Rwrite's Blog

NEW BLOG FINALLY OPEN

2010-05-10T15:03:00.003-04:00

http://urwrite.wordpress.com/

Hold on Ter Yer Hats

2010-04-26T08:38:00.001-04:00

HUMMUS WITH MY HANDS (sung vaguely to the Beverly Hillbillies tune. Based on a true story.)

2010-04-18T09:00:00.005-04:00

WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEL
it was getttin' kinda late and i was mighty awful tired
but i figured hey what the heck better eat some hummus n' carrots
but i looked around the fridge and what did i find
there weren't a single fracking carrot i could claim as mine!
So gathered up my hands and i told 'em what to do
I said dig into that hummus and squish it up like goo
and then when you've got a big ball come on by
and shove it in my mouth like a peice o' pie

oh hummus hummus hummus with my hands
hummus hummus like a regular ayn rand
hummus hummus hummus with my hands
now i've finished all my hummus, and now it's time to dance

(interlude)
Oh...I've finished up my dance, and i'm getting awful tired
I guess I'll go to bed, after my hands are washed and dried
but oh i forgot, i'm all out of power!
i suppose that instead,i guess i'll take a shower
well i went upstairs,to turn the water on
i got hummus on the door knob and hummus on the ground
i got hummus on my pants hummus in my hair
i rubbed hummus on the cat, hummus on the stair

hummus hummus hummus everywhere
hummus hummus hummus in your hair
if you don't wash your hands and they've got hummus on 'em, you're gonna get hummus in places you don't want it

Three Great Videos

2010-04-17T09:28:00.002-04:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=svgyvyHpdkc&feature=related -- Israel is for Jews

http://www.oldspice.com/videos/all/29/Zoom_30/ -- Old Spice Ad w/ Tiger

http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/profile.php?id=1105697281&v=info -- Click on Video in Bottom Left Corner. (worth it)

Took Kids to Dragon Movie

2010-04-14T09:22:00.000-04:00

I took the kids to see "How to Train Your Dragon" yesterday all by myself. Rachel and her parents & sisters took the opportunity to escape without me and go out to eat a delicious fancy meal at Neptune's Seafood pub. They brought me back some pizza though, so it's okay.

I'm excited because soon Rachel and I shall go down to Okracoke island for our 5th anniversary and have 4 days to chillax in the sun without kids! Pretty sweet, non? I think it sounds like a bold and daring plan, personally, and I'm glad it is coming this has been the semester of boring unlearning hardworking terribleness. But somebody told me law school is like Karate Kid -- "paint house" turns into beat up bad teenagers before you know it. I sure hope so. Painting houses is boring.

I have been watching Battle Star Galactica by myself, which maybe is contributing to the feeling of creeping isolation. First of all, it's not a very good show, honestly. It started good but now it's not but I can't stop watching. Secondly, watching shows by yourself on a little laptop is just sad. So I guess I should just read a crappy wikipedia summary of how it ends or something.

I feel like I used to write better blog entries than I do now -- filled with ideas and swarthy, sweeping sentiments about pirate life and things like that. You know, more scholastic. Also I miss the pictures, which I am not allowed to have thanks to google. I wonder if I should switch back to my old blog.

I dunno. Anyway. Tom out.

BFFs

2010-04-12T11:41:00.001-04:00

Well, the internet is down at school and I am confused and afraid. Like an old person. So what did I do? Well, currently I am writing a blog entry on this old fashioned word processing program that I will later cut and paste onto my blog if they ever fix the internet. It eases the pain.

Rachel went to philadelphia to go to the "doctors" (affair?) and had to stay in a hotel room there for the night. I think I could increase my readership if I wrote more lovey dovey blog entries about how much I love her, but I don't know if that's appropriate when she is probably having an affair. (just kidding -- i hope.)

In other news, my kids are still cute as always, wouldn't you know it. Sena slept at her Oma's house yesterday night, but Gus kept me company, which is good, because truth be told when I am left in a house alone all night I kind of freak out. I don't know how some people live alone. I wouldn't last more than a day or two I don't think. I was also pretty flattered Gus chose me over his grandma and sister. His sister has to be forced to spend the night away from her grandmother. They are total BFFs. Their favorite activity is to play farmville together.

Yes, in fact, a word on this farmville. I'd like it to be known that I am not responsible for all the farmville being played around these parts. I think Cheri is currently playing the farms of all one million of her daughters, her own account, her husband, and also mine. Cherri is a funny sort. She is a deeply private person and ubber respectful about certain issues, except you can never tell which these will be. She will apologize prefusely for, say, moving your shoes from away from the front door, and then on the other hand she thinks nothing of posting things on your facebook every single day about how she needs fertilizer for her imaginary crops.

But to go back to these affairs Rachel is likely having, I have been wondering lately who Gus' real father is. Okay, so, Gus has BLUE eyes and BLONDE hair. Meanwhile, I have brown eyes and brown hair and Rachel has green eyes and red hair. It doesn't add up, does it! I wonder what color hair and eyes this Pennsylvania "doctor" has. #curiousaboutaffair

Gus is very into lizards currently and wants to purchase a lizard desperately. He likes Geicos, skinks and iguanas the best. I bought Gus a hat yesterday that says "winner, winner turkey dinner" and is comoflauge. He says it is his camping hat and that we are going to go camping soon. Which is good, but I guess probably he'll be a pain in the ass to take camping -- won't want to follow the trail, will probably go off and start eating poisonous berries, splashing in streams, petting bears, and refusing to hike the full 12 miles per day. That's the main purpose of camping as I see it, the death marches. (that really is what I love best about being in the woods, for some reason).

I was thinking that even if Gus isn't mine I'm probably in too deep to back out now, love wise. Then again, maybe I could manage it. Yes. I think I could probably manage it. We humans are amazingly adaptive creatures. We can accomplish anything if we only set our minds to it.

The Blog of a Space Emperor (FICTION)

2010-04-05T11:30:00.006-04:00

I know it's a common theme on this 'lil blog of mine, but being emperor of all creation isn't all it's cracked up to be.

My wife came in this morning -- at 9:00 a.m. this morning to be exact (I had been up since 5:00) -- and she was angry, as usual. This time it's because I put the empty milk thing back in the refrigerator. I gave her that smile of mine, that clownish smile. She half forgave me, as usual -- although I can tell she never forgets. These things add up, and I have to pay for them later.

Her look said, "how you can be one in charge of a hundred million worlds is beyond me." And my look said... well what did it say? It didn't make a statement so much as take a stance. That off balance, clownish stance, distant and bemused. Or so I assume. That's what I'm trying to convey, anyway, maybe I just look like a little kid getting yelled at.

This photograph was produced by European Southern Observatory. This usage permissible under this picture's creative commons license.

Now, obviously, I'm just a figurehead, just a relic of a bunch of ancient, decisively meaningless traditions, but even if I wasn't and actually did have to rule this "empire" of ours (sorry Galactos -- another one of these posts), thinking on the scale of inter-galactic space is incomparable to the level of putting an empty milk carton back in the refrigerator. Why?

Well, if you're my wife, you're already bored. But, if you're not my wife, read on. Space is, of course, immeasurably, unimaginably huge. This, you know. Our galaxy itself contains about 300 billion stars -- nobody has any real idea how many planets. And there are billions and billions of galaxies. Nobody knows how many. Ever since the invention of that damned faster than light drive that runs on water -- yes, ordinary water, a drive that is cheap and safe to produce and use -- the empire has gone from a regulated, manageable, semi-feudal collection of world-nations to a Wild Environment, tribal, nomadic: an infinite desert.

And weird things happen out in space. Things that don't lend themselves to bureaucratic structures.

As I write this there are somewhere between 300 million-1 billion crafts currently navigating the universe. They were built on as many as 100 million more or less habitable worlds spread over distances so insanely unimaginable numbers are completely meaningless. Every one of these ships is essentially subject to no law at all. And due to the nature of faster than light travel it would be, in fact it is, practically impossible to ever make them subject to any sort of law, even pirate law. Unless they want to go home, unless they want to meet up with fellow human beings -- they don't. And many of them never do.

There are communities out there, maybe as many as 30% of all human communities it is estimated, which are completely unknown to the rest of this "empire." What goes on there, the things that are found, and found by ordinary schmoes like you and me -- it's dazzling, utterly mind-bending.

Planets, yes entire planets, that are sentient (not just sentient in fact but intensely philosophical and very good conversationalists. Snooze-fest, I know, but some people go in for that sort of thing). Wars of such brutality and violence and rage and incredible length it stupefies even a flexible mind to try and understand why anyone would participate when their ship's FTL drive would help any participant untraceably disappear forever in seconds (the Brunian war: 1,000 years. Yes. A thousand; the Cyclopeon war: 480 some years, depending on if you count that 30 years of unofficial assassinations and military "peace actions"; the War of the Rocks: more time than is known, although technically Rocks are probably not sentient any more than fire is sentient, but they do seem to have memories, of a sort).

Most of these wars and races and planets we steer clear of if we don't like what's going on. So wars, even wars as long and deadly and brutal as these, practically don't even matter to Average Joe Spaceman (or woman -- it's always seemed a dumb term to me). AJSes can go where they pleases and do what they please. This place, the Universe, is so huge, and tracking, sensing, and communication devices are so utterly useless due to the speed of light limitations imposed on everything but the manned and crewed faster than light ship, that we, truthfully, do not even a basic idea of what the hell is going on. We have to rely on the word of mouth of those willing to stand and report.

You can hardly call it an empire. It's more like a rain forest and me a bonobo monkey who happens to think himself king. (Actually, I guess that would be more Galactos. Sorry again, Glactos. I definitely owe you a space beer). But look, I know this stuff is boring. I know you've heard it all before, and I'm sorry to pull a Carl Sagan on you when all you really want is to read about my kids. (Klygone took his first Outerworld Cruise yesterday. His girlfriend, Jendar, who, as you know I adore and think is a wonderful influence on him -- doesn't let him get away with anything -- said the experience made him "more peevish than usual." I'll blog about it when I have time.)

It's almost 11:00 now and I finished reviewing the days notes hours ago, and this blog is stalling before I have to do chores -- out of courtesy I'm Cced on the unclassified bits of all the briefings the Chief Executor receives (but don't bug me for any secret information -- what I get is so incredibly non-vital you might as well just read a newspaper -- really, I don't know why I bother to read them, I should just pick up a copy of the Daily Sun instead -- better written).

(Digression -- sorry for all the M dashes -- I know it's a problem.)

Anyway, it's back to husbandhood and fatherhood again. I've wasted too long on this entry. My wife is in the kitchen, and I can tell by the tone of the pots and pans being put away she's mad at me for not cleaning up my breakfast bowls. I probably left my bag of tea on the counter, draining that concentrated black water (which I guess is just tea, when I think about it) to wander down the counter top and drip into the kitchen rug. Sigh.

Sometimes I wish my job was more important.

2010-03-25T23:52:00.002-04:00

It's hard to write blog entries when you're trying to look busy all the time. But I had a productive day today, so I can justify it.

You know, being an adult -- this has been said before, I reckon -- not all it's cracked up to be. One of the worst things about it is probably having to make conversation in the grocery store. I always feel like I'm dancing some dance that comes natural to everybody else. But anyway. It was before going to work, I'm in a suit and tie, and I have my son Gus with me. And I'm asking where the pre-sliced cheese is (for cheese sandwiches) because, as is my fate, I am completely incapable of finding it.

Now Rolands in Chesapeake Beach is its own scene. It's not a big chain grocery store, but it's not tiny either. It's a medium sized grocery store. The ladies behind the register are old and rednecky, but mostly not mean. But, man do I feel like the Other. Even more than usual. I don't get these rednecks and their priorities, I don't. Lawn care. That's a big one. And the whole way of doing things, the way of talking, and what they care about and why, I'm out of the loop. I feel, in a strange way I can't put right, like a Cop on the beat. There's a we're-all-in-on-it way of talking only I'm not in on it. Even after five years here I'm not (though a friend says I'm good at it -- well, I'm better when I'm drunk, maybe). I can't define it but, there's

friendliness -- that's definitely part of it, but --
there's a meanness too, or a harsh kidding, an invasiveness I don't get.

You can fake the friendliness to a point, but if you don't cut it with whatever this second thing is the friendliness is seen as a shame, maybe, I'm not sure, but what I mean is

I'm wearing this, you know, metaphorical wintercoat I wear. I guess maybe trying to hide all that vulnerability (that's what they tell me anyway). And Gus is with me like I said, and he says to the lady, "these are my spiderman fruit snacks" and she lights up, or maybe just switches into normal mode (I'm always disarming / arming people, I feel) because it's a kid and kids'll say anything, but here I am with a kid and

well i don't know if i can explain it i guess i can't.

but the thing about kids i guess is there's only so far crazy you can get and they snap you back.

people are just people after all, and Other or not, they're people.

what can i say?

gus is going to be a good man someday i can tell.

Daughter Gets Three Years Older While Father Writes Paper

2010-03-13T15:47:00.007-05:00

I just finished writing a 61 page paper.

It wasn't as bad an experience as it could have been --I holed up in an empty apartment for 3 days, and wrote-semi non-stop except for sneaking in some Wire episodes by myself, which was a wifely betrayal of Rachel and I's nightly Wire watching. But I had to. It was an emergency.

Boy, am I tired of Wrongful Incarceration Law. I'm not even sure if my paper can be read by someone other than me. I think I may have created a closed-loop of invented terminology and junk logic and meandering bullshit analysis -- probably I should have just written it in Elvish. My guess is they just make sure you did the margins and the footnotes right, then throw it out.

But upon returning, I see that my daughter is suddenly, like, an inch taller and can officially read a book by herself. She turned five a few days ago, and it's weird but she really does suddenly seem like a big, big kid who makes big kid faces and big kid eye contacts and things. Most of the stuff she says though is still not so big kid.

But time is going by really fast.

Also I'm going to see Greg Brown tonight at my old work, Rams Head Tavern. It's been 1 year (exactly, actually, we figured out). With their turn-around, I bet not a single server I know still works there. I remember I had never waited tables and was flattered to be hired, like I had had a real connection in the interview, until I found out the other guy they hired that same day had never waited tables either -- and had just gotten out of prison earlier that week. He looked visibly upset that he couldn't tie his tie. Like, to the point of violence.

We are hiring our first ever non-family baby sitter. Gus has been a horrible non-pants putting on monster lately (refused to wear pants last night, inexplicably), so Good Luck, Baby Sitter.

Let's see what else. I wish it wasn't raining.

I guess this entry really doesn't have a point, but consider it a little love tap. I'll give you something better later if anything interesting happens to me, which is unlikely, but maybe at least I'll come up with some good lies.

Peace out, cub scouts.

P.S. Is "snuck" not a real word?

P.P.S. Sorry this one was so boring.

Joe Hall Writes Book, You Buy Book

2010-03-10T17:24:00.005-05:00

My friend Joe Hall wrote a book of poems and I am deeply jealous...

... or I would be, if I wasn't aware of the many small and terrible hells that Joe has passed through and the relentless, cloying punishments the universe has and continues to administer to Joe and his loved ones in the form of car accidents, fires, illnesses, and houses made from cardboard ghosts.

The least you can do is go buy his book:

http://www.blackocean.org/pigafetta-is-my-wife/

I believe it's (at least in some senses) a love story between Joe / a-historic-spanish-explorer and Joe's-girlfriend-Cheryl / Pigafetta, although who or what Pigafetta is I'm not sure. Also, I could be wrong about this. But in poetry I don't think that's too important.

I'm Gonna Change Baby, I Promise

2010-03-01T08:08:00.000-05:00

So. I have a giant 75 some such page paper due on March 12th.

Chances are slim you'll get any blog entries before then.

And if you do, it'll mean I'm not doing what I'm supposed to, so....

Anyway, things are gonna change around here On March 12th.

That is the day I truly start to live, blog-entry-writing wise at least.

Oh, but I am gonna post a thing Justin Gutterman wrote as guest blogger.

Best wishes my faithful public,
Tom

Dogs Don't Like Hot Sauce

2010-02-22T10:06:00.002-05:00

Dogs don't like hot sauce, but people do. Is this because dogs' senses are better? I don't think so. Because dogs also enjoy dog shit.

So why don't they like hot sauce?

Why would they? Hot sauce doesn't actually taste good. It tastes bad. It's hot, it burns you.

Well, why do people like hot sauce?

Because unlike dogs, we are able to enjoy pain. Well, not pain. We are able to enjoy what our bodies rush in and do to try to compensate for pain. We are able to enjoy our bodies' reaction to pain.

Dogs aren't so good at taking a step back, experientially.

* * * * *

Actually, after I wrote the above, I remembered that dogs have a really great sense of smell, and then I thought, maybe the hot sauce burns their nose way more than it burns ours, and maybe all that stuff I wrote above is dumb.

This all leaves one important question though: if people had a better sense of smell, would we enjoy eating our own feces?

How to Teach Your Children About Government Bureaucracy

2010-02-08T17:27:00.003-05:00

I think I may have solved the tantrum problem. The idea is to make them fill out forms.

The way I got the idea was this:

Sena always makes me give her shoulder rides all the time. Shoulder rides are a big pain in the butt and I don't always feel like doing them. So I told her she needs to fill out a "Shoulder Ride Request Form."

What's nice about this is how I get to sit down, write something quietly, and not give a shoulder ride for an additional 2 or 3 minutes while we fill out the form. I write I [blank] hereby request [blank] number of shoulder rides. She fills in the blanks and signs.

With this method, she not only practices her numbers and name, she learns all about how government bureaucracy works. I told her that every time she makes a change to the form, she has to scratch out the old entry, write in the new one, and initial.

I told her that she is only eligible for 3 shoulder rides at a time, and they can be denied for any reason.

You'd think that would infuriate a four year old, but no -- she loves it!

"How many shoulder rides do I have remaining?" She asks after each shoulder ride.

Well, anyway, this idea made everybody so happy, when, later, they were drawing pictures on their easel and started yelling at each other, I just ignored them and then yelled into the room, "if anyone would like to register a complaint, file into the living room and speak to me privately!"

Sena very happily came in and sat down at the couch, and very calmly articulated her complaint about her little brother -- he's not giving me any chalk, and she wanted to draw a picture of her family.

I told her she needed to fill out a Complaint Form, which she happily did.

Once it was filled out in tripplicat (just kidding, that would be unduly burdensome), I took immediate action -- I asked them to share the chalk board.

Ah, government. Is there any problem it can't solve?

Megalomaniacal Speeches

2010-02-08T13:56:00.000-05:00

Sena declared herself president of the house and made me write her a megalomaniacal speech. Then Gus helped us write a second speech in a similar style. The third Sena wrote every word.

Speech #1

Ladies & Germs:

You bunch of bozos have annoyed me for the last time! From now on, things are gonna change! I'll see to it that times around here get pretty tough for all ya'lls. It's not gonna be the free lunch it was before. You gonna have to work for what you get from now on. A peach on it.
Sincerely, Prezident of the house Sena

Speech #2

Look to the future!

Men and women of Earth, this is your lord high commandant Sena & your mayor Gus. We have to make a cakeville! Everybody do what you want! A word from your mayor Gus (and from me) -- watch out for the beast! It's right there! It's poisonous, isn't it? Its heart is poisonous, its brain is poisonous. I've never seen that beast! I made that beast! That beast is made of pillows! That beast is mean.

Speech #3

Hello wizobird of our houses! Everybody make sure you love God and Jesus and recycle! Make sure you don't eat too much goodies and everybody follow my rule! Do whatever I say! And don't betray me or you will get a spanking! A hard one! Even you, Daddy! Don't even think about resting your arms until the job is done! Listen to my rules! Do everything I say!

Children Overwhelm Father Despite Father's Overwhelming Size Advantage

2010-02-05T09:26:00.022-05:00

My son Gus has lately been throwing even more intense two year old fits.

On one level, kids are easy to relate to. We all used to be kids. On another level, it's as hard imagining being a kid as it is imagining being a bug or a whale.

I mean, I remember remembering the sense of everything being gigantic and utterly new, but I can't remember it directly, do you know what I mean? I can't quite remember exactly what it actually felt like.

Things are not gigantic and new anymore. In fact, more and more I'm noticing how much room I take up, how gigantic I am. Not that I'm especially fat, but I am trickily far off the ground (6 feet!).

The kids don't have that problem. Gus is as compact as a tenis ball. He's got a shirt that has a cartoon drawing of a monkey on it with dangly arms and legs and it suits him perfectly.

His body is a cartoon body, small and silly and wirey. Hard to imagine what returning to a body like that would be like.

But some things aren't so hard to imagine. For instance, I understand why Gus gets so frustrated. Sharing, for instance, isn't a natural concept. Neither is time.

To this day, I still struggle to not get mad when I don't get what I want when I want it. And also time doesn't make any sense. Everything should last forever. 28 years have helped, but not as much as you'd think.

* * * * *

It's the day the big blizzard is supposed to come. We're all in pajamas waiting for the snow.

I'm watching my kids go back and forth between fighting over and playing with a giant yoga ball they somehow stole from their aunt. One leans on it, the other screams. Then one throws it and knocks the other down and then there is more screaming.

Just now they are happy, but soon one of them will get hurt.

* * * * *

I remember as a kid trying to imagine what it would be like to have a gigantic body like my father's. My dad is 6'5''.

In the early evening, you'd hear his car pull up in the driveway, his key scratch the lock of the front door, and Keeper, our dog, barking authoritatively -- Keeper was an authoritative dog. No-nonsense. He took his responsibilities seriously.

My two little brothers and I were only a little higher off the ground than Keeper. Kids are like action a bunch of action figures from different sets -- the sizes don't match up.

Anyway, my dad would come through the door and he'd be huge, I mean so gigantic I remember distinctly when I was old enough that I could actually jump up and tap him on the shoulder.

His clothes were huge too. I remember a giant rain jacket thing that smelled like cologne that seemed incredibly heavy. And I remember what was now, I realize, a very tiny house as cavernous and full of dark nooks and secrets.

Not to be depressing, but as you get older things get dimmer. There's really no way to escape that fact. Things were infinitely more real back then. Everything you smelled, you touched, it positevely pulsed with reality.

Was that just newness? Or our are brains full of little holes now?

Compared to my kids, I can tell I miss a lot. And I'm only 28. One day I'll be 68, if all goes according to plan. And I can tell 68 year old are missing even more than I am (well, some of them anyway).

Anyway, the thing about it is, when you are hanging out with little people to whom everything is new, you realize how stale you are, how you don't see things.

Some of the stuff they think is amazing, utterly amazing. Their brains are so pink and fresh. I was hoping I wouldn't have an old banged up brain when I had kids, but I guess hoping don't make your brain stay fresh.

However, I think once you have kids, you matter a lot less. My kids don't care about the freshness of my brains (unless they turn into Zombies).

They mostly just care that I'm a giant. In their unimaginable little minds, that's what matters most -- that I'm a giant with giant heavy clothing that smells the unknown.

Every once in a while I pick up on a little sliver of their world and it makes me feel great -- I'm a giant!

Who doesn't love a giant?

Sena's Song

2010-01-30T12:40:00.005-05:00

Sena asked to use my portable tap recorder and improvised this real quick, first take. I thought it was pretty good. Actually, being her father, I thought it was great.

TRANSCRIPT:

I love you soo-oo much
[indecipherable] touch
Wanna say hey say hey-ey
help the whole world recycle.
A promise is a promise
and snow is snow.
I love you so much [indecipherable]
I love God and Jesus.
I love everybody as much as I can.
I can’t wait for the next storm.
I can’t wait!