The Ballad of the Guinea Pig

Once upon a time there were two girls. The older girl, Matilda, wanted a guinea pig for Christmas. That was all she desired. Just a small rodent that could be held, loved and stroked. The younger girl, Gert, also wanted a guinea pig. One would assume it was merely because her sister wanted one. That was partly true. But Gert also desperately wanted something to love. Not just a furry pet, but something she could love with all her heart.

Christmas came and Santa complied. He brought everything a girl could ever need for a rodent. A home, food, vitamins, toys and more. He did not, however, provide the livestock. Instead, he provided the means by which to get the livestock.

We followed all the rules. We picked animals from the same litter. Both boys, of course. Matilda picked out Frito, a brownish, small pig with a sweet disposition. Gert selected Max, a largish pig who was hiding.

From the back seat Gert’s voice was a feeble wail, “I love him so much I can’t breathe,” she said. Those words would haunt us.

We brought them home. Frito and Matilda immediately bonded, cuddling and playing Gameboy. Gert and Max, however, had a few problems.

Max didn’t wan to be held. Max didn’t want to play. Max didn’t want to be looked at, touched or even thought about. Max didn’t want to live with Frito. Max didn’t want to share food with Frito. Or water. Or space. Max, in fact, hated everyone and everything.

Max was also a bully. He pushed Frito around, causing Frito to cower in the corner quivering in fear.

But Gert loved him. She tried to bond with him; she made excuses for his behavior. She did all she could. But Max wanted nothing to do with anyone. Gert cried, “I’m a bad guinea pig owner.” But she never gave up.

But the household was on edge. No one, including Frito, seemed happy with the situation. In only three or four days, these pigs had caused so much stress and unhappiness.

Finally, early Sunday morning, we heard a clatter and a chirping. I found Frito cowering in the corner while Max sat on top of the food dish angry. There was a hunk of Frito’s fur embedded in the wall and bedding was scattered across the room. Literally, ten feet from the cage.

Mom and I started discussing that maybe Max was not a social animal and, maybe, it would be best for both of the animals if we took Frito back to his brothers and we selected another.

But there was Gert. How to explain this idea to emotional Gert. Turns out, she was completely open to the idea. But, not without emotion. She held Max and cried for an hour. She asked to be left alone with him and wondered if, maybe, he were just like her. Maybe he needed time to adjust. Maybe he was just nervous and needed love. Maybe he was just a furry version of Gert. Maybe …

In the end she decided that maybe Max had been separated from him family and his best friend was still back at the hutch. So she steeled herself and went back with mom and Max to reunite him with his family.

She returned an hour later with Max II. He was the same size as Frito. He was brown and white and very, very sweet. The original Max was at home again, with his family and seemingly happy.

Gert put Max II in his new home and filled the food bowl. Frito wolfed down food as if he hadn’t eaten in days. And, perhaps he hadn’t because Max I had frightened Frito away from the food dish.

Gert and Max II spent the day together, watching TV, playing on the floor and getting to know Frito. They were happy together. Very happy together.

When I last saw Gert this morning, she was laying on the couch with Max II on her chest. They both seemed content and relaxed.

And Gert was happy. I don’t know if it’s causing breathing problems, but I can tell that she loves Max II so much.

Radio Ga Ga

Ever wanted to listen to a radio station programed by me? Yeah, I didn't think so. But, technically, you can thanks to the beauty of Last.FM. You see, I log all the crap I listen to on a daily basis and Last.FM remembers. Then, thanks to a million monkeys sitting in a room hammering on marshmallows with spiked heels, they can spit out streaming audio that is exactly like something I would listen to. It's fun.

There are two ways, click on the little widget on the right to listen to it on this page or, click the little square with the arrow in it and you can listen to it in a popup.

But hey, I understand if that's just too damn difficult. Life is hard an your feet hurt. Your husband is an ass and your kids are screaming at you because you forgot to feed them again because you're too busy gambling online. It happens to all of us. So, if that's the case or you're just lazy, click on RadioSFT to your left and you'll get the popup too. That is, if it worked . . .

Skateaway

To the day off that started with me working at 6:30 this morning.

Merry Message Redacted

My Christmas wish for you before I take some time off.



I meant protectors!

Tom Waits Shocks the Hell of of the Letterman Audience

I would have loved to have been in the audience for this one. I'm sure that at least 60% of the audience sat there bewildered and confused.



John Candy Approved!



And one that won't scare you, if you're uninitiated:

Rosie Thomas Is A Better Singer Than You

Never has a speaking voice and a singing voice diverged so much. The video quality is shit, the audio is questionable ... However, when Rosie sings her voice is clear and just rings.

Honestly? She amazes me. I'm not sure I've ever heard a voice as purely beautiful as hers. She talks like a children's television host, but she sings like a rainbow breaking through the clouds.



You can listen to this too, from her website.

Battlefield Earth

Life? Love?





I think I need a jumper. Jack looks so . . . um . . . interesting in his. They are so high waisted. You know who else wore high waisted clothes? Oddly, I think I'd prefer this workout to Jack's. My favorite move has always been the chicken walk at 5:40ish. It really works the upper body. Plus, that knee slide at 7:40? So damn rock and roll it's sick.

Not So Silent Night

I wish there was a live copy of Neko Case's version. Holy moly, that girl belts it out.

"And I still have that record
Of Little Anthony & the Imperials
But someone stole my record player
How do you like that?"

Today's Bike Pr0n

So, my original bike lust for my hopeful spring purchase was this one:


I'm contemplating these from Orbea.

One with Campy:


And one with Shimano:


If it ever stops being ass cold, I'll go ride them. Then I'll decide. A bunch of people have been pushing Cannondale to me, but I just don't like the Cannondale. There's nothing inherently wrong with them, they just don't do it for me. I've been looking at this year's Specialized too, but the Scott and Orbea seem to fit right now.

Scott is American, and Orbea is Spanish. I kind of want to support the US bike industry. But, ultimately, I guess I'll go with feel.

Then I need to choose new shoes and pedals . . . What do I want to do? SPD? Look? Barefoot? It's a slippery slope . . .

Pleasure Me Elmo?

Does anyone else find this commercial disturbing?



It's like Elmo Gone Wild.

You know, someone at Fischer Price approved this commercial. And that person is an idiot.

Don't Go Breaking My Heart

We had a slight snow/ice/something storm yesterday. When she went to bed, Gert saw a nice crystalline world glistening and, somewhere deep in her heart, she wished for a snow day.

When she woke up this morning the world was no more frozen than when she went to bed. School was not canceled. And, as the morning wore on it was revealed that Gert was secretly crushed.

I came up out of my office and saw her crying in the hall. "I don't want to go to school today," she said, "I wanted to stay home and play in the snow." I pointed out that the snow, or the crusty, injury-causing ice, would still be there when she got home. But that wasn't all.

"I don't want to have indoor recess," she said. She's afraid that, because of the set up of indoor recess, her teachers will just go off somewhere and forget the kids and she'll be alone. She has a deep fear of being alone (she gets that from me).

I assured her and told her to go get some socks on. But, even this was a bust. All she had left were itchy socks. She hates itchy socks. "Three pairs of socks, all itchy," she lamented.

Then Mommy was going through her bag and noticed a note from the teacher. "Don't forget pretzels and M&Ms!" Holy hell, what is she talking about? Whatever it was, we forgot. We had no idea. Gert, who is obsessed with Hanukkah (thankfully Mike is out of town or he'd be getting daily calls to explain the Jewish faith to Gert), thinks it has something to do with latkes. Only pretzels and chocolate have nothing to do with latkes.

Gert started to sob. "This is the worst day ever," she said.

But do not worry, we said. Mommy will take you to the store and we'll get a bag of pretzels and M&Ms and she'll drive you to school. No big deal!

It was too late. The die was cast and Gert forlornly put on her coat, hugged me and went to the car with mom. She waved to me as they pulled away, one tear streaming down her cheek.

The hard thing about parenting is when you can't fix it for the kids. When you can't find the right thing to say to put their fears to rest, or help guide them through their trouble. Sometimes it's just impossible. And in Gert's case, it was impossible today. No snow day, itchy socks, indoor recess and forgetting our contribution to a school project all combined to ruin her day before it started. We tried, Mommy and I, but we couldn't convince her that it would get better. Now I begin the long march of the day, waiting for the time to pick her up at the bus to see how it went. To see if, perhaps, she was able to pull her mood out of the fire.

She's right. Today is the worst day ever.

My Childhood Ruined

See the gallery at the top. It's . . . it's . . .

Sob.

I'm going to personally kick Joel Silver's ass if I ever see him. He ruined Racer X. That dirty son of a bitch.

A Very Yaglenski Christmas

Check out my buddy John's grid-busting light show:



He's been cultivating this for years and has become a grand master of Christmas lights. It's fantastic. You can see his gear and see how he does it on the light show's website.

I'm As Free As A Bird Now

I just beat Guitar Hero II (yes, I'm late to the party). I kicked Freebird's ass on the first time through. Yeah.

Now I have to try to be Expert. My hands hurt.

You know what my worst handicap is? Knowing the songs. I try to play what I hear rather than what I see. It's hard.

Right now Gert is playing Cheap Trick's "Surrender." I really hope she never figures out the lyrics, otherwise her teachers will wonder what soldier we know is falling off some Indonesian junk.

That Time of Year Again

This time of year the whole Christmas cheer thing is hard for me.

Amazon Users Review Uranium Ore

Amazon, amazingly, sold uranium ore for a while. Currently unavailable. When smart people are unleashed, these are the reviews you get.

Half life jokes. Nothing better.

A Little Too Meta?

This is odd. My six-year-old daughter is rocking out to Black Sabbath's "War Pigs" on Guitar Hero. Um. Wow. Weird.

And awesome!