Smiley’s Neighborhood

I simply could not control the giggles or stop smiling as my newest Christmas present cleaved the cornish hens in two along the backbone.

It was simply a wonderful thing to behold.

The sheer power, the keen cutting edge, the... what's that red stuff dripping from my hand?

What the deuce!?!

Ahh well, the hens got the worst of it.

It was, as the Black Knight can tell you, only a flesh wound.

My two year old, looked up from coloring, and said, "Dha-dee, pennz-uhl plheaze."

I, thinking she just wanted to switch media said sure, and pulled one out of the drawer.

She took it from me, but looked disapprovingly at the graphite writing instrument.

"No, Dha-dee.  No pennz-uhl.  Pennz-uhl, please."

At which point she held up the rejected pencil toward me.

OK.

I took that pencil back, and gave her a different pencil from the drawer; a thicker one that I thought might be easier for her to hold.

This time, she wouldn't even take the eraser-ended writing device from me.

Her face grew stern and her voice dropped an octave, "Dha-dee, lizzen me!  No pennz-uhl; pennz-uhl!"

I waved the pencil at her, "Pencil."

She shook her head and waved her hands away, "No pennz-uhl!"

I put it on the table in front of her, "Pencil."

She smacked the wood-encased graphite tube off the table and onto the floor, "No, no, no pennz-uhl!  Dha-dee, lizzen me!  Pennz-uhl!"

Utterly confused and growing impatient I said, "Fine!  show me the pencil you want!"

She got up, walked over to the counter and pointed at the bag of pretzels.

I was laughing when I dialed my wife to tell her about the misunderstanding, and sharing pretzels with the two year old, happily at the table.

"Yummy, yummy, pennz-uhls Dha-dee!"

My daughter must think that I'm totally thick sometimes.

I get in my car, most every day, with some list of errands to attend to.

I think about what I'm going to do, what I'm going to get, who I'm dropping off or picking up and where.

I don't think about the vehicle much, its operation, its controls, the rush of going faster than I could ever possibly hope to run on my legs.

And it could kill me, my wife, or my kids.  It has a high statistical probability of happening.

It's really a far greater likelihood that I will die in my car, at the hands of a fellow loyal American, than my being the victim of an act of terrorism.

And I don't think that much about it.  I just load the kids up in the car and go.

But I do remember a time when going 35 down a lonely dirt road surrounded by citrus groves felt like I was holding on to a rocket.  When every minor turn of the steering wheel seemed like it might initiate a rollover as the car shifted. 
That wore off with more practice and experience as I knew what to expect from the vehicle and how it would respond to the inputs I gave it.

Then, when I was older, it was buying a house that made my skin tingle.

There was a blur of paperwork and legalese and the whole process made my heart beat faster, and my breath shallow, until it was finally our home.  It took a while to even get used to the idea that we actually owned the house (by way of the bank holding the mortgage.)

Today, just now actually, our offer was accepted on a bank-owned house for much less than the assessed value.

Move-in ready, three years old, in a nicer brick section of the respectable subdivision we currently rent in...  Buying for $200 less per month than rent, and a substantial mark-down from where the neighboring houses are valued.

It was a short call.  I told my wife "okay" then hung up and had another pull from a BBC Nut Brown Ale.

It feels like I should be bouncing up and down excitedly at the prospect of such a deal on a momentous purchase.

However, I would have been more excited to hear that Joshycash and the Rebel Tones were playing my wife's office Christmas party, than I was to hear that our offer was accepted.

I am no longer excited or freaked out by the house buying process.  It's old hat.  I know what to expect and when.  I am comfortable with the events unfolding and just need to know where the attorneys office is to show up to sign papers, drop off a check, and pickup the key to the house.  The rest of the process is dis-interesting.  This house, unlike our other purchases, doesn't even have any glaring projects.  We just need to move in, change the locks, and continue our lives.

As I age, I wonder what I won't care about next; maybe being jaded.

But the BBC Nut Brown Ale is really good... maybe another.

I continue to be amazed at the interpersonal connections made possible by technology over not only long distances, but decades of time itself.

Characters that had been part of my formative narrative that for years had only been just that; characters in the stories I could tell.

Now they are substantial again and communicative in the present if not physically present in a common locale.

Ironic thing is, we were once brought together by a shared experience in a common place.

Now the one thing we don't share is a common physical space.

Now we are dispersed... the desert border-town diaspora.  If anything, it's actually easier to drop-by and hang out with each other casually, if only by electronic written word, than it was back in the day when we were all in the same city.

But still, they really existed... some of them still do...  I find comfort in that and an odd sobriety.

I'm also noticing myself connecting more with those that got themselves the furthest away.

Am I paranoid in my sub-brain that even reconnecting via the social internet with the few who lingered will somehow allow me to pulled back into the vortex?

Coming to the realization that our lives are mountains built by adding pebbles here and there each day.

Sometimes re-arranging, sometimes discarding, sometimes grading over a peak to make a stronger base.

Uncovering pieces that have been under the surface for quite some time.

Overwhelmed and tumbled under the surf.

Trying to incorporate what I knew with what I know now to fill in the spaces in between.

Gaining knowledge and losing preconceptions.

It all comes together and what really is becomes richer than what I thought was.

Here is a bit of the past, present:

今日は　Ｊ君が目の具合が悪いとのことで、眼科に行って検査してきました。

特に問題はなかったのですが、一応念のため、瞳孔を開いて眼の奥を診察してもらいました。

この検査をすると、２・３時間は瞳孔が開いたままで、うまく光の調整ができないとかで、

まぶしく感じるとのこと。

家に帰ると、おかんが買い物に行きたがったので、Ｊ君も誘って3人で行こうとしました。

しかし、Ｊ君はまぶしいので、行きたがりません。

でも、肉が食べたいから、晩御飯用にステーキ肉を買ってきてくれとリクエスト。

そんなＪ君を置いて、おかんと車に乗ってから、

わたし　「おかあさん、さっきのＪ君の目見た？

　　　　　　瞳孔が開いてて気持ち悪い目してたんだよ～。」

おかん　「え！？　そんなになるまでステーキが食べたかったんだね？

　　　　　　やっぱりアメリカ人だから、肉食べないとだめなんだね～」　　とのこと。

おかんの思考回路では、瞳孔がひらく＝死んだ人、だと思ったので、

Ｊ君最近の晩御飯は魚や野菜続きで、肉を食べていなかったから、

死にかけているのだと思ったらしい・・・・・・

The wife talked me into a cable DVR.

Yeah, you can call me the jet setting early adopter.

Too often we wanted to watch two shows at the same time, or kids bedtime routine intruded into the start times.

I watch shows now in pieces during stolen moments in my day.

I'm grooving on watching shows on my schedule instead of when the networks schedule them.

The wife is catching up on "Lost" and I'm grabbing all the "Pushing Daisies" and "Boston Legal" back catalog.

Netflix has reverted to a movie supplier for us, instead of tv series season supplier.

That Com 400-whatever class from back in the day is all coming true; media content user pull instead of push.

Content distribution channels can no longer control when the audience consumes the media.

Implications reside there for wary advertisers.

Now, I find it all so convenient to pause live tv for absolutely any kid related bit of importance that I want the
functionality for the rest of my life.

I think I'll put the "pause" button right next to the "mute" and "sleep" functions on my theoretical child remote control.

If Smiley can admit to being a fan of "Two And A Half Men", then I suppose I should cough up to a budding adoration of both "Pushing Daisies" and "Boston Legal".

Neither show aims for realism or authenticity, but they are believable within their own narrative.

Yes, it betrays my inner-escapist.

To a casual or short-time observer both shows might even seem to be plausible, but it takes only a few moments more of watching for something undeniably off-base to occur.

After a few more moments that niggling is confirmed by something that feels almost naughty.

Because it is the kind of thing we've been trained to expect will not happen on television.

Witty, dry, dark humor, cleverly written and fleet-footed.

It's the kind of tv that the generic 'Merican audience is not supposed to like.

I am intrigued that they dare me to have a taste for them.

This is Guinness on draft for $1 a pint on Thursdays all over again, and I'm still the only one at the table who will try it.

Apparently, and I've heard this before, though never quite so substantiated; Gun'n'Roses will be releasing Chinese Democracy next month.

November 23rd, 2008 Would it be ironic if it was raining?