Babies And Random Weirdness

I have been so busy lately that I haven’t been able to think of a topic to write about. This ever happen to you? Instead I have compiled some random thoughts and stuff to spill out onto the blogosphere to help get my creative juices flowing. So here goes:

This is my first post with my new laptop computer. What this means to you is that you can now read my blog faster than you may have before. It may not be any funnier or more interesting, but at least now you can get through it faster so that you can move on to a good one with funny pictures of squirrels waterskiing or babies on skateboards.

Monday morning we welcomed our first grandson into the world! It was a long, painful labor punctuated by extreme periods of massive boredom, but somehow, even after over 24 hours without sleeping, we parents stuck it out and got through it. The baby popped out (yeah, magical moment, yada yada) and we were finally able to take some pictures and go home. We are now resting comfortably, thank you. I’m not sure about the mommy and baby but they probably are too. The baby’s name is Sir David Hoggswoggle Tippledy Jibberjabber Crackerjack Goldencheese Thumbwhistle (it’s a family name). He was a short kid, mostly bald and about the weight of a small Virginia ham. He has no visible scars, tattoos or other identifiable marks and to date claims no gang affiliation. (Southside Cribs, yo!)

Spring has sprung here in Northern California with the sunshine returning to its old constant routine of shining all over the place with temperatures running into the low 80’s. With the warmer weather it's time to get out and tend to the garden and start mowing the lawns, planting the flowers, doing the spring cleaning, various landscaping projects, etc. It’s exhausting work, but afterwards we can go kick back at the beach with a cooler of cold beer and good friends and just have fun. Still, I’m kind of jealous of those of you that got snow this winter, or are still dealing with snow even now. Not only are you not having to mow your lawns and stuff, but you can build snowmen and have snowball fights. You lucky bastards.

z

My daughter is in film school and sometimes she will call me because she needs some help on screenplays she is working on. It could be a romance or a comedy or maybe a historical piece but I can always be counted on to supply just the right element (usually a giant radioactive turtle that shoots lasers out of its eyes) to give the piece the proper balance. I’m a firm believer than most any film could have been made that much better but for the addition of a giant radioactive laser shooting turtle. Movies that could have used one include “On Golden Pond”, “Apollo 13”, “A Chorus Line” and “Brian’s Song.” For some reason her professors don’t share this opinion. Idiots!

z

I've written about my dog Rufus a few times but one thing I haven't told you about this little terrier mix is that he is a savage beast. It could be that he is channeling his ancestral wild dog instincts, but he goes berserk when it comes to stuffed animals. When we bring them home he is so happy because he can't wait to begin viciously tearing them limb from limb, particularly relishing in the satisfaction of ripping the cottony entrails out of their poor shreaded body parts. While he grabs a big red stuffed bear, for instance, and begins ripping open the throat like a ravenous wolf, his buddy Ringo (aka “The Nibbler”) grabs any available appendage – especially ears – and gently chews on it. The wife and I keep him amply supplied with all manner of fuzzy critters from the local thrift stores and dollar stores. Yeah, I know it makes a terrible mess and maybe I’m encouraging violent behavior, but it makes him happy and I’m all about making my little buddy happy. I fear for anyone who tries to break into our house disguised as a teddy bear.

z

For years I’ve thought about getting a tattoo, but I’ve never been able to decide what to put on my skin, let alone where. Plus I’ve seen so many really lousy tattoos that it makes me fearful that someone is going to scar me with something that just looks stupid. My 19-year old daughter already has two tattoos and she told me the other day that the first time she saw the second one she freaked out because she thought the artist misspelled a word on it. It was a drawing that John Lennon had done and it turns out it was spelled correctly but he just had a strange handwriting style. I know I’m not that lucky. I have a sneaky suspicion that whatever I choose, and it could be something as benign as a kitten sleeping on a blanket, it will get screwed up and make me look like a satanic, blood-drinking, axe-wielding mutant pedophile. That can’t spell! That’s just how my luck works.

The old saying that “laughter is the best medicine” is a curious expression, especially if you get bitten by a cobra. Maybe it’s me, but I think I’d rather have the antivenin than have someone tell me a joke. Similarly, I would imagine if you were going into diabetic shock you would probably want some insulin nearby rather than a Dane Cook CD. And people who suffer from urinary incontinence will tell you that laughter is no medicine at all, best or otherwise. I'm thinking, though laughter isn't bad for you, it definitely isn't the best medicine. Oxycotin is. (Rush can't be wrong about EVERYTHING, can he?)

And speaking of expressions, the first time you heard the expression, "Battered Woman" did you picture some poor lady dipped in tempura batter and deep fried to a golden brown? No? Okay. Me neither.

My mom is so weird and funny, sort of like Lucille Ball except short and Puerto Rican. Our conversations are always full of laughter and I am blessed to get my sense of humor from her. Her “Other Birthday” is next week. Yes, she has two birthdays. It seems that for the first 65 years of her life she celebrated her birthday on March 24th, the date her mother had always told her was her birthday and when we all celebrated it. When she went on Social Security she discovered that her actual birthday was really July 15th. Apparently her mom wasn’t particularly good with dates. When my mom found out the truth about her birthday she again asked her mom what her real birthday was. Her mother looked at her with disbelief and said “You don’t know your own birthday? It’s November 7th!” Some people become weird over time while others are simply born that way. Thanks Mom!