreat: I headed around and though the living and dining room and back into the kitchen where the last remaining ear of corn lay unprotected.
OurDad had fallen for it and chased me around the house only to find me his armed equal upon his return to the kitchen. He was right on my tail, and when I grabbed the corn I wheeled on him, "Ha!" With a viscous swing I struck at him sure to end the battle with a single shocking blow, but surprise was not enough. He parried, and with two hands upon the corn he struck back. I blocked his counter and ran for the safety of the far side of the kitchen table.
From our separate sides of the table we crossed ears again and again, and then OurDad ran round the table. I fled-- the battle now spilling out of control and with GreatMom sitting peacefully at the computer in the living room the fight raged on around her. "Would you two stop it." "Never!" We both declared. On we fought I did my best to counter his attacks, but I was forced into retreat again and again by his crashing two handed strikes. Around the house we battled sending silk threads flying about the house, and as the ears continued to clash the shucks began to give way and with each new blow the sweet juicy kernels flew like sparks.
I was becoming tired and hungry, but OurDad raged on. GreatMom pleaded, but was helpless to stop us. Once out of earshot I asked "Is this what Mom means when she says, 'Don't Play with your food." OurDad laughed, and the distraction was enough. I saw an opening, and with a mighty blow I struck him square in the chest. Corn silks and juice splattered across his shirt, but it was not enough to deter him. He brought the corn down upon my head. I was showered with squished and soggy kernels. I screamed for him to stop, but drew back and parried and countered now fueled on by raw anger and raw corn. With each new blow the more sparks of kernel, shuck, silk and juice flew from our swords of maize. Until it happened. The glorious blow that should have ended it. His corn cob cracked and half of it flew across the diningroom. Victory should have been mine! But OurDad, who can't accept losing, struck back with renewed vigor, but I thwarted his attack and his corn broke again.
"HA! Surrender for I am the Lord of the Corn!", I declared.
"OK THAT"S IT," roared GreatMom. "I declare the GirlChild victorious, but you still have to help clean up this mess." she said to me, and then to OurDad she said, "And then you have to cook dinner-- including that corn."
And so with the Corn that was Broken a new age dawned an age of victorious women and girls.
Actually we just cleaned up. It was a pretty big mess with corn silks, shucks and kernels on the floor and even on furniture. Then, as commanded by GreatMom, OurDad tossed the corn into the microwave and we ate it. It was really tender. Who knew you could make Michigan's sweet bicolor even better!
It was the most fun we'd had all day-- heck all week.
We are definitely going to the Farmers Market tomorrow.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Viva le Tour or We can watch Sponge Bob Again
Viva Le Tour...
The end of it that its! When le Tour (de France that is) rolls into Paris is cause for celebration. The bike race is over and we can watch TV again. OurDad doesn't just watch le Tour-- he lives it. In the morning during what he thinks is the "live" broadcast he sets up his trainer in front of the TV and rides his bike along with the boys in the peleton. So we can't watch Sponge Bob in the morning. Then when that broadcast is over he gets around to getting us something to eat so we can start our day at 11:00. But before we know it it's time for the afternoon broadcast so he makes us play outside!
So you'd think by evening we get a crack at the TV, but noooo. Unbelievably he's got GreatMom hooked on this le Tour thing too. So in the evening it's on again so she can watch it. Thanks Versus. Lucky for us OurDad's not into bull riding or extreme cage fighting.
If you don't know much about le tour then you may not understand our frustration. This bike race lasts three weeks-- all of July year in and year out. Can you imagine our pain: we are forced to play out side for nearly the entire month of July-- in Michigan!
Viva le end of le Tour!
However, le Tour isn't the only tour and now I think I know why OurDad is trying to move us all to Missouri. At first I thought this was some kind of redneck joke but apparently it's billed as the #3 race in the country and the Dico boys will be there!
Actually we still think this "Tour of Missouri" may be the biggest punk in cycling history. I want to see the looks on George and Levi's faces when they see the Missourah bicicle race. I just hope this one's not on Versus.
The end of it that its! When le Tour (de France that is) rolls into Paris is cause for celebration. The bike race is over and we can watch TV again. OurDad doesn't just watch le Tour-- he lives it. In the morning during what he thinks is the "live" broadcast he sets up his trainer in front of the TV and rides his bike along with the boys in the peleton. So we can't watch Sponge Bob in the morning. Then when that broadcast is over he gets around to getting us something to eat so we can start our day at 11:00. But before we know it it's time for the afternoon broadcast so he makes us play outside!
So you'd think by evening we get a crack at the TV, but noooo. Unbelievably he's got GreatMom hooked on this le Tour thing too. So in the evening it's on again so she can watch it. Thanks Versus. Lucky for us OurDad's not into bull riding or extreme cage fighting.
If you don't know much about le tour then you may not understand our frustration. This bike race lasts three weeks-- all of July year in and year out. Can you imagine our pain: we are forced to play out side for nearly the entire month of July-- in Michigan!
Viva le end of le Tour!
However, le Tour isn't the only tour and now I think I know why OurDad is trying to move us all to Missouri. At first I thought this was some kind of redneck joke but apparently it's billed as the #3 race in the country and the Dico boys will be there!
Actually we still think this "Tour of Missouri" may be the biggest punk in cycling history. I want to see the looks on George and Levi's faces when they see the Missourah bicicle race. I just hope this one's not on Versus.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
What? OurDad is Going to St. Louis without Us?
We knew being a professor at New U was important to OurDad and even GreatMom wanted to move back to St. Louis, but if he's going without us that's not exactly moving to St. Louis. On one hand it's great we don't have to leave our friends. But how are we supposed to keep this blog going if we can observe OurDad doing ridiculous things like moving to St. Louis without us!
The excuse we being fed is something about supply and demand and 17 houses for sale, including four foreclosures, in our neighborhood. We didn't want an economics lesson we just wanted to know why OurDad is "going to St. Louis ahead of us."
We are also wondering if this has anything to do with the puppy we were promised when we all got to St. Louis...
The excuse we being fed is something about supply and demand and 17 houses for sale, including four foreclosures, in our neighborhood. We didn't want an economics lesson we just wanted to know why OurDad is "going to St. Louis ahead of us."
We are also wondering if this has anything to do with the puppy we were promised when we all got to St. Louis...
The Blackout has been lifted!
Because OurDad is finished reading Harry Potter.
All week last week he kept us underground-- no TV, Internet or newspapers-- just to keep anyone from spoiling it. Now were making him read it out loud to us because he would let us even touch at all over the weekend as he hid in his room only appearing for meals and to go to the bathroom. He doesn't even do this when a new Philip Roth novel comes out.
He's just crazy, Harry Potter Crazy!
All week last week he kept us underground-- no TV, Internet or newspapers-- just to keep anyone from spoiling it. Now were making him read it out loud to us because he would let us even touch at all over the weekend as he hid in his room only appearing for meals and to go to the bathroom. He doesn't even do this when a new Philip Roth novel comes out.
He's just crazy, Harry Potter Crazy!
Thursday, July 05, 2007
It's Cheaper and More Fun than Genetic Paternity Testing
We went to pick up OurDad's Pickup on Tuesday. For those of you following the Tora, Tora, Tora saga Quality Auto of Fruitport, Michigan was able to fix OurDad's truck for just $260! And after we paid for the repairs we went to Michigan Adventure. We were planning on going to the beach, but GreatMom was in a very rare spontaneous mood so went went for it. So what if it's more expensive than the beach, it's a lot less than Cedar Point.
We went to the water park first. The BoyChild and I hung out in the wave pools, but it got cloudy so it was too cold to turn blue and shiver in the lines for the water slides. That's a Michigan summer day, sunny and warm one minute and teeth chattering the next. I swear a Michigan tan comes in various shades of blue. No wonder we had the place nearly to ourselves. Since it was cold we decided to get out of our freezing wet swimsuits and back into our clothes so we could go eat lunch and ride the rides. After lunch, of course, the sun came back out, but GreatMom had packed our suits away in the Honda and was strolling back to the park at a pace we could hardly keep up with. She hadn't joined us in the wave pools claiming it was too cold, but we saw her gazing longingly toward the roller coasters at the other end of the park. There was no getting back into our suits no matter how hot it got.
I said I'd try a small one. I kind of like rides if they aren't too big, but OurDad and the BoyChild refused to ride anything. "Dear, I don't think the sensation of careening of a ledge is entertaining," said OurDad. "I think Dad's right. I don't think car crashes are fun," said the BoyChild trying to make it sound perfectly smart to pay $24 to watch everyone else ride the rides. "Well at least someone is brave enough to go with me," said great Mom as she grabbed my arm and drug me toward the Mad Mouse. At least she didn't try to make me ride the Shivering Timbers. The Mad Mouse was ok, but that only encouraged her, and she made me ride the log thing. At the very top, with the boys safe on the ground, I asked Mom if I could get off and walk down. She laughed at me as we started to fall off the Earth and I screamed. She said, "you and your brother are definitely your father's children."
We didn't have to wait long while we watched GreatMom ride every coaster in the park. Thank God almost no one else in Michigan likes roller coasters either, that's why the park was so empty. But as scary as those rides look she sure seemed happy that afternoon. Our Dad said they could close Guantanamo and send all those terrorists to amusement parks around the country. After a few round trips strapped into some of our nations best roller coasters they'd tell us anything we'd want to hear, some may even be screaming for Jesus.
It was a real bonding experience being there safe on the ground with OurDad. He said that even though GreatMom was so strange we shouldn't make fun of her for it.
We went to the water park first. The BoyChild and I hung out in the wave pools, but it got cloudy so it was too cold to turn blue and shiver in the lines for the water slides. That's a Michigan summer day, sunny and warm one minute and teeth chattering the next. I swear a Michigan tan comes in various shades of blue. No wonder we had the place nearly to ourselves. Since it was cold we decided to get out of our freezing wet swimsuits and back into our clothes so we could go eat lunch and ride the rides. After lunch, of course, the sun came back out, but GreatMom had packed our suits away in the Honda and was strolling back to the park at a pace we could hardly keep up with. She hadn't joined us in the wave pools claiming it was too cold, but we saw her gazing longingly toward the roller coasters at the other end of the park. There was no getting back into our suits no matter how hot it got.
I said I'd try a small one. I kind of like rides if they aren't too big, but OurDad and the BoyChild refused to ride anything. "Dear, I don't think the sensation of careening of a ledge is entertaining," said OurDad. "I think Dad's right. I don't think car crashes are fun," said the BoyChild trying to make it sound perfectly smart to pay $24 to watch everyone else ride the rides. "Well at least someone is brave enough to go with me," said great Mom as she grabbed my arm and drug me toward the Mad Mouse. At least she didn't try to make me ride the Shivering Timbers. The Mad Mouse was ok, but that only encouraged her, and she made me ride the log thing. At the very top, with the boys safe on the ground, I asked Mom if I could get off and walk down. She laughed at me as we started to fall off the Earth and I screamed. She said, "you and your brother are definitely your father's children."
We didn't have to wait long while we watched GreatMom ride every coaster in the park. Thank God almost no one else in Michigan likes roller coasters either, that's why the park was so empty. But as scary as those rides look she sure seemed happy that afternoon. Our Dad said they could close Guantanamo and send all those terrorists to amusement parks around the country. After a few round trips strapped into some of our nations best roller coasters they'd tell us anything we'd want to hear, some may even be screaming for Jesus.
It was a real bonding experience being there safe on the ground with OurDad. He said that even though GreatMom was so strange we shouldn't make fun of her for it.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Let Them Eat Cake
Hey now I think I know why they killed that French lady for giving everyone cake, they wanted ice cream!
Sunday was my birthday party, it wasn't actually my birthday, and so OurDad kept calling it my pseudobirthday. Other than that OurDad behaved, he really loves me. He even helped everyone skate since most of my friends can't ice skate. I knew lots of them couldn't skate, but I wanted an ice skating party before I left Michigan for Missouri where there isn't any ice--especially with global warming! Anyway we had pizza and chocolate cake, and there was lot's left over. So that's all we've eaten for a couple days pizza and chocolate cake. Cake, Cake, Cake, Pizza, Pizza, Pizza! I'm sick of it. Yesterday we had pizza for breakfast and lunch and dinner. Today we said, "we weren't eating pizza for breakfast!" So OurDad said we could eat Cake. The BoyChild thought this was great, but I wanted ice cream.
"Dad, what's the difference? Cake and ice cream are really for dessert so if you can eat cake for breakfast why can't you eat ice cream for breakfast?" Usually this type of logic works on OurDad. He thought for a moment and said, "it's too cold. Ice cream is too cold, you just can't eat food that's that cold for breakfast."
"Fine," I said, "then I'll have hot chocolate!" And he actually made me hot chocolate. I was being sarcastic! It's only supposed to reach 92 degrees today. That's why I want ice cream for breakfast!
I'm going back to bed until after breakfast so I can have ice cream.
Sunday was my birthday party, it wasn't actually my birthday, and so OurDad kept calling it my pseudobirthday. Other than that OurDad behaved, he really loves me. He even helped everyone skate since most of my friends can't ice skate. I knew lots of them couldn't skate, but I wanted an ice skating party before I left Michigan for Missouri where there isn't any ice--especially with global warming! Anyway we had pizza and chocolate cake, and there was lot's left over. So that's all we've eaten for a couple days pizza and chocolate cake. Cake, Cake, Cake, Pizza, Pizza, Pizza! I'm sick of it. Yesterday we had pizza for breakfast and lunch and dinner. Today we said, "we weren't eating pizza for breakfast!" So OurDad said we could eat Cake. The BoyChild thought this was great, but I wanted ice cream.
"Dad, what's the difference? Cake and ice cream are really for dessert so if you can eat cake for breakfast why can't you eat ice cream for breakfast?" Usually this type of logic works on OurDad. He thought for a moment and said, "it's too cold. Ice cream is too cold, you just can't eat food that's that cold for breakfast."
"Fine," I said, "then I'll have hot chocolate!" And he actually made me hot chocolate. I was being sarcastic! It's only supposed to reach 92 degrees today. That's why I want ice cream for breakfast!
I'm going back to bed until after breakfast so I can have ice cream.
Environmental Science Proves It or To Pee or not to Pee
Last week OurDad took his Environmental Science class to a waste water treatment facility. That's where all the water in your house or business goes to be cleaned up before it's released back into the environment.
This sounds appropriate for an environmental science class, but not in the hands of OurDad. The first hint of trouble was that he entitled the field trip, "What Happens When You Flush." Gross!
Ok so it is about poo water, and the students were grossed out-- like they don't poo-- but the facility's manager told them it's not just toilet water, "it's dish water, shower water, anything that goes down the drain." At these words OurDad was enraptured by an epiphany: "So it's ok to pee in the shower!" he thought out loud.
Great environmental science makes the planet safe from OurDad's pee. What's next the pool?
Be sure to see OurDad's side of this one in the comments.
This sounds appropriate for an environmental science class, but not in the hands of OurDad. The first hint of trouble was that he entitled the field trip, "What Happens When You Flush." Gross!
Ok so it is about poo water, and the students were grossed out-- like they don't poo-- but the facility's manager told them it's not just toilet water, "it's dish water, shower water, anything that goes down the drain." At these words OurDad was enraptured by an epiphany: "So it's ok to pee in the shower!" he thought out loud.
Great environmental science makes the planet safe from OurDad's pee. What's next the pool?
Be sure to see OurDad's side of this one in the comments.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Looking out for OurDad
Were not sure yet how we'll be referring to OurDad's new school on our anonymous blog (so he doesn't get fired), but we have been doing few searches around the web to get the scoop on the school. One thing's for sure it's a jock school. It's not a Div 1 school so we figure (hope) they really are student athletes. I checked to see if they had a skating team, but no such luck. I just hope he doesn't want us to go watch the water polo matches with him.
Speaking of water polo we found these posts the other day at the rate your students blog about administration-sponsored student-faculty get togethers. As of yet we can't verify whether or not either is about OurDad's new school. However, if they are there could be trouble.
We see several problems with these supposed get to know your prof schemes.
When we get to Missouri OurDad will be too busy unpaking our stuff to be helping students move into their dorm rooms. They are big strong kids their parents can carry their stuff up to their rooms.
I'm not too sure GreatMom would like it if OurDad attended the new-student pool party, but I'm sure he'd love it.
Although we're big Harry Potter fans I don't really care if the students think he's more like Professor Snape or Professor Lupin. I happen to know he's a squib.
I'm quite sure GreatMom would not be happy to learn that we had moved to Missouri so that OurDad could host a faculty cast for a sex ed rendition of the Hollywood Stars. I'm not sure if they'd give him a script, but I'm sure he'd rely on all those sick Philip Roth books like The Breast, or The Professor of Desire for material.
I have no idea what he's gotten himself into, but please please God whatever don't let it make him even crazier.
Speaking of water polo we found these posts the other day at the rate your students blog about administration-sponsored student-faculty get togethers. As of yet we can't verify whether or not either is about OurDad's new school. However, if they are there could be trouble.
We see several problems with these supposed get to know your prof schemes.
When we get to Missouri OurDad will be too busy unpaking our stuff to be helping students move into their dorm rooms. They are big strong kids their parents can carry their stuff up to their rooms.
I'm not too sure GreatMom would like it if OurDad attended the new-student pool party, but I'm sure he'd love it.
Although we're big Harry Potter fans I don't really care if the students think he's more like Professor Snape or Professor Lupin. I happen to know he's a squib.
I'm quite sure GreatMom would not be happy to learn that we had moved to Missouri so that OurDad could host a faculty cast for a sex ed rendition of the Hollywood Stars. I'm not sure if they'd give him a script, but I'm sure he'd rely on all those sick Philip Roth books like The Breast, or The Professor of Desire for material.
I have no idea what he's gotten himself into, but please please God whatever don't let it make him even crazier.
Books Have Gone to his Head or This Move is Driving him Crazy
In addition to all the things OurDad is trying to get done around the house so we can sell it and move OurDad has been trying to prepare the BoyChlid and me for life in Missouri. And it's working. We like Tom Sawyer. OurDad said Mark Twain wrote another book about Tom Sawyer and we'd get to read it some day. Instantly Missouri sounded like a better place.
"Dad, when's the next Tom Sawyer book come out?" I thought Missouri had it's own redneck Harry Potter and JK Rowling!
OurDad said, "I'm sorry sweety, but he stopped writing books about Tom and his friends along time ago."
"Deary Mark Train lived about a hundred years ago. He's not going to be writing anymore books," GreatMom tried to clarify. I didn't think that could be true; Tom wasn't a caveman, but if mom says so. Then OurDad corrected her. "What are you talking about that old Tralfamadorian has lots of books left in him. "
"Tralfa what--"
"They are an alien race of time travelers." Now the BoyChild was interested, and before he realized his mistake he had asked. "What's Tralfa whaters got to do with Mark Twain?" I hit him. Now we were in for some crazy lecture about literature, but this time with extraterrestrials. It went something like this.
Mark Twain is just a fake author name, a nomdeplume, for Samuel Longhorne Clemens which is probably not his real name either. OurDad claims he's the same person who writes under the name Kurt Vonnegut Jr.--the junior part being a nice touch to throw people off-- and Kilgore Trout. Vonnegut, or whoever he is, in his 1969 book Slaughterhouse-Five described his race, the Tralfamadorians. Thus, according to OurDad, exposing just how the same man could write two collections of books with a span of one hundred years separating them. OurDad says the evidence is in the writing and subject matter: both writers have novels that depend heavily on a very similar use of the first person narrative, and both authors rage against technology and man's inhumanity to man. They both rely in one liners and were essayists at heart. And they both were fascinated with time travel, Twain's Connecticut Yankee and Vonnegut's Timequake and Slaughterhouse-Five. What's known of both men's personalities fits the hypothesis too, both were bipolar subject to massive bouts of depression. Probably because they knew humanities rotten future. But most of all look at them!
Finally GreatMom had had enough, "so basically you're saying that Kurt Twain, or is it Mark Vonnegut, is proof of extraterrestrial intelligence."
"Yeah, pretty much. It's not as exciting as Star Wars, but humans can't write like that guy."
At times I think we're headed to Misery not Missouri.
"Dad, when's the next Tom Sawyer book come out?" I thought Missouri had it's own redneck Harry Potter and JK Rowling!
OurDad said, "I'm sorry sweety, but he stopped writing books about Tom and his friends along time ago."
"Deary Mark Train lived about a hundred years ago. He's not going to be writing anymore books," GreatMom tried to clarify. I didn't think that could be true; Tom wasn't a caveman, but if mom says so. Then OurDad corrected her. "What are you talking about that old Tralfamadorian has lots of books left in him. "
"Tralfa what--"
"They are an alien race of time travelers." Now the BoyChild was interested, and before he realized his mistake he had asked. "What's Tralfa whaters got to do with Mark Twain?" I hit him. Now we were in for some crazy lecture about literature, but this time with extraterrestrials. It went something like this.
Mark Twain is just a fake author name, a nomdeplume, for Samuel Longhorne Clemens which is probably not his real name either. OurDad claims he's the same person who writes under the name Kurt Vonnegut Jr.--the junior part being a nice touch to throw people off-- and Kilgore Trout. Vonnegut, or whoever he is, in his 1969 book Slaughterhouse-Five described his race, the Tralfamadorians. Thus, according to OurDad, exposing just how the same man could write two collections of books with a span of one hundred years separating them. OurDad says the evidence is in the writing and subject matter: both writers have novels that depend heavily on a very similar use of the first person narrative, and both authors rage against technology and man's inhumanity to man. They both rely in one liners and were essayists at heart. And they both were fascinated with time travel, Twain's Connecticut Yankee and Vonnegut's Timequake and Slaughterhouse-Five. What's known of both men's personalities fits the hypothesis too, both were bipolar subject to massive bouts of depression. Probably because they knew humanities rotten future. But most of all look at them!
Finally GreatMom had had enough, "so basically you're saying that Kurt Twain, or is it Mark Vonnegut, is proof of extraterrestrial intelligence."
"Yeah, pretty much. It's not as exciting as Star Wars, but humans can't write like that guy."
At times I think we're headed to Misery not Missouri.
Monday, May 14, 2007
It works for removing paint too -- OurDads Mother's Day
Maybe OurDad has got this WWTSD thing down. That's, What Would Tom Sawyer Do?
Yesterday was Mother's Day and all great Mom wanted was to see us work. Ok it was her special day, and it was only one day.
She wanted me to finish my Picasso reproduction, which was late. In fact, OurDad said if I didn't finish it I'd be placed in a third grade art class when I started fourth grade at my new school in St. Louis. She wanted the BoyChild to clean his room-- no small feat considering the four thousand Lego pieces he uses for carpet. And all she wanted OurDad to do was power wash the deck. She swore, no chocolates or flowers. I made a card for her at school, and I let the BoyChild and OurDad glom on to it. Hey at least they did the work GreatMom wanted-- sort of.
First of all I want to state that I did finish my Picasso, and that he was crazy, just crazy. Look at this. Very inappropriate. The BoyChild he cleaned more than half his room, which was actually more than expected. So basically we did our part for Mother's Day. And that deck is totally cleaned and ready for a new coat of stain, but OurDad didn't do all the work.
GreatMom had borrowed a huge gas-powered power washer so OurDad could help get the house ready to sell. It just blasts the stain right off the deck with a jet of water like some military issue squirt gun. It looked really cool, and OurDad made using it look like so much fun GreatMom had to try it, and he let her finish off the deck.
It was Mother's Day and OurDad had her outside power washing the deck. Tom Sawyer's got nothing on OurDad!
Yesterday was Mother's Day and all great Mom wanted was to see us work. Ok it was her special day, and it was only one day.
She wanted me to finish my Picasso reproduction, which was late. In fact, OurDad said if I didn't finish it I'd be placed in a third grade art class when I started fourth grade at my new school in St. Louis. She wanted the BoyChild to clean his room-- no small feat considering the four thousand Lego pieces he uses for carpet. And all she wanted OurDad to do was power wash the deck. She swore, no chocolates or flowers. I made a card for her at school, and I let the BoyChild and OurDad glom on to it. Hey at least they did the work GreatMom wanted-- sort of.
First of all I want to state that I did finish my Picasso, and that he was crazy, just crazy. Look at this. Very inappropriate. The BoyChild he cleaned more than half his room, which was actually more than expected. So basically we did our part for Mother's Day. And that deck is totally cleaned and ready for a new coat of stain, but OurDad didn't do all the work.
GreatMom had borrowed a huge gas-powered power washer so OurDad could help get the house ready to sell. It just blasts the stain right off the deck with a jet of water like some military issue squirt gun. It looked really cool, and OurDad made using it look like so much fun GreatMom had to try it, and he let her finish off the deck.
It was Mother's Day and OurDad had her outside power washing the deck. Tom Sawyer's got nothing on OurDad!
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Not sure what's up
Finally we get to use the computer. Sorry we havn't posted in a couple days. I'm not sure what's going on, but OurDad and GreatMom have both been hogging the computer. I'm not sure what they are up too. Even poetry seems to have taken a back seat this week. And just when I was starting to get into this Poetry Month thing.
Last Friday OurDad took us to a poetry contest he helped judge. The BoyChild played his Gameboy, and tried to pretend he was not paying attention. I sat right up front with OurDad. Some of them were good, and OurDad didn't even act goofy. He was all serious Judging poetry. It was strange.
I even started a poem about OurDad's pancakes. OurDad makes the best pancakes in the whole world.
Anyway The BoyChild and I are on spring break this week, and OurDad and GreatMom just decided we'd run to St. Louis for a couple days to see Grandma and Grandma and Grandpa and Grandpa.
Last Friday OurDad took us to a poetry contest he helped judge. The BoyChild played his Gameboy, and tried to pretend he was not paying attention. I sat right up front with OurDad. Some of them were good, and OurDad didn't even act goofy. He was all serious Judging poetry. It was strange.
I even started a poem about OurDad's pancakes. OurDad makes the best pancakes in the whole world.
Anyway The BoyChild and I are on spring break this week, and OurDad and GreatMom just decided we'd run to St. Louis for a couple days to see Grandma and Grandma and Grandpa and Grandpa.
Friday, April 06, 2007
More like Jack Frost
OurDad told us about his favorite spring poem the other day. I think I'm starting to get this poetry stuff now. This is just so fitting for our current freezing Easter weather.
Nothing Gold Can Stay
No kidding-- nothing gold can stay-- not when it's frozen! I think OurDad's got the poet's first name wrong. This must be the Jack Frost anthem! Crazy!
Nothing Gold Can Stay
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
-- Robert Frost
No kidding-- nothing gold can stay-- not when it's frozen! I think OurDad's got the poet's first name wrong. This must be the Jack Frost anthem! Crazy!
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Probably not the place to start.
Ok even OurDad says this one's a bit too much. I think you'd need two Ph D's to understand T.S Eliot's The Waste Land. Really OurDad's got one and he doesn't get this poem either.
If you ask me it's all wrong from the start. April is the cruelest month? I thought maybe this Eliot guy was from the southern hemisphere where the seasons are all reversed, but OurDad told us that he's from our old home town, St. Louis, but that he moved to England. What a turncoat! The snow is gone, Easter is coming, it's warm again, and most important the Cardinals are back for opening day in April. What kind of St. Louisan doesn't like April and the return of our beloved Cardinal baseball.
OurDad tried to explain something about irony, but I think the guy's off his rocker.
The poem's about a thousand lines long, but you can see where it's going right away so I just copied the first few lines. Oh and I took out all the crazy Latin and Greek at the beginning too. Crazy, just crazy.
If you ask me it's all wrong from the start. April is the cruelest month? I thought maybe this Eliot guy was from the southern hemisphere where the seasons are all reversed, but OurDad told us that he's from our old home town, St. Louis, but that he moved to England. What a turncoat! The snow is gone, Easter is coming, it's warm again, and most important the Cardinals are back for opening day in April. What kind of St. Louisan doesn't like April and the return of our beloved Cardinal baseball.
OurDad tried to explain something about irony, but I think the guy's off his rocker.
The poem's about a thousand lines long, but you can see where it's going right away so I just copied the first few lines. Oh and I took out all the crazy Latin and Greek at the beginning too. Crazy, just crazy.
The Waste Land APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding | |
| Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing | |
| Memory and desire, stirring | |
| Dull roots with spring rain. | |
| Winter kept us warm, covering | 5 |
| Earth in forgetful snow, feeding | |
| A little life with dried tubers. |
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
It's Genetic!!! That's OurDad's Dad
Grandpa got the Girl Scout cookies I sent him last week, and the Valentines I sent too.
GreatMom found this great Valentine's craft. You get a cookie sheet with heart shape molds and you fill the molds with broken crayons and bake them at 250 degrees for 10 to 15 minutes and then you let them cool. And you have these great heart shaped crayons. They work and everything.
Popping them out of the molds is a little tricky, but OurDad figured out that a couple minutes in the freezer solves that problem. He is kind of smart about that science stuff-- something about things contracting when their cold... bla, bla , bla...
They are so cool. GreatMom and I made batches five batches of them in one day! Then we started running out of the valentine's colors, but it was too much fun just to stop so we kept making more with greens, and browns, and tans and blue crayons. They came out kind of ugly compared to the pretty pink and red and white swirly ones.
Anyway I had all these really cool gifts to give out with my Valentine's day cards this year at school. We had lots left over, and OurDad said GrandMa would get a kick out of them so we sent her all the ones we had left. It just happened to be GS cookie time so we sent them with our cookies.
Anyway OurDad's Dad got the Cookies and the chocolate hearts today, or what he thought were chocolate hearts. Below is a excerpt form today's email from OurDad's Dad.
the cookies arrived today and they are great, however there was a sandwich bag with some heart shaped candy and I thought how nice, the kids made candy hearts and sent them to us. So I ate one and had to spit it out and get an tooth pick to clean the wax from my teeth. I showed them to your mother and she looked at them carefully and said they are crayons. I knew the taste and smell were familiar.
Now life makes so much more sense.
That's OurDad's Dad...
GreatMom found this great Valentine's craft. You get a cookie sheet with heart shape molds and you fill the molds with broken crayons and bake them at 250 degrees for 10 to 15 minutes and then you let them cool. And you have these great heart shaped crayons. They work and everything.
Popping them out of the molds is a little tricky, but OurDad figured out that a couple minutes in the freezer solves that problem. He is kind of smart about that science stuff-- something about things contracting when their cold... bla, bla , bla...
They are so cool. GreatMom and I made batches five batches of them in one day! Then we started running out of the valentine's colors, but it was too much fun just to stop so we kept making more with greens, and browns, and tans and blue crayons. They came out kind of ugly compared to the pretty pink and red and white swirly ones.
Anyway I had all these really cool gifts to give out with my Valentine's day cards this year at school. We had lots left over, and OurDad said GrandMa would get a kick out of them so we sent her all the ones we had left. It just happened to be GS cookie time so we sent them with our cookies.
Anyway OurDad's Dad got the Cookies and the chocolate hearts today, or what he thought were chocolate hearts. Below is a excerpt form today's email from OurDad's Dad.
the cookies arrived today and they are great, however there was a sandwich bag with some heart shaped candy and I thought how nice, the kids made candy hearts and sent them to us. So I ate one and had to spit it out and get an tooth pick to clean the wax from my teeth. I showed them to your mother and she looked at them carefully and said they are crayons. I knew the taste and smell were familiar.
Now life makes so much more sense.
That's OurDad's Dad...
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Why does OurDad have talk to everybody at the library?
A trip to the library with OurDad can be a real problem. If we're staying a while it's not so bad; I just find some books and DVD's and the BoyChild and I play some computer games while OurDad is off doing god-knows-what amongst the stacks of books, and he doesn't bother us. But if it's a quick run... Well there is no quick run to the library with OurDad. He has to talk to all the librarians, bla bla bla. I'm not knocking our WoundTight Township Library, it's one of the top 100 public libraries in the country, but please WTT librarians could you stop talking to OurDad, you're only encouraging him. We have a life outside of books!
It's only the library you say? Judge for yourself: The other day OurDad I was walking into the WTT library with OurDad and he said, "I love the library; it's just an orgy of books."
Whatever that is I know it's something disgusting...
It's only the library you say? Judge for yourself: The other day OurDad I was walking into the WTT library with OurDad and he said, "I love the library; it's just an orgy of books."
Whatever that is I know it's something disgusting...
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Much Ado About Something
The other night Great Mom and OurDad rented the DVD of Shakespear's Much Ado About Nothing the Kenneth Branagh film version to show us where they got the name Beatrice.
It's a great comedy about denial and love or denial of love. I could tell form the opening scenes that Great Mom and OurDad got it right: Beatrice, the character, was a sassy barker that had to let everyone know her opinion. That's just like our Bea-- some one would start an argument, and she'd try to finish it. And boy was that woman in denial. It's sooo funny kind of like how a certain dog lived in denial of actually being a dog.
It's a great comedy about denial and love or denial of love. I could tell form the opening scenes that Great Mom and OurDad got it right: Beatrice, the character, was a sassy barker that had to let everyone know her opinion. That's just like our Bea-- some one would start an argument, and she'd try to finish it. And boy was that woman in denial. It's sooo funny kind of like how a certain dog lived in denial of actually being a dog.
Where have we been?
Dear Readers,
Some of you have expressed concern for our absence here in the blogisphere. It's true we didn't felt like blogging when our Beatrice left us, but we have been feeling better for the past week or two.
So why so quiet. It's OurDad's fault of course!
OurDad has some new LitLand project, and it's for the internet. He never gets off the computer now! Really it's worse than usual. GreatMom had to threaten him so she could get on the computer to figure out how much money we owe this extortionist nicknamed Uncle Sam.
We aren't allowed to tell anyone about the project yet, but OurDad says it will be on the internet by April 1.
We're not sure, but we suspect it's some kind of joke.
Some of you have expressed concern for our absence here in the blogisphere. It's true we didn't felt like blogging when our Beatrice left us, but we have been feeling better for the past week or two.
So why so quiet. It's OurDad's fault of course!
OurDad has some new LitLand project, and it's for the internet. He never gets off the computer now! Really it's worse than usual. GreatMom had to threaten him so she could get on the computer to figure out how much money we owe this extortionist nicknamed Uncle Sam.
We aren't allowed to tell anyone about the project yet, but OurDad says it will be on the internet by April 1.
We're not sure, but we suspect it's some kind of joke.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
OurDad and the Copycat Germs
Friday OurDad elevated the Microbial Alert to condition Scarlet. This means active infections and it takes us from the eradication plan to antibiotics. Both the BoyChild and I have step throat. Streptococcal pharyngitis caused by Streptococcus pyogenes says OurDad (and yes he made me type that in italics).
Now at this point I should let you know aside from being a germ freak and a microbiologist OurDad is an microbial geneticist. Which basically means he knows who they evolve. Anyway he loves to preach doom and gloom about the antibiotic era comming to an end. He goes into this whole Darwinian diatribe about the evolution of bacterial resistance to antibiotics... Click the link if you want, but I'll spare you.
Anyway with us at condition scarlet he's worse than ever, "Damn the Lysol." Ok it was our pediatrician that prescribed the BoyChild and I antibiotics, but then OurDad calls his internist, "My kids have strep and I've kind of got a sore throat." What a copycat.
Give me a break he just wanted the drugs, and you know what they gave them to him, sight unseen. That's some doctor that can diagnose strep over the phone. So now everyone but GreatMom is on antibiotics.
So dad what was all that contempt for the prophylactic use of antibiotics. Prudent use, in theory only.
Now at this point I should let you know aside from being a germ freak and a microbiologist OurDad is an microbial geneticist. Which basically means he knows who they evolve. Anyway he loves to preach doom and gloom about the antibiotic era comming to an end. He goes into this whole Darwinian diatribe about the evolution of bacterial resistance to antibiotics... Click the link if you want, but I'll spare you.
Anyway with us at condition scarlet he's worse than ever, "Damn the Lysol." Ok it was our pediatrician that prescribed the BoyChild and I antibiotics, but then OurDad calls his internist, "My kids have strep and I've kind of got a sore throat." What a copycat.
Give me a break he just wanted the drugs, and you know what they gave them to him, sight unseen. That's some doctor that can diagnose strep over the phone. So now everyone but GreatMom is on antibiotics.
So dad what was all that contempt for the prophylactic use of antibiotics. Prudent use, in theory only.
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