Join Together With the Band

Yesterday Gert and I were putting in a load of laundry (so I could wash my new monkey t-shirt, my new Speed Racer shirt and my new Bob Ross shirt . . . you know “Happy Trees”). As I was loading the washer, Gert looked in the corner at a dusty, long-neglected object.

“Hey,” she said, “is that for your ookoolaly?”

“Nope. That’s a guitar case. And inside is my acoustic guitar.”

“Cool,” she said.

“Yeah. But it’s broken. One of the tuning pegs is busted and the bridge is broken in two pieces. I should get it fixed.” Something I’ve been meaning to do for about a decade now.

“Yeah,” she said jumping with excitement. “You could play guitar and I’ll play the ookoolaly and we can have a band!”

At that point you have no idea how my heart skipped a beat. I nearly scooped her up, grabbed the guitar and headed for Dale’s to get that sucker fixed right on the spot. Never mind that my calluses are long gone and I’m not sure if I remember a single chord. My little girl wants to start a band. Granted, a ukulele/acoustic guitar band, but it’s a start. We could start slow and just do some unexpected covers. Maybe some twisted, tricked out versions of current pop songs. More likely, we’d have to play her favorite songs, which is okay, since she has pretty good taste for a toddler. She likes Randy Newman, Wilco, the Beach Boys, Death By Chocolate, They Might Be Giants and the Ramones. It’s a start.

Or we could do some of her originals. Every night when I’m tucking her in bed she tells me that she had a song that was mailed to her mouth (yes, mailed to her mouth) and would I like to hear it? Naturally, I do. She usually launches into a stream of consciousness song. Last night is was about a family that was eaten by sharks, chased by a giant, never found their way home and was lost forever. (Yes, she’s my daughter.) At first, I thought it was a sad song, but I realized that if you are eaten by a shark and can still find a giant to chase you, you must be a pretty hearty person. In the middle of the song she inserted a piece of Wilco’s “Misunderstood.” Shortly after being chased by the giant, and I assume the family was dejected and feeling quite down, Gert launched into, “Nothing! Nothing! Nothing at all!” I love that kid. Even if she does sample.

So I agreed that we should start a band together. I thought it was a good idea.

“Come on,” I said, “if you’re going to be a rock star you have to learn how to behave like one. Let’s go trash your room.”

I knew she was a quick study when she made her mom take all of the yellow pieces out of her bowl of Trix.

We've Got Solid-State Technology

We're trying a social experiment. And we want your help. Please bring us all your most hated neighbors. We'll lock them in our basement and see how long it takes for them to destroy one another or, perhaps, see if they join together to make one super neighbor.

In truth, we are trying a social experiment. My lovely wife is trying to get a free iPod. Help her. (And thereby help yourself.)

We've heard mixed results on these. Some have said it works, others say it doesn't. We being the people who we are, and not having $299 to try, are willing to try. Hell, if I have to pay for a month of Stamps.com then so be it.

I'm begging you. Help her. If we succeed, I promise I'll do something publicly embarrassing that will amuse and, perhaps, disgust you.

With an offer like that, why would you refuse?

Out in the Streets

Gertrude, not one to rest on her laurels and allow the last three funny things she's said be her crowning achievement started the following conversation at tuck in last night. (I know it sounds like I'm making this up, but it's 100% true. I can't make up the stuff she can come up with.):

Gert: "Daddy, can you sleep in my room tonight?"

Dad: "No sweetie. I have to work tomorrow."

Gert: "Why do you have to work?"

Dad: "So we can have money."

Gert: "For what?"

Dad: "Well, our food and clothes and house."

Gert: "But why can't we live with no money?"

Dad: "What? Um, well, because it's a capitalistic society that's rooted in the exchange of denominations for goods and services. So if we didn't have money, we wouldn't be able to pay for the things we need to live."

Gert: "Oh. And then we'd end up on the streets?"

Dad: "What? No. We'd probably live with family until we got back on our feet. Just go to sleep. It's late."

I don't know if this conversation had anything to do with her puking in bed three hours later. However, I've been working my ass off all day, out of fear that my three-year-old daughter is telling people we're going to end up on the streets. Where the hell does she get this stuff?

Today's Very Important Debate

How Many Five-Year-Olds Could You Take?

Post your answers and your rationale here.

Gertrudism

"Gert, what's wrong? You seem sad."

"Nuffin."

"Then why are you crying?"

"I'm not crying. I'm whining."

Passenger Side

Prince of the Geeks (and best Call for Help guest host in history), Wil Wheaton is addicted to Wilco.

Proof that former associations with Star Trek, obsessions with technology and wit are signs of intelligence and good taste in music.

I don't have the science to back that up but I'm sure it's valid.

He Ain't Heavy, He's My Father

Matilda was home sick today, so I had to do some after dinner Kinkoing to have a Fed Ex package ready for pick up in the morning. So, I asked Gertrude if she wanted to go with me.

She seemed excited and asked what we would do there. I explained that they had copiers that were much like giant printers and that I needed to copy page proofs for someone who was writing a test bank for my work.

"Work? Ugh. Do I have to wear a tie," she asked, her head dropping and her voice getting sad. "Cause I hate wearin' ties."

Methinks that my genetics are wearing off on her. When I assured her that we didn't have to wear ties, she agreed to go.

As if that weren't enough, as I was tucking her in she promised me that she wouldn't get out of bed tonight (a nightly issue).

"Except if my bladder gets full. Then I'll get up and go potty."

This kid has all the tell-tale signs of work avoidance. Get her an addiction to coffee and a distrust of authority and she's ready for years of blatant disregard of corporate dress-code with secret Maximum R&B shirts under her sweaters.

Just like her old man.

Gertrude's Observations Upon Watching Snow White

1. "Dad! That witch is riding in a boat without a life jacket! That's very dangerous."

2. "Dad! That squirrel is playing guitar but he's play like this (violent plucking motions). He's supposed to strum."

So there you have it. Witches with no regard for personal safety and squirrels with poor musical habits. Snow White in a nutshell.

Question of the Day

If String Theory proves to be an intellectual dead end, will Michio Kaku still be a media whore?

And hey, where are all the cool theoretical physicists these days? There are not enough colorful scientists running aroud being brilliant and engaging. Oh sure, there are physicists out there doing fascinating important work, but there's no Einstein or Feynman who are also engaging the public with their antics. No offense to Steven Weinberg, but he isn't that interesting. Where are the electrifying eggheads, damn it? The ones that give you a snippet of information that is just a drop in the bucket of the knowledge in their heads that makes you want more?

Not like Kaku, who does things like go on Tech TV once a week to talk about the Science of the Matrix. Snore.

An Open Letter

Dear Non-Descript Church:
I understand that you are trying to spread your message and convince people to worship with you. I understand that you want to foster a sense of community and reach a wide variety of people.

However, I don't think the best way to get that done is to roll up a flyer into a tube, bind it with a rubber band and throw it from a van into my front yard. Oh, sure, it will get the message out and if we give a rat's ass about our lawn, we will be sure to pick up the flyer. However, and I may be out of turn here, but I'm pretty sure that's called littering. In the future, please refrain from throwing paper into my lawn. In fact, I don't mind if you put the flyer on my doorstep or on my doorknob. As fate would have it, it's closer to my trash can and, ultimately, it's all about laziness, isn't it? After all, wasn't it laziness that caused you, O Proselytizing Ones, to just throw the flyer out of the window rather than walking it up to the door. Even the local Chinese take out has the good sense to put their menu on the doorknob. Perhaps you can learn from them.

In fact, maybe you should ask what Jesus would do in this situation. I know Jesus was quite revolutionary in his delivery of his message. And you too want to be revolutionary in your delivery of Jesus' message. However, in this case, I'm pretty sure Jesus wouldn't lob paper torpedoes at his audience.

Just a guess there. I’ve decided to collect your flyers and am planning on driving by and throwing them in your parking lot. Funny, but if I do that I could be prosecuted, couldn’t I? Hmm. Something to think about.

Thank your for your kindly faked attention.

Sincerely,
Gary O'Brien
The Unsaved

You Finally Slept While the Sun Caught Fire

Last night Gertrude had a hard time falling asleep. She begged me to stay with her and sleep on her floor. Apparently, she hadn’t gotten enough cuddles and desperately needed love. However, as any parent knows, giving in to such requests, no matter how heart breaking, is a slippery slope. So I came up with a compromise.

“How about I let you sleep with Huggy?” I said. Huggy is my Dad’s old pillow. It was the pillow he was using up to the day he died and, for some reason, I’ve had it almost ever since. It’s falling apart, has been put into a new casing so that its stuffing doesn’t come out and is much worse for the wear. But I sleep with it every night. In fact, I can’t sleep without it. It’s become my teddy bear.

Gert agreed, so I went and got Huggy. I kneeled down next to her bed and explained that it was a very special pillow and she should take good care of it.

“Okay, Daddy,” she said. Then she got a pensive look on her face. “Why do you have your daddy’s pillow?”

“Well, since he’s not here it reminds me of him. Sometimes I miss him.”

“Did your daddy die?”

“Yes he did. So since I can’t see him whenever I want, I like to have this pillow.”

“And your mommy died too?” she asked.

“Yes she did.”

“Do you have any special mommy things?”

“Yes, that afghan on the couch was my mom’s. She made that.”

“I cuddle with that blanket,” she exclaimed. “It keeps me warm!”

“That’s right,” I told her. “Because my mommy made it it can keep you extra warm. Like a mommy hug.”

Then she looked at me funny and told me about a dream she had the night before, a dream she had shared with her mom earlier that night.

“Someone was brushing my hair,” she said, with a look of worry, “but it wasn’t you or mommy.”

“Hmmm,” I thought and then I got a little gooey. “Maybe it was my mommy brushing your hair. Maybe since she never got to meet you, she comes in your dreams to spend time with you.”

“Yeah,” she said happily, “it was my Grandma Rita!” (And because of this conversation, I can’t get this song out of my head).

I gave her a hug and kiss and hushed her down with lullabies, as is her wont. As I started to leave, Gertrude stopped me.

“Daddy, you don’t have to be lonely for your mommy and daddy,” she said. “You have me now.”

Later, when I checked on her she was hugging Huggy tight to her chest as she slept.

Sometimes I wonder exactly what I did to deserve a child that is this sweet and loving. She loves everything with such a passion that, honestly, I think we could all learn a lesson from her. She doesn’t hold back at all. If she loves, she loves fully. Even people she’s never met, who died long before she was born.

For the rest of us, we may have to live with regrets. Like Woody Guthrie wrote towards the end of his life:

Sometimes I think I'm gonna lose my mind
But it don't look like I ever do
I've loved so many people everywhere I went
Some too much, and others not enough

Well I don't know
I may go
Down or up or anywhere
But I feel
Like this scribbling might stay

Maybe if I hadn't seen so much hard feelings
I might not could've felt other people's
So when you think of me, if and when you do
Just say, "Well, another man's done gone"

My little Gertrude will never have that kind of regret.

Children's Programming

How cool is it that three-year-old Gert was caught singing this on Saturday night, exclaiming that it was a song on her CD that she listens to in her car. Cool. But it's a tad strange to hear a kid that age yelling, "I'd like to thank you all for nothing! Nothing!" Perhaps I should dial back on some of my Wilco listening.

Matilda, on the other hand, has a funkier taste. The other day, while playing a game on the computer, she suddenly blurted out this song. However, she didn't do the dance I usually do when the music really kicks in. Maybe that's a good thing.

See? Kids are cool.

On a Private Beach in Michigan

New Radio SFT playlist today. It consists entirely of live Wilco/Jeff Tweedy. Some of these versions are quite different from what you may know. I've also included a few of Jeff's stranger moments as well as some of my favorite songs.

If you've ever seen Wilco live, you know Jeff Tweedy is a pretty witty guy. Make sure to listen to "Say You Miss Me", "Boogie Light", "New Madrid" and "Heavy Metal Drummer" for some of the more humorous moments. And "Red Eyed and Blue" provides one of the best connections between Wilco and Chicken Pot Pie.

Panthers Build Their Plots to Bury

Hey Wilco fans and fanettes. If you own A Ghost is Born in the actual physical sense where you have a plastic encased disc of aluminum that you place in a machine that decodes the ones and zeros into listenable music, then Wilco is giving you free music.

Just pop the disc into your computer and start (or wait for it to start) the active content on the CD. You'll then be given an all-knowing Egg that will offer you five songs. Three live versions of songs you know, "Panthers" and "Kicking Television". If you're active on the boot trading circuit, you're familiar with both of the new songs. "Kicking Television" sounds better live, but the studio version of "Panthers" is absolutely fantastic. Worth your time.

Consult the egg!

Listen to my Eyes

It's a tired excuse, I know, but I'm busy. Again. Posting will be light this week. Again. I know. Feel free to flog me.

I have many stories to tell about those weird kids of mine and music I've picked up recently. Pretend I told you, laugh and go buy some CDs or something.

In the meantime, I desperately want this little combo for Gert. Oh the fun we could have with it. Oh yes.

I also like this song today. Yep, it's weird. She's Dutch.

True, she's no Sarah Nixey. But who is? And, oddly enough, in that last picture she looks like she's holding Gert's doll that has the ever-evolving name. Odd.