Child is the Father of the Man

Last night I was working on a project after the kids went to bed. Matilda was reading in her room and Gertrude was lying in her bed, thrashing about like a fish dragged out of the water and dropped on a dock. She has a strange relationship with sleep. Strange in that she refuses to do it. Each night she rages, rages against the dying of the night. Sleep, to her, is an affront to any normal sort of living. It just isn’t done. And, damn it, if she has to sleep she’s going to take us all down with her.

Often if I go in and check on her I find her stiff as a board in the bed, teeth clenched in anger.

“It’s time to go to sleep honey.”

“But I just want to stay up with you.”

“It’s time for sleep, sweetie.”

“Can I sleep in your bed?”

It goes on like this for a while. Eventually we settle for leaving her door open enough so she can see me sitting on the couch. Then the anger begins.

“Can you guys be quiet? I’m trying to sleep!”

“That TV is too loud, can you turn it down? I’m trying to sleep!”

“I have to go potty. I need another drink. There’s a monster in my room. I fell out of bed. The shadows are too bright. I’m troubled by our GNP with regard to the recent consumer confidence index. Dad, how is your Roth IRA doing? Are you planning for your future properly?”

Well last night, as I said, I was working on a project. I was sitting on the couch with the laptop and some headphones on. “Daddy, I need one more hug.” And off I go, sucker that I am.

“You don’t look happy in there,” she said. I suppose I had a furrowed brow while I worked on the computer. I explained it, gave hugs and kisses and went back to work. Then she needed water. And a new tucking. And she wanted a specific song to play for her to go to sleep and on and on and on. Finally, after her fiftieth stall tactic I snapped, “Gert, just go to sleep! It’s an hour past your bedtime.”

Wife said, “Cue the tears.” And normally she’d be right. But last night no tears came. Not after five minutes. Not after ten. Surely she couldn’t be content to just go to sleep. She’s never content. So I went to check on her.

I walked into her room and she was under her covers. I figured she was hiding from me, as she usually does. But she didn’t do the big reveal. I kneeled down next to her bed and pulled the cover off her head.

She was quietly sobbing under her covers. It was at that exact moment that I felt like the biggest pile of crap that humanity has ever produced. What a jerk.

I smoothed over the rough edges and tucked her again. Gave her a big hug and a kiss. She went right to sleep.

I had done the right thing about sticking to my guns. Maybe I shouldn’t have snapped, but I couldn’t give in to her every demand. I have to be strong and show her who is in charge at bedtime.

But I know that, no matter what, I’m the horrible man who made my daughter pull the covers over her head and cry in silence. And I couldn’t have felt worse. She was wrong the first time, but if she seen me again she would be right.

After that, I wasn’t very happy in there.

Gert's song of the day:

Beulah - My Horoscope Said it Would be a Bad Year

Or

Beulah - Waiting for the Sunset (both via Insound)

The Tramp Speaks

Charlie Chaplin. A clown of a generation. A beloved entertainer. The Tramp. He made us laugh, and to this day, still can through the magic of technology. Pop in a DVD and you too can laugh at the Tramp's foibles.

Oh Charlie had his own foibles. Mistakes he made that ultimately led him into exile and some public disdain. Time forgets scandal. But time also has a way of creating an amalgam of a person. A caricature of a man. A mere shadow.

While everyone knows Charlie's champ, few remember his stunning film "The Great Dictator", where Charlie took on none other than Hitler in a time before the US entered World War II. It was a gutsy move, and it's a wonderful, moving film.

A little known fact about Chaplin, one that is buried beneath his proclivity for pretty girls and his alleged "communist tendencies" is that Charlie was a humanist. A quality that is often confused with a political leaning or, worse, a weakness.

He was also a wonderful writer. Charlie's triumphant moment in "The Great Dictator" is a speech delivered towards the end, during a Shakespearean moment of identity confusion. A little Jewish barber stands up, under the guise of the dictator himself, and delivers a speech that rings just as true today as it did 64 years ago:

I'm sorry but I don't want to be an emperor. That's not my business. I don't want to rule or conquer anyone. I should like to help everyone if possible; Jew, Gentile, black men, white. We all want to help one another. Human beings are like that. We want to live by each others' happiness, not by each other's misery. We don't want to hate and despise one another. In this world there is room for everyone. And the good earth is rich and can provide for everyone.

The way of life can be free and beautiful, but we have lost the way. Greed has poisoned men's souls; has barricaded the world with hate; has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed. We have developed speed, but we have shut ourselves in. Machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge has made us cynical; our cleverness, hard and unkind. We think too much and feel too little. More than machinery we need humanity. More than cleverness, we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost.

The aeroplane and the radio have brought us closer together. The very nature of these things cries out for the goodness in man; cries out for universal brotherhood; for the unity of us all. Even now my voice is reaching millions throughout the world, millions of despairing men, women, and little children, victims of a system that makes men torture and imprison innocent people. To those who can hear me, I say "Do not despair." The misery that has come upon us is but the passing of greed, the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress.

The hate of men will pass, and dictators die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people. And so long as men die, liberty will never perish. Soldiers! Don't give yourselves to these brutes who despise you, enslave you; who regiment your lives, tell you what to do, what to think and what to feel! Who drill you, diet you, treat you like cattle and use you as cannon fodder. Don't give yourselves to these unnatural men - machine men with machine minds and machine hearts! You are not machines! You are men! With the love of humanity in your hearts! Don't hate! Only the unloved hate; the unloved and the unnatural. Soldiers! Don't fight for slavery! Fight for liberty!

In the seventeenth chapter of St. Luke, it is written that the kingdom of God is within man, not one man nor a group of men, but in all men! In you! You, the people, have the power, the power to create machines, the power to create happiness! You, the people, have the power to make this life free and beautiful, to make this life a wonderful adventure. Then in the name of democracy, let us use that power. Let us all unite. Let us fight for a new world, a decent world that will give men a chance to work, that will give youth a future and old age a security. By the promise of these things, brutes have risen to power. But they lie! They do not fulfill that promise. They never will! Dictators free themselves but they enslave the people. Now let us fight to free the world! To do away with national barriers! To do away with greed, with hate and intolerance! Let us fight for a world of reason, a world where science and progress will lead to the happiness of us all. Soldiers, in the name of democracy, let us unite!

Hannah, can you hear me? Wherever you are, look up! Look up, Hannah! The clouds are lifting! The sun is breaking through! We are coming out of the darkness into the light! We are coming into a new world; a kindlier world, where men will rise above their greed, their hate and their brutality. Look up, Hannah! The soul of man has been given wings and at last he is beginning to fly. He is flying into the rainbow! Into the light of hope! Look up, Hannah! Listen!

Or, as another great Humanist, Kurt Vonnegut, once said:

Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It's round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you've got about a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of, babies-- 'God damn it, you've got to be kind.'

Shimmy Shimmy

In order to lend street cred to my new mix here are some samples available for free, legally on the world wide Interweb of intrigue:

Black Box Recorder - Child Psychology

Marah - Freedom Park (Best stuff Marah has ever done, and that's saying a lot!)

Shins - Know Your Onion!

Irving - L-O-V-E Low quality MP3, but well worth the ten bucks for the Disc from the band. Song's produced by Andy Paley, by the way.

Go ahead. Try NOT to enjoy it. And the first Pollyana who tells me that the Black Box Recorder song is depressing will get their ass kicked.

Back to Normal?

I suppose. I'm back to work today. Gert is back with Grandma. I feel lonely. And congested. Cough.

Have I mentioned that I love Vicks Formula 44? I mean, any medicine that is so powerful that the only name they can come up with is essentially that it is better than 43 other formulas has to kick ass.

I have a lot of catching up to do.

So here, take a look at the simply amazing trip mix I put together for us this weekend. How amazing? Well, of all the CDs we brought, this is pretty much all we listened to.

You can see the cover and tracks here.

Want a copy? Drop me a line with proper bribery. Seriously, this is one of the best I've made in years. I'm very proud of this one. Nice and funky, as it should be. In fact, it would be a great party CD. Damn it. Though I owe a lot to the dude from Scrubs and his move Garden State for reminding me of the last two songs.

Unafraid of What a Dude'll Do

I've heard, and have been listening to, the 2004 version of Heroes and Villains from Brian Wilson's forthcoming "final" version of SMiLE. And, I have to say, it doesn't suck. Seriously. It's actually pretty good, in fact. If you're interested email me and I can tell you where to find it. Thus far I'd say that having Darian Sahanaja act as the musical supervisor was a good idea. Of course, I knew that all along. Darian is the high-haired god of Rock-n-Roll.

Romantic weekend? Good. Marred by the fact that I had a fever and cold throughout the whole thing, but it didn't slow us down much. I ate a hell of a lot of ice cream and that's all that matters, isn't it?

Off to nurse my cough. Blech.

Um. . . Whoops

Not 48 hours after I called Dan Fogelberg a pussy it's announced he's battling prostate cancer. I feel like I prison raped Karma and now it's staring me down with a shiv in fate's exercise yard.

How's that for melodramatic?

This afternoon my lovely wife and I depart the hallowed halls of our home to embark on our first weekend alone since the last weekend alone resulted in baby bottles and diapers. We're celebrating our four year, eleven month anniversary. When the actual five year anniversary comes up next month we'll acknowledge it with ennui.

Gert is going to Grandma's for her first sleepover. Two, actually. I'm curious to see who cracks first. The smart money is on Gert to win in ten rounds.

We will be somewhere in the woods drinking beer and mocking people for two days. I trust you guys can be left to your own devices? Of course not. I'll come home to comments on my blog accusing me of rotting Dan Fogelberg's man parts and someone will bring up some of the darker blemishes in my CD collection.

Everyone's a bastard, even if they claim not to be. Yes, even you Bucky.

New Wes Anderson

The Life Aquatic trailer. Wish it was in QuickTime. I've loved Wes Anderson since I reviewed Bottle Rocket years and years ago. How could you not love him? And Bill. Glad to see him back, you know?

Odds are it'll have a killer soundtrack. Anderson has a talent for digging into an artist's catalogue and finding the coolest gems.

Sigh.

Burpy the Bear

So, this bear figured out why humans go camping. Smart bear. Stupid humans. And he seemed to have good taste, dumping the Busch and going for the local brew.

Mmm. Beer for breakfast.

First Day of Fourth Grade

Matilda went off to her first day of fourth grade today. She kind of gave a head nod, hopped on the bus and that was that. She didn't want long, protracted good-byes. No words of wisdom, no advice, no ticker tape. We had to cancel the juggling monkey parade. She's not a little kid anymore. I have to accept that.

Poor Gertrude, however, was inconsolable. As soon as Matilda disappeared into the bus, Gert let out a wail of despair and sadness that will forever be known in our neighborhood as the sound of a soul being destroyed. She was devastated that she would again be alone during the day. All summer long her big sister played school, games, on playgrounds. Gert had a fantastic summer because of her big sister. And now, once again, she's been separated from her because she's just too little. The kind of existential pain that causes is hard for us adults to understand because, for us, six hours apart is nothing. For kids it's an entire lifetime.

After the bus pulled away she hopped out of mommy's arms and ran to me, calling out "Daddy!" in the middle of a heartfelt sob. She was due to go to grandma's today so I could go to a client's office. That separation was a psychic wound as well.

We hugged and gave kisses and she got in mommy's car. Through the glass I heard her pleading for another hug and kiss. So I opened the door and she hugged me with a ferocity that was pleading to stay with me.

"Daddy," she said, "I want you."

I gave her my necklace (unfortunately a Medic Alert, so I hope I don't need that today) and told her she could take care of it for me today. That ebbed the flow of tears a bit.

But as the car pulled away I heard a plaintive wail of "Daaaaadeeeeeee!" There was a sound of shattering glass in my chest and a lump developed in my throat. And the dog and I walked back home from the bus stop. Alone.

So, in Gert's honor today I give you Calexico's version of the Love classic "Alone Again Or". While Calexico's version is fantastic, I suggest that everyone go out and buy Love's amazing album "Forever Changes". Everyone should have a copy.

Calexico - Alone Again Or (via Insound)

Aginst Th' Law

Wow. Lil Kim is, well, nuts.

Here's a hint Kim. Don't be involved in shootings. Maybe this "witch hunt" against Hip Hop is actually an outgrowth of the variety of Hip Hop artists who are in trouble for violent crimes.

I mean, let's face it, James Taylor was never implicated in a shootout with Dan Fogelberg. When's the last time you heard about Jon Anderson being in a club shootout. Sure, Taylor had a heroin problem and Fogelberg is a pussy, but that's beside the point.

Hip Hop, and I'm not making a comment about its musical merits, canonizes criminality. Tupac? Shot to death. Biggie? Shot to death. Shyne? In jail (and has a hit record while there). Snoop Dog? Was on trial for murder and while waiting for the trial was evading police custody. Nelly wears a bandaid in support of a friend in jail.

All Rock and Roll can put up are Phil Spector, who's insane and Courtney Love who is also insane. And skanky.

No, in Rock we much prefer drugs. Jimi, Jim, Janis. The Js. Elvis. They did that to themselves. Granted, Elvis shot TVs. But, again, he was insane.

Of course, Broadway has Liza. But she's insane too.

Perhaps the issue here isn't a witch hunt against Hip Hop. Perhaps the issue is with Hip Hop artists getting involved in shootings. Perhaps that should stop. Or switch over to Nerf guns.

You can argue socio-economic issues all you want. Hard life, what not. But these aren't poor kids with no escape shooting each other. It's millionaires. Jeez. Just sue the crap out of each other like good entertainers.

Just an idea Kim.

Happy Elvis Died Day

Happy Elvis Died Day. I hope you have a good day. Elvis needs boats.

I'm going to shoot my TV.

Why Yes Virginia, I am Still Busy

It's true. I should be spitting up acid right now due to stress. It's true that I should have been working late every night this week. However, the trip to the ER left me a little rattled. It's a weird guilt thing I can't explain.

Besides, we're using today as our last summer hurrah and spending the day here.

So, I'll leave you with this song today. It's my homage to all the work I should be doing today.

Folksongs for the Afterlife - Did I Let You Down

Now I just need an army of monkeys. Not a large one, mind you . . .

Eventful Evening

Sigh. Don't want to talk about it much but:

Gertrude. Blood. Lots of blood from a bad place. Just the two of us home.

Long story short. Spent the evening at the ER. She's fine, no stitches needed but because of the location of the cut she needed to be checked out. She charmed the hell out of everyone in the ER. She was really on last night, despite the pain. In fact, I think the pain made her funnier.

Accident happened in bathroom. Because the bathroom bit my daughter, I'm remodeling it to show it who is boss. And to get rid of what I now see as a potential danger.

A BIG thanks to Aunt Patty who played the role of my mom and came over at a strange time of day to help me inspect the wound and then stayed with Matilda when Mommy got home so we could both go to the ER.

As for Gert, she's fine. Bruised with a big cut, but doing well.

Me? Outside I'm fine. But if you could have seen me on the inside last night I was crying like a baby.

Still Busy?

You betcha bucky.

So, instead, listen to one of my favorite Yo La Tengo songs from Summer Sun.

Yo La Tengo - Little Eyes

Good song. You'll enjoy it. True, it's not "Return to Hot Chicken" from I Can Hear The Heart Beating As One, but you can't have everything can you?

Now, if I can only find my cowboy suit.

Nevermind.

Still Busy

Yes. I. Am. I'm in crunch time for a while. Plus I'm taking Thursday off to take the kids here and go swimming. It's our last hurrah of summer. Wahoo.

So anyway just listen to some music. And pretend I'm posting. It'll be fun. Trust me.

Club 8 - Spring Came, Rain Fell

Insert monkey joke here.

Stereo Update

Despite my most wonderful dreams, the receiver did not repair itself overnight like the Iron Giant.

Life is still a crap rodeo.

And I'm the clown.

Damn I hate these pants.

My Stereo

My reciever.

My left channel.

Not right.

Not the wiring.

Not good.

Not happy.

Not making the comment that a stereo with a bad left channel is not, in effect, a stereo. It's not even a mono because the sound in the left channel is not mixed into the right channel, which would be mono. It's a . . . a . . . righteo. And I don't want a righteo.

Right now my life is a crap rodeo.

I Voted

If you're in Missouri, did you vote? If not, don't complain about the results, you lazy bastard. It took ten minutes. I was the only one who wasn't an octogenarian.

And all the while I was singing the Ramones' "Rockaway Beach".

There were no "I Voted" stickers. I'm disappointed.

Fixed?

I think I finally found the problem with my blog items in Moz. It still isn't perfect, but at least it can be read. If anyone is still having issues:

1. Wait for the site to rebuild. I have a lot of pages.
2. Let me know.

Also, if you happen to find something borked, let me know. Odds are I missed it trying to fix the code.

Busy

So . . . I'll be gone for a while. Busy. Very busy. Damnit.

Probably won't be around much this week.

possibly for the rest of the month.

It's scary.

I'm tired.