Velcrometer
Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks
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M. Giant's Velcrometer Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks |
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Monday, July 13, 2009 Half of One, Six Dozen of the Other It was during our honeymoon, ironically enough, that I realized what was wrong with her. This is something I've been putting off writing about for literally years. It's a difficult subject to tackle, not just because of its scale and scope, but because it's such an integral part of who my wife is that it seemed like an invasion of her privacy to discuss it here. But recently, she's been encouraging me to just put it out there in the open, and damn the tornadoes. Yes, I know the expression is "damn the torpedoes," but Trash doesn't. In fact, she doesn't know any expressions at all. But as I said, it wasn't until our honeymoon that I realized this. We've always been trendsetters, and our honeymoon in 1991 was a "staycation," before that word had even been invented. We were both off work for a week, and we spent it in and around town. I remember exactly on what stretch of 35-W we were on when she suddenly said that two potential options for something that weren't all that different were "half of one, six dozen of the other." "What did you say?" I asked. "Half of one, six dozen of the other," she repeated. I don't even remember what we were discussing, but I vividly remember her highly amused reaction when I explained to her that the expression is "six of one, half-dozen of the other." And that the expression as she had used it would have implied a difference in a factor of 144, which is in fact quite significant. This is not to say that she's used the expression correctly since. At least then, I could see what she was trying to do. Unlike later that same day, when she was commenting on the audacity of pedestrians and other drivers on the U of M campus: "They've got their balls in a sling and they're whippin' em!" she declared. I still don't know what that means. And by this time, we were already married. It was too late. But here's where I kind of get into the weeds. Not having recorded any of her countless epic idiomatic fails, I don't feel like I could really do the depth of her syndrome justice. I could tell you about the time she attempted the "bird in hand" expression, and got both the meaning and the words wrong, which resulted into the two of us spiraling into a lengthy discussion in which I attempted to explain the numerous (admittedly nonsensical) premises behind the expression. She just couldn't get past one central fact: "I don't want a bird in my hand! Then I've got bird shit on my hand. No, thank you." I could tell you about the interview she had years ago with a highly-ranked children's librarian, someone who would have been a great contact to have in her then-future career. Everything was going great until she attempted to invoke the "wolf in sheep's clothing" expression, only to land on "a wolf in grandpa's sheepskin rubber" instead. Could she have saved it if she hadn't noticed his shocked reaction and tried again, simply blurting, "Hungry like the wolf?" Possibly not. "Grandpa's Sheepskin Rubber," of course, was the name of a novelty song some friends and I wrote in junior high and later told her about. The interview ended shortly thereafter. Or the time she was on a conference call at work, which ground to a halt when she said, "That's like cutting off your ear to spite your nose. Or cutting off your face. Keep your ears. Is there also a baby?" Or a few classic recurring one-liners, like "Christ in a handbasket," or adding "like a banshee" as an all-purpose intensifier, as in "He's working like a banshee" or "she had to pee like a banshee," or just about anything other than screaming. But the tragic fact is that no matter how well I told you any of these stories, I could never capture the way some of our conversations veer into the kind of territory where I'm playing the Mark-Linn Baker role in Perfect Strangers. And if I did, you'd never believe me. But maybe you'll believe our other friends. Other friends? Step up here. Tell the readers who don't know the magic of Trash in person what she can do to a saying. How she can put it under a barrel, and beat it like a red-headed mule. I'm too close to it. I'm counting on you. posted by M. Giant 7:42 PM 17 comments 17 Comments:
I have to be honest: it happens so frequently that I stopped memorizing them.
By Wow, a friend of mine does the same "like a banshee" thing. I have absolutely no idea why. Who knew there was another one?
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As a child I heard the expression as "six
By You should get her "I'm Not Hanging Noodles On Your Ears..." That should give her something to chew over.
By I laughed so hard at this I almost woke the napping toddler. You might say I laughed like a banshee.
By "Don't eat all of the chickens in your baskets" Said at a library meeting, in reference to not expecting one group of people to do all of the work. I think she meant "don't put all of your eggs in one basket" but who knows.
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"They've got their balls in a sling and they're whippin' em!"
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There are sooooooo many to remember. Some favorites:
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A couple more (she must like animal themes):
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"Don’t punch a Christmas horse"
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Also, Linda is totally correct. I can't remember names at all, and I do make up titles for just about everything, and then only my friends know what the hell I am saying. Well, except Ice-T, who I could NEVER forget.
By Well, I don't know Trash. But my husband has the same syndrome. I knew before we were married and decided to go ahead and marry him anyway.
By I'm guessing the Christmas horse is, "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth"
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Yeah. I definitely think "Christmas horse" means, in some mentally perverted fashion (no offense), "gift horse."
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The not being able to remember names and going around them thing reminds me of Bubbles from Ab Fab. It worried me the first time I realised that I did exactly the same thing and that I could usually get what she was referring to very quickly.
By Oh my lord, I am so cracking up at these. I have a friend who does the same thing with names of restaurants and movies...combining them in weird ways to make all new crazy titles. Good times.
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Oh, sweet tap-dancing Jesus. This is such a Gordian Knot. Ten pounds of trouble in a five-pound bag.
By Friday, July 10, 2009 Good Trims M. Edium got his first haircut at 14 months of age, and I've lost track of how many he's had since. Maybe fifteen or so. But he's always had them at the same place, or at least different stores of the same chain. This particular chain has the most unimaginative name for a kids hair cutting place you can think of, but it's very imaginative in terms of separating parents from their money. There are bins of toys for sale, lots of tonsorial add-on options, and his haircuts cost fifty percent more than mine do. Which I guess makes sense; he has even more hair than I do, his head is almost as large as mine, and I have them use scissors on him rather than the clippers I have deployed on my scalp twice a year. But when you factor in the frequency of his haircuts, which is much higher than mine (which is in turn higher than Trash's), it starts to feel like an unnecessary expense. There's an argument to be made that it's worth it with a toddler. After all, the kids hair place has two invaluable features. One is a small TV playing a children's video in front of every station. The other is a seatbelt on every barber's chair. And you know, there aren't all that many places you can bring a kid these days that are still equipped with restraints. Still, after realizing that the cost of the movie to keep him entertained for a twenty-minute haircut was higher than what we'd pay to buy him an actual ticket to an entire movie in the theater, Trash and I decided he was old enough to sit still at a regular haircutting place. But we didn't do anything about it for weeks and weeks, while his head began increasingly to look like some kind of weeping mushroom. Finally, with a long evening after an early dinner stretching out ahead of us, I decided on the spur of the moment to take him to the neighborhood haircutting place. This is the same place I avoided for years (seriously, I just went back there for the first time last Thanksgiving, two haircuts ago) because of my hair nemesis, Gary. Apparently he's long gone, so it's not really necessary for me to bundle M. Edium into the car and schlep him to the nearest-but-one chain salon that I went to for over a decade in my long Gary-avoiding period. I can bundle him into the car and schlep him to the nearest one. They have new staff. The lady who cut M. Edium's hair called him "Mark." This is surprising for two reasons. The first is that his name is not Mark. I could cut her slack for not being able to read the writing of the person who checked him in, but that person was her. The second reason it was surprising is that she wasn't actually able to pronounce consonants. Aside from the wrong name I couldn't understand a word she said. Fortunately M. Edium didn't have that problem. Maybe it's because he goes to school every day and listens to his Sri Lankan teacher talking. Or maybe it's because every child knows that when a grown-up offers him a "shagah," he should accept because there's always a chance she means "sucker." Which, admittedly, she did. I have to admit, she gave him a pretty decent haircut. And it was kind of funny watching how he was so fascinated by the giant clumps of hair that kept thudding down onto his dropcloth. He'd reach down and pick one up to examine it, and then sprinkle it on the floor. And then after a while he simply became obsessed with keeping his dropcloth clean. Of course all the same kind of hair used to fall on him back when he went to the kids hair place; he just didn't notice because he was too riveted by the screen. Which is another thing; normally the stylist has to hurry to shape up the back of his neck, because he's so keen to lift his eyes up to the TV again, but this time she was able to take her time. Overall, I'd have to say it was a success. Still, she weirded me out a little. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to start bringing him to the closest-but-one chain salon after all. I mean, obviously I know the way. posted by M. Giant 10:19 PM 0 comments 0 Comments:Wednesday, July 08, 2009 I know I don't get into politics on this blog, but I just can't stop thinking about the soon-to-be-ex-governor. Have you ever thought about what it must be like to be a resident of an oft-dismissed northern state, suddenly thrust into the national limelight as a result of abruptly having a famous governor? But then that governor turns out to be a controversy magnet who professes hatred for the very media that made that governor a star. As adulation gives way to jokes from late-night talk-show hosts, suddenly a cocky, self-assured outsider becomes a thin-skinned self-pity case, pointing the finger at everyone else for all the problems the statehouse now has to deal with. Ball taken, home gone to. Nothing left but a few increasingly desperate media appearances, which the media enables because it's even more desperate, and the last time you hear about your ex-governor, years later, it's in a story about not running for president. But enough about Jesse Ventura. posted by M. Giant 7:34 PM 6 comments 6 Comments:Zing!
By two thumbs up.
By ha ha ha. Nice M. Night twist at the end there. Are you two related?
By Uh. I thought you were referring to Illinois...
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I'm not too proud to sound like an idiot - I'm confused.
By I thought he meant Ms Palin, which made it pretty funny. The hair king of Chicago would also work.
By Monday, July 06, 2009 Scary Birthday Trash's idea for M. Edium's birthday this year is a Halloween theme. She's talking about converting the garage into a haunted house and putting all the adults we know to work as scary characters. Not surprisingly, M. Edium absolutely loves this idea. He's all about the Halloween theme. Oh, except that he wants his cake to be shaped like the starship Enterprise, because suddenly he is a huge Star Trek fan on account of I gave him the "beam-up badge" that came in my box of Corn Pops. But other than that, he's all over the Halloween theme. Which is good, because I think his fifth birthday is just about the last one that can be co-celebrated with another holiday without engendering resentment. I mean, my parents never did that, despite my birthday and DeBitch the Elder's both being so close to Christmas, but Trash has told me that her mom used to do that all the time. Albeit with lesser holidays. Trash's sister had her birthday on Columbus Day, and her brother's was on Veteran's Day, so those were built-in themes. Trash, however, was stuck with a birthday that didn't coincide with a holiday, so one year her mom found out that she shared a birthday with Ed Asner, and went from there. In fact, let's you and I go from there for a minute, shall we? Let's just imagine how a tween girl in the early 1980s would thrill to such games as "Pin The Tail On Lou Grant," or the joy she would experience at finishing a slice of Ed Asner birthday cake, to see the doughy visage of the president of the Screen Actors' Guild glowering up at her. It would be a magical day in any young girl's life. After that year, she didn't mind not having a theme for her birthday parties. But back to M. Edium's birthday, which is looming a scant three-and-a-half months from now. He and Trash have been talking about this all week, which I hope doesn't mean that he's going to decide that he wants a Transformers party ten minutes before the guests start arriving. Trash is vision for the haunted garage is a sort of maze of damp, hanging sheets, colored lighting, a creepy sound-effects tape, a few adults in costume, and bowls of stuff like noodles and peeled grapes the kids will have to put their hands in and be told they're worms or eyes or brains or whatever. She's asking me to throw it out to you for other ideas. I've offered to help, but my only experience with this kind of homemade haunted house is when I was like six and some of my older sisters' friends threw one of those MDA carnivals that were so popular for a while in the 70s (and apparently they still happen. Between those and the telethons, how does MD still exist, for God's sake?). I was the last of the younger kids to get to go through without a blindfold on, I think because I wasn't scared enough. Oddly, my memory of that experience is not as helpful to Trash as I might have expected. I also suggested just leaving the garage in its current state of near-fatal disarray and making kids walk through it barefoot, but these are more litigious times. In any case, I'm totally stocking up on Up party merch for Trash's birthday this year. I think she'll really appreciate that nostalgic call-back to the Ed Asner parties of her childhood. posted by M. Giant 8:54 PM 5 comments 5 Comments:Time to buy him the first season of Trek: TOS on DVD! :)
By The advanced birthday planning of the pre-K set is truly amazing. My 4 year old is actively planning her 5th birthday party - for next February - and has been planning it since about 2 days after her 4th party. At one point she wanted a "secret agent party" for some reason, but that changes every few weeks.
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The thing I most remember from my single childhood foray into the homegrown haunted house is the dolls' heads set on pikes (or rake handles or something) at various intervals around the garage. IIRC, they were decorated with drippy fake blood.
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My b-day is Oct 28, so for several years as a kid, we did the Halloween-themed party. Everyone dressed up, of course, and we did things similar to what you described. Another winner: dry ice in the punch bowl (which I recall had some sort of green drink).
By It's too bad the Internet wasn't around back then, or Trash's mom could have thrown her a Sherman Burning Atlanta barbecue, or a Georgia O'Keefe garden party.
By Wednesday, July 01, 2009 The Quarter in Movies (Part 2) The second part of the second quarter of the third or fourth...sommething...I don't know, just skip to the reviews. Drag Me to Hell Oh, how I wish Chao and I saw the version of this movie that everyone else loved so much. I saw it in Wisconsin, which I blame for the fact that the version I saw seemed to want to trade in both highbrow horror-suspense and shots of eyeballs getting gooshed into the heroine's face after she drops an anvil on a ghost's head. Potentially two really good movies ended up as one not very good one. And I don't know how I never noticed this before, but Justin Long has a huge head on a tiny little body. Up So far I've seen two movies in 3-D this year. I would have to say that this one was the better of the two, both technically and in terms of story. If you measure Up against The Lollipop Girls in Hard Candy, there's going to be a clear winner. I actually didn't mean to go to a 3-D showing, but they handed us the glasses, so there we were. M. Edium refused to wear his. He liked seeing two of everything. Except the dogs, of course. M. Edium's not a big fan of dogs as it is, particularly loud, barking, aggressive ones. We missed most of the third act as a result, and the part we did see was from the narrow aisle next to the seat risers, where he desperately shot his finger at the screen to try to scare away the bad guys. We would have left the theater entirely, but I did something I'm not proud of: I reminded him that when we left our seat, I hadn't been able to find one of the small plastic dinosaurs he'd brought into the theater with him. As a result, I was able to catch the closing credits. No, I didn't cry. I was too busy. I'm sure I will when I see it on DVD with Trash, though. Year One So dumb. So, sooo dumb. And yet I laughed. Props to Harold Ramis, I guess, for realizing dark comedy isn't really his thing and deciding to haul off and become Mel Brooks. And that's it so far. See you next quarter! Or, I guess, the next time I post a regular style update. posted by M. Giant 8:07 PM 2 comments 2 Comments:
Up is one of the two movies I've seen this past "quarter" (by however it is you define a quarter ;) ). We took Kiddo (age 6) to see it and kind of regretted deciding to bring her. She was more than a little scared/nervous for most of the third act, though her primary concern wasn't so much the dog pack as the human villian. In retrospect, I think we should've just gotten a sitter for her and gone on our own, then perhaps rented the DVD for her like we did with Wall-E.
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Loved "Up," and the dogs cracked me up. Well, the one dog cracked me up.
By Monday, June 29, 2009 The Quarter in Movies (Part 1) I love the end of the quarter this year, because suddenly I have two free entries I don't have to think up topics for. Here's the first batch of movies I saw the last few months, starting in April. Monsters Vs. Aliens If there's a way to recap 24 for almost five years and not be distracted by Kiefer Sutherland's voice as General Monger in this, I haven't discovered it. As for another cast member of this movie whom I regularly recap, M. Edium was deeply affected by Rainn Wilson's Gallaxar. "That alien is so dumb," he kept saying. Which was the worst word he knew, until he learned "flegnod." Even so, I didn't realize how deeply it had affected M. Edium until weeks later, when he asked me, "Someday, can we go to where the Golden Gate Bridge used to be?" I had to explain to him that despite what happened in the movie, the Golden Gate Bridge is still very much there. Now he wants to see it even more. So then I explained to him about a thing called "traffic." Observe and Report There's a point in this movie where a guy walks out of a room, saying, "I thought this was going to be funny, but it's actually kind of sad." It's not often that a movie reviews itself so effectively. Seth Rogen tests the limits of his appeal as a deluded, violent, racist mall security guard and – oh, uh, Seth? Your limits are back there. Somewhere. Yeah, that's going to be kind of a hike back. No, you can't have a ride. Take your stupid golf cart, maybe. State of Play Russell Crowe didn't really need to be tubby for this role; I just think he enjoys putting on weight. There, I said it. I saw this with Linda while she was in town, and while we both found the story absorbing and appreciated how it treated us like grown-ups, both of us had to spend a inordinate amount of energy trying not to be offended at the denigration of bloggers. By the same token, was the climactic confrontation scene really the best place for that impassioned defense of print media? And then at the end, we learn that the nicest and most generous thing you can possibly do for a blogger is call her a reporter. News flash: not everyone considers that a promotion, movie. But as always, Bateman stole it. Fucking klepto. Star Trek Loved the main cast, although I kept finding myself wishing it were bigger. Probably because Scotty doesn't show up until halfway through, but still. The peripheral cast, not so much. Ben Cross as Sarek was in desperate need of a laxative, and Winona Ryder did nothing to dispel the effectiveness of the international charades sign for "Winona Ryder" (press the backs of your hands together in front of your chest and adopt a wide-eyed, mournful expression). Yet I still want to see who they eventually cast as Christine Chapel, Chief Kyle, and Yeoman Rand (as long as the last one is Jenna Fischer). Fantastic action sequences, even if some of them were a little unlikely. Like, Redshirt Olsen's space suit is sufficiently shielded to protect him (and Kirk and Sulu) during reentry, but the drill beam instantly incinerates him? Come now. I didn't really have issues with the continuity problems people have complained about; obviously the timeline is screwed right at the beginning, so we just have to get used to the fact that this new Kirk gets handed command of the Enterprise after saving it, not after his heroics as a young lieutenant during a crisis on the Farragut, as everyone knows. Plus it's a shame that his brother Sam is never born. And the Enterprise is built on the ground, rather than in dry dock? That seems a waste of energy getting it off the ground. What? Also, the timeline crisis doesn't really explain how there are suddenly cliffs in Iowa. It's a good thing I didn't bring M. Edium to this. In addition to many other scary, noisy parts, there would have been the added trauma of seeing the Golden Gate Bridge in jeopardy again. Remind me to never let him watch that episode of Eli Stone that AB wrote. More movies in a few days, because who knows if I'll see another one before the quarter ends? Okay, I do, and I won't, but there's still more coming. posted by M. Giant 7:52 PM 1 comments 1 Comments:
The drill beam is a) from the 25th century and b) designed to DRILL TO THE CORE OF PLANETS, so I bought that it was hotter than re-entry. Also JJ Abrams making the redshirt go -poof!- was funny.
By Saturday, June 27, 2009 Worn Out Strangers who see M. Edium tearing around at the park, the playground, the library, fine dining establishments, or what have you always say the same thing: "He should sleep well tonight." You think? Why don't you come over and put him to bed, then? Be sure and block off three hours. I know, they're just making conversation, and commenting on his irrepressible energy. But they don't realize how irrepressible it literally is. Seriously, try repressing it when he comes into his mom and dad's bedroom at 10:30 p.m. for the eighth time, two and a half hours after we started the long-term project of putting him down for the night. For a while, we actually thought there was no amount of activity that would tire him out for the evening. But I think we're actually finding it this week. It's a activity level we should probably call "summer." Take Monday, for instance. He woke up, had breakfast, played at home, went over to our friend Bitter's house to help her pack up for her move this week (Trash went too, because otherwise he packs all the boxes wrong), came back home, went swimming in his inflatable backyard pool, hosted a play date, had a snack, went to his swimming lessons, came home, had dinner, went to bed. Bedtime is typically around eight o'clock. He was asleep by 8:20. I swear to God we didn't drug him. I don't want to jinx anything, but it's been this way pretty much all week. We get him into his bed, read him one or two stories (the typical amount is four, a measured compromise between our preference of one and his preference of eighty-three), leave the room, and five minutes later he's out. So apparently there is a level at which he can get tired out. It's just a question of reaching it, and keeping him there. The question is, will that wear us out? What good is having him pass out from exhaustion at 8:30 if we were ready to do the same at 5:00? I'm sort of entertaining an alternate theory that it's just the solstice. You know, now that the days are getting shorter again, he's not so opposed to going to bed while it's still full daylight outside. The advantage of that theory is that it's easier on us. The disadvantage of it is that this kind of dependence on the celestial calendar may one day drive us to o something like erect a Stonehenge in our front yard or something. I'm researching permits just in case. posted by M. Giant 9:15 PM 4 comments 4 Comments:I feel for you and Trash. Kids are great, and if we could harness their energy, we could totally get off of fossil fuels.
By It's probably the swimming--that tires my girls out faster than anything. So now you just need to build yourself an indoor pool and let him swim every night before dinner! Problem solved.
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I get that "He'll crash like a meteor" remark all the time.
By My 3 yr old will sleep well after tiring day but it doesn't stop him from getting up at the crack of dawn.
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