The Only Downside Is The 2 Pounds of Ligustrum We Inhale

Two days in a row now the family has gone on a bike ride through the neighborhood. MJ has decided that she needs to get back in shape after a two year hiatus from exercise. It started for her a couple of weeks ago when she added pushups to her morning routine – not the tasty ice cream treat, that’s for summer. She moved from lady pushups to real pushups a couple of days ago and she can now do thirteen. She’s ripped. We added a bike ride yesterday when we couldn’t muster the mental energy to get to the beach, but still wanted to do something outside. I put LMJ on my handlebars and we ride through Riverside. I fasten her shoes to the bike with her Velcro laces. Not really, she has a DMV approved seat with seatbelts and a reflector and everything. Yesterday’s ride was easier because there wasn’t any traffic on the road. I suppose everyone was at church. We went today at the height of rush hour, but there are enough side streets and sidewalks so it’s not too dangerous. We rode what is basically my five mile running route, down along the river, through Memorial Park, up Riverside Avenue and the North Bank River Walk to the Times-Union helipad, where we watch a train cross the St. John’s if we’re lucky. The engineers are nice enough to honk the horn when we wave at them. MJ is getting used to movement again, and her thighs are protesting a little bit. No pain, no gain. I’m really glad she’s exercising. She needs to recover the muscle mass she’s lost and exercise is the best way to fight off osteoporosis. I’m always up for a bike ride because I dropped $100 on LMJ’s bike seat about nine months ago and we’ve used it fewer than ten times. LMJ wasn’t down with the bike seat at first, but now she likes the wind in her face and bumps in the road. She’s a trooper and so is her mom.

Struggled To Get It Started, Struggled To Get It Stopped

I had a rather uneventful day with my baby girl. She has a cold so we took it easy today. I dressed her funny because I really don’t have any idea about what goes together and what doesn’t – as far as clothes are concerned. I know beer goes with anything, from sliders to asparagus marmalade. We played and read a lot today. When she took her nap she couldn’t breathe, so she didn’t sleep very well or very long. She didn’t wake up grumpy though. I think she doesn’t like being asleep because she’s afraid she’s going to miss something, so she got an extra hour of not missing stuff this afternoon.

The Catholics are freaking out about Angels & Demons coming out, which is just dumb. It’s an awful book, and in the history of cinema there has never been a good movie made from a bad book. I’m thinking about being outraged at their outrage. Do they really think I’m dumb enough to let a movie directed by Opie Taylor color my attitude about a 2,000 year old cult religion? You’ve spent nearly that whole time being secretive, and now you’re pissed because somebody took liberties with the truth as they filled in the blanks. Or did they?

I had a couple of heavy metal moments today. The first one was when I found a video mash up on YouTube of every time Slayer says hell, Satan or any variation on a record, and none of them were repeated so if hell is in a chorus it only gets counted once. They did the same thing with Metallica and death and dying. I thought they were pretty funny. Both bands have been around since the early ‘80’s so the videos went on a little bit. These guys might want to look into getting some counseling. The other metal moment was, seemingly out of the blue, Grammy asked me if I knew who Iron Maiden was. I was stunned. My brain didn’t know which way to go. Has she always been a secret metal fan, or is she just now dipping her toe into the pool. I went with Occam’s razor and kept everything simple and just said “Yeah?” This was the right choice because she went on to explain that her hairdresser’s husband is going to see them in Fort Lauderdale, and she told Grammy to ask me about them. The world is still okay.

I’ve had to move the Irish up in my beer crafting power rankings. I had them at number 4 behind Holland, Germany, and Canada, but they bumped the Canucks down a spot, claiming number 3. I was turned on to Smithwick’s Ale recently - pronounced Smiddicks. I’m not a big Ale guy. I think it tends to be too sweet, but this is a top 5 beer period. It was originally made by Franciscan monks in some abbey. If they’re going to make beer this good, hell, let the Catholics have Opus Dei and the Knights Templar and any shadow society they want. Hail Mary, full of grace.

Winnie the Pooh: A Critical Analysis?

LMJ has discovered Winnie the Pooh, and that’s pretty much all she wants to do now is watch Winnie the Pooh – over and over and over. Actually, she just wants it on. I’m more into it than she is. It’s a sweet story with sweet characters and a sweet ending. I think Pooh has some kind of honey addiction. I don’t know if Milne meant it as a metaphor for heroin, but the chubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff does seem a little bit stoned. Even if it is a social commentary, it doesn’t matter. What’s getting me is the thought of eating a bowl of honey: sitting down, pouring a pint of honey into a bowl, and eating it. I’m getting hung up on a mouthful of honey. I don’t mean a big bite of honey spread on a piece of bread. I mean honey as a thick sweet stew. Could I swallow all of it before I started to freak out? Could I deal with the inevitable mess before MJ started to freak out? If I did eat sixteen ounces of honey, would I slip into a diabetic coma? What would that feel like? What would it feel like to vomit a bunch of honey? Unfortunately, as I sit here writing, that’s starting to sound like a wager. The story never gets into what type of honey Pooh prefers – orange blossom, clover, etc. – which gets us back to the heroin metaphor. As long as he gets his fix, it doesn’t matter. My feelings about the characters are changing as I watch the movie more and more. I used to like Tigger. He used to be my favorite character, now he’s starting to annoy me. He’s kind of stupid. I think he’s LMJ’s favorite because all she wants to do is bounce. I see Christopher Robin completely differently than I did when I was a kid. I never saw the point of him. He was a little bitch with little bitch shoes. Now I see him as the glue of the story. He’s a sweet little boy on the verge of making the transition into school, and seems to be trying to hang on to his innocence just a little bit longer. Maybe I’m over thinking it. Maybe I should just enjoy it for the songs. I can do that.

Following Standard Imperial Procedure

I got stuck helping LMJ pinch a deuce today. I thought we had an agreement. Daddy lets her do dangerous stuff that Mommy and Grammy won't, and she doesn’t poop on Daddy’s watch. We were bouncing along through the day very nicely. We’d watch ten minutes of Winnie the Pooh. We’d play with blocks. We’d watch ten minutes of Pooh. We’d play outside. We’d eat some fruit with flax seed oil while watching a Sesame Street podcast. Then she couldn’t sit still, which she normally can’t anyway, but she was extra fidgety. And then she got gassy. She was peeling the paint off the walls with the fumes. It took me about ten minutes before I realized it wasn’t a competition, and I asked her if she had to poop. She said no, of course, so we continued playing basketball, and sitting on the couch, and sitting on Daddy’s lap, and farting. I was hoping she just had the wind and could make it another six or seven hours, so I could pass this job on to her mother. It wasn’t five minutes later when she said, “POOP!” and we headed to the bathroom. I had her dressed in overalls with a onesie underneath, which I didn’t think would be a problem today because I thought we had an agreement. I got her out of her overalls and onesie, and sat her down on her little seat, and she said, “BOOK?!?” Thank God a book was in there for her to read. Even though we weren’t even to, “Nine soft friends…” before she was preparing to make the jump to lightspeed. Mommy has this down to a science now, and there’s never any fuss. Today, LMJ started crying a little bit and I was worried that we hadn’t been feeding her the right stuff to help keep her from getting bunged up, but as I was hugging her she told me “WIPE”, so we did. And then we high-fived, said Yay! and got dressed. Another “been there, done that" that I can add to the list, even though she did all the work.

LMJ: Saving The World One Daddy at A Time

I’m going to be out of town on Thursday and Friday, so I spent today with LMJ. My baby girl is a peach, and she makes everything okay. She recharges my karmic batteries, which are like the batteries in MJ’s Dyson handheld; they get depleted very quickly. When I’m playing with LMJ nothing is stupid. I love my neighborhood and my neighbors. I love my ratty backyard. I love looking at things through her eyes. She’s taking years off my life, but it’s completely worth it. She can’t jump yet – it’s just a matter of time – but she jumps off of things. We walked to our park today, and after the swinging and sliding, we were running around a gazebo that sits on a slab of concrete that’s raised about an inch off the ground. She yells “JUMP” and steps off the edge. I’ve said this before; I’m saying this now, and I’ll say it again. The next thing LMJ is afraid of will be the first thing she’s afraid of. The gazebo’s base sticks out about four inches at four points around the structure. It’s a tripping hazard. LMJ misses each one when she runs around the gazebo by millimeters. She’s haulin’ ass so if she clips one she’s gonna eat crete, so I have to follow her close enough to catch her if she falls. It’s simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying for me. I’m glad that she’s on her way to being an active tough kid, but I’d rather be waterboarded than see her in pain. We had been at the park for about forty-five minutes when she started to get tired. I suggested that we go home, and she voted no, vociferously. I told her it was time for lunch and that we were going to have macaroni and cheese, and I swear I heard her say, “Let’s ride, Dawg.” We walked home, had lunch, and when we were done she said, “Tired. Nap”. I put her to bed, she gave me a hug and a kiss, and she went to sleep. It’s a cliché, but she makes me a better person.

I Just Do What I'm Told

LMJ is 20 months old today, and I’m thinking about how much she has changed my life. What’s strange is that I’m 38 years old, she’s been a part of my life for less than 2 years, yet I can’t remember life before her. It’s funny that I used to think I was busy. What did I do with all that free time, and what will I do when I get it back in seventeen years when she goes off to college (MJ, you have no automatic claim to any of this potential free time)? On the one hand, I wish we had had her five or even ten years ago. On the other hand, I’m cherishing every moment and wouldn’t trade it for anything. I love her pigeon English. I love the sense of purpose she has with everything she does. For right now, I love how bossy she is. I don’t think that’s going stay cute though. I love how busy she is, even though she wears me out. I love that she’s an extremely affectionate baby. We spend a lot of time hugging and kissing. I even love that I’m at the base of the totem pole that’s buried underground. LMJ brought me the TV remote the other night and handed it to me. I asked her what she wanted me to do with it, and she said “On!?!” So I turned on the television. What was funny is that her mother was genuinely surprised that I asked how high when LMJ said jump. I’ve treated her the exact same way for nearly twenty years. When we found out we were having a baby girl how did she think things were going to go? If LMJ asks her daddy nicely and there’s no chance of physical injury, 99 times out of 100 she’s going to get what she wants. That’s just the way things are (Mama still gets treated that way too). And that’s the way things are going to stay.

I Didn't Even Have to Use My AK

I sat around and did nothing today. I watched both NFL playoff games, and I’m very happy. There is nothing about college football that can compare to “this league”. Actually, I did some laundry today. Which should have been balanced out by drinking a whole bunch of beer, but I’m trying to lose weight. I love the NFL. It’s unmitigated brutality. It’s grown men taking years off each other’s lives. Thanks to the Jaguars poor impersonation of a real professional football team this year, I’m not overly invested in any of the games emotionally so I’m enjoying them a lot more. I’m watching with an unbiased eye and appreciating the technical precision. Both games today were played in cold weather, the Giants and Eagles in New York and the Steelers and Chargers in Pittsburgh. It was windy like it always is in the Meadowlands in January, and it was snowing in Pittsburgh. Football played in the snow is the coolest thing in sports. It’s also cool that all four teams have defenses that like to hit and hurt people. I had burgers for lunch and burritos for dinner. I wore khaki shorts, white tube socks, and loafers while I grilled meat. I got some charred meat on my khaki shorts and went to a backup pair. A prepared griller is a good griller. The only thing I tried to do today that didn’t work out is take a nap. I was trying to fall asleep on the couch but LMJ wasn’t having any of it. Mommy said, “I think Daddy’s trying to take a nap,” and my sweet, precious, beautiful baby girl ran into the living room, grabbed me by the head, and moved me out of the way so she could sit on the couch. Even the LAPD would have thought that was a little bit rough. It was a good day, and now I’m rested and ready for the week