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Posts for the date of Friday, May 17, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 10:15 AM |
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"Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It's round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you've got about a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of, babies--God damn it, you've got to be kind."
--Kurt Vonnegut, God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater
Sorry for the lack of update yesterday. I was not feeling well. Then the kids and I had to play all evening.
But today . . . today is reserved for instruction. Today I explain the mysteries of pregnancy to my dear friends, The Artists, who are expecting their first child. I think they expect the child to be human, in the very least. I expect he or she will be very odd. If you knew The Artists, you would agree. Artist husband spent the bulk of his youth analyzing the social implications of Star Trek. Artist wife was more normal. But that’s only relative. I’ve spoken to some of her friends and have heard stories about their misadventures in college. Let’s just say that . . . Where they live, the police must be very forgiving.
I’m extremely excited about their little one’s arrival. I think they’ll be fantastic parents. They just need to remember what too many new parents forget: Relax! The baby feeds off of your energy. If you are tense, the baby will sense that and be tense. Though it is amazingly difficult to remain calm with a colicky baby, the looser and calmer you are, the easier it will be to calm the baby. After all, if you were upset and someone who was tense and excitable tried to calm you down, how would you feel?
So, here are the things that NO ONE will tell you about pregnancy. Cut these out and place them in your wallet.
1. Super Smell and Super Taste. I don’t know if it’s related to the hormones or the fact that a woman has the power to grow life (which is a pretty awesome power, when you think of it . . . The only life men can grow is the fungus in ten-year-old tennis shoes). But the fact remains: Pregnancy leads to the development of superpowers. ESP is one. She'll know what you are thinking. Even if you think that you aren't thinking what you says you're thinking, you would be wrong. But Super Smell and Super Taste are the ones you need to look out for.
It starts small. You’ll find out that she doesn’t like the smell of something you’ve always eaten. For the sake of argument, let’s say it’s potatoes. The smell will make her nauseous. You will be unable to go anywhere that has a hint of potatoes. Potatoes will be her mortal enemy. Want to go to Bill and Sharon’s house? You can’t. Why? Because on July 17, 1984 they ate potato soup. She’ll remember it clearly. But, you’ll say, “That was so long ago!” It doesn’t matter; it’ll smell like potatoes. Can Bill and Sharon come over? Hell no! They’ll have the smell in their clothes!
Then comes the taste. Do you have any pots or pans that have cook the offending dish? Throw them out. Because no matter what is cooked in them now will taste like potatoes. Did you eat potato chips last Thursday and make her a sandwich this afternoon? Throw the sandwich away. There will be a hint of legume essence on the bread, which, of course, will seep into the condiments and ruin the whole thing.
The important thing to remember is that her nausea must be avoided at all costs. This is a sort of nausea that no man will ever understand. It blows the stomach flu, food poisoning and alcohol out of the water. There is no nausea like this on the planet. It isn’t felt in her stomach, but in her whole being. Her aura is nauseated. She’ll actually be able to shoot nausea across the room to you.
2. You must be willing to leave the house at any time, for any reason. This is no longer your home. It is incubation central and the woman rules the roost. That’s not your TV. It isn’t your stereo and that’s certainly not your bed. Anything and everything in that house is used as a tool for pregnancy. One day you may come home and find her massaging her back with a meat tenderizer and n frayed electrical wire. Do not ask why. But, for the sake of all humanity, offer to help!
She may ask you to leave for a number of reasons. It is your duty as a husband to do so. She may want humus at 2 a.m. Get it. Find it at all costs. She has a ravenous need for humus. Do not ignore the need or you will be killed. She may ask you to leave for a full week because you breathe funny. This may or may not be true. But, she has more hormones running through her body on a daily basis than you have had in your entire life. She has a human being leaping from her stomach to her liver and bouncing off her ribs. She’s uncomfortable. If she wants you out of the house, it’s better for all to leave until you are invited back. Pregnant woman have powers, my friend, and you do not.
3. Breasts. They will grow. Leave them alone. They’re not for you.
4. The bladder. She will be using the bathroom every ten minutes. Again, she has a human being sitting on her bladder. You’d pee every ten minutes too of I pushed on your bladder 24 hours a day. Be understanding. It will take you three weeks to watch a movie. Never complain. And NEVER tease her about it. Remember, you cannot possibly understand what she’s going through. Your job is to make her comfortable.
5. For her comfort and happiness your wife will begin sleeping with another man. This man will be in the form of a body pillow. Only he will be able to make her comfortable through the night. Only this body pillow will alleviate the back problems, leg pains and breathing problems she will be experiencing. I hope you have a big bed, because the whole thing now belongs to her. You will get exactly ¾ of an inch. And none of the covers.
6. Temperature. The laws of physics no longer apply. She will be hot when it is 12 below zero. She will be cold when it is 110. Live with it. You will be unable to do anything about it. In the winter your home will be somewhere near absolute zero. Pets will be freezing in mid-walk.
7. Your wife has the right to change her mind at any given time. For example . . . you are having friends over for dinner. At 10 a.m. you plan a menu that consists of several Mexican dishes. At 4 p.m. you buy the materials to create said dinner. At 4:30, she will decide she needs Italian. You go back to the store and pick up the materials. At 5 p.m. you begin cooking. At 5:30 she’ll decide she wants Chinese. You go back to the store. At 7 p.m. dinner is served. You and your guests have a lovely time, and great conversation. At 8 p.m., while you are doing the dishes, she’ll really wish you had had Mexican instead.
YOU MUST SMILE through this whole process. No complaints. Unless you want to find out what it’s like to have spaghetti shoved up through your nose and removed through another orifice.
8. During labor never say, “Hey that was a big contraction” or “That one didn’t seem bad.” You’ve never had the sensation of having your body try to expel another human being. And, if you do not want to find out then only say, “Honey you’re doing great!” Do not turn on the TV. Do not crack jokes. The woman you are looking at is working. Very hard. She’s working to give birth and that, my friend, is an amazing process. It’s also something that she has been both looking forward to and fearing for a long time. She’s been thinking about this moment since before you met. Tell her that you love her. That you are happy to be there with her, sharing this moment. And you know what? Thank her for being your wife. She deserves it.
9. This is the most important. YOU ARE WRONG. No matter what the situation. You are wrong. If she says the Smurfs fought the War of 1812 in 1945 then, damn it, it was.
10. Ever heard of a home vasectomy kit? If you violate any of the other nine rules, you will. Try to decline the offer.
In all seriousness, this process will be the most amazing months of your life. Even now, with my baby here, growing daily and cute as a button, part of me misses pregnancy. Part of me misses feeling the baby move. Seeing the ultrasound and wondering, “What will you be like?” And hearing the heartbeat for the first time . . .
Treasure every moment. You won’t get it back. You aren’t waiting for the baby, it’s already here. It’s already a part of your life. Talk to it. Tell it about yourself.
And that moment, when you first see that child . . . you will cry. Because you’ve just witnessed a new life beginning. That moment is like the first page of a story and you have no idea how it will end. You will cry when you see this beautiful little person cradled in your wife’s arms for the first time and realize that everything you love . . . everything that makes life worth living is sitting there right in front of you. And that moment will be perfect.
Unless you say, “Hey, he looks like Winston Churchill.” Then, my friend, you’re on your own.
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Posts for the date of Wednesday, May 15, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 4:00 PM |
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I don't know why I did it. I really don't. But, I made a Geek Store. You can buy geek stuff with my crappy geek logo. The only upside I can see is that I put some funny sayings on some of the things. Why? I have no fargin' idea. But it was fun.
There's a solid link over to the left.
If anyone actually buys something I may pass out.
I kind of like the little guy. He has a minimalist quality I like. I drew him, so don't make fun of him. I'm fragile.
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 12:42 PM |
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My wife thinks I've given too much thought to the subject of superheroes. I think she hasn't given it enough thought. Where are her priorities, I ask. Where are her plans for a genetically enhanced future? What will she do when our baby begins to fly?
I'll be prepared. Will she?
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 8:20 AM |
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So, about those superheroes. I’ve been considering them ever since I saw Spider-Man. It’s been foremost on my mind.
First, let’s consider the staples of the superhero world. Superman and Batman.
Superman flies. He is bulletproof and has heat vision. Why? Because he came from a planet with a red sun and Earth has a yellow sun, of course! How this explains superpowers is beyond me.
But Geekfriend and I were talking about Superman and have begun to wonder about a few things.
1. He flies at super speeds, without goggles. How does he do this and keep his eyes open? We figure the only explanation is that he has Supertears. His eyes water at such amazing speeds that you cannot even see the tears.
2. He may be bulletproof, but the guy still has skin. Again, flying at such speeds creates friction. Would he not chafe? Does he add lubing up with Vaseline as part of his great changing from Clark to Superman routine? He’d need to, otherwise he’d have dry, cracked skin and Lois wouldn’t be interested in his flaky ass. It would also explain why super villains tend to slip through his grasp.
3. He wears a cape when he flies. Now, I’m no physicist but I believe this would create drag and slow him down. It serves no purpose in his ability to fly. Except, that is, that capes look cool as they flap in the breeze. Even Zorro wore one. Therefore, we conclude that Superman wears a cape because it is color-coordinated with his uniform. He thinks he looks fabulous.
On to Batman. This guy has no superpowers. He only has rage and an unlimited source of wealth. With a little therapy and a new financial advisor that wouldn’t allow him to spend untold millions on his secret lair, he’d be fine. Just another spoiled, rich guy who shreds documents and buys politicians like consumer electronics.
In the real world, none of these guys would stand a chance. No one would believe that a) they have super powers or b) they are truly trying to do good. They’d be considered freaks, ranked up there with the crazies that claim to be Elvis and Jesus. They’d be driven out of town or submitted to random drug tests.
Plus, these idiots have a very strenuous job. And, yet, they wear spandex. The fight and fly in heat! They should be one slippery mass of sweat. Superman should be passing out from heat exhaustion as he fights Lex Luthor. But that never happens. Dehydration is not a concern in the superhero universe.
What’s worse is Spider-Man, god love the guy. But if his skin allows him to stick to walls, how is it possible for him to wear the suit? Wouldn’t that block his ability? Or is that too rational?
Plus, he and Batman both wear masks when they fight Evil. Do they have no consideration for peripheral vision? How can they see what’s coming?
Lastly, if I were a superhero I wouldn’t want to hide my identity. I’d let everyone know who I was. I’d flaunt my power and have people fear me because they’d never know when I might fly off or cling to a wall while shopping for groceries.
Which brings me to superheroes that would exist in the real world.
Naked-Man. He has no superpower. However, he has a glandular problem that causes him to sweat profusely. He catches the bad guy by putting their heads in a scissors lock. Now, really, would you want to have your head caught in the sweaty, hairy legs of a naked guy who thinks he could fight crime?
Head-Rush. Again, no superpowers. Just a stoner who thinks he has super powers. He tries to pick up cars and, every Friday night, with Techno music pounding, he thinks he can fly. His friends encourage him to try because he’s really, really annoying.
Stinky-Man. He actually exists. He rides public transportation all day long and, no matter when or where you ride, he sits next to you.
Super-Bitch. Her powers come every 28 days. And when they do, you better watch out. She’ll ask you if her butt looks fat in her tights and, if you answer wrong, you will be in a world of hurt.
Catholic-Mom. The power of guilt should never be messed with. She’ll have you give up your life of crime and mowing her lawn within 15 minutes.
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Posts for the date of Tuesday, May 14, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 4:54 PM |
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Sometimes you just have to lay back, close your eyes and admit that you are the system’s bitch.
I concede defeat to the world today and, thusly, give up on work for a day. Like a general whose troops have been slaughtered and he is the last man standing I can honestly say, “My work here is done.”
Sadly, it’ll be there again tomorrow, even dirtier, messier and smellier.
But I get a brief respite. The eye in the storm. A few hours at the beach, so to speak.
Bubbles. I get to make bubbles. The kind that are made using the surface tension created when you mix water with a soap solution. Perfect spheres.
Say it with me everyone. It’s fun. Bubble, bubble, bubble. Bubble, bubble, bubble. No other word in the English language is quite as fun. Except maybe defunct. But that’s another story.
I’m meeting with another mom (or should I say “parent”) to discuss creative ways to make bubbles for the Science Olympiad at Kaitlyn’s school next week. We’ve discussed a few options, but we’ll go in depth tomorrow. Woo hoo!
Now, I’m no expert at bubbles. Sure, I’ve blown a few in my time. I’ve even been able to make some mutant bubbles and some extra large ones. But . . . what else to do? In general, my expertise is in bubbles in the bath, without the benefit of soap.
So, how many variations on bubbles can you make? Scientifically speaking, there just isn’t much that can be done with a bubble without compromising its structural integrity.
That’s where my love of physics is going to come in. I am going to endeavor to make a bubble in extreme conditions where space and time don’t matter.
I will create a black hole in my kitchen and see what effects it has on bubbles. And to see if Teflon is still no-stick in extreme gravity.
Maybe the other parent will get sucked in to it. Because, really, I don’t give a crap about the dance studio she runs. The thought of her in a leotard frightens me, to be honest.
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 12:50 PM |
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Blog . . . out of danger?
The blog? Yes. The blog is fine. Humming along and serving up pages like a happy little camper.
The blogger himself? Well, no. He's having a heart attack by being busy today. Too much to do. Being as the money that I earn while genially freelancing from beautiful downtown Creve Coeur helps feed my family, I think I'll focus on that today.
Tomorrow? I focus on bubbles.
For today, I'll send you to my wife the Weasel. She posted a rather nice piece today about fatherhood versus motherhood and the inherent inequities therein. I worry about her descriptions of scrubbing floors and wonder what my future may have in store.
I think I might buy a bigger toothbrush . . .
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Posts for the date of Monday, May 13, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 1:56 PM |
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I had originally planned to tell you all about how much I loved Spider-Man. How cool I thought it was and the list of superheroes I had come up with that were destined to fail (e.g. Naked Man).
Then I saw something. Something . . . deplorable.
The wife and I took the drooler to see the doctor today. She’s officially six months old (wow, how time flies . . . more on that another time). So, the doctor looks her over, declares her a genius and bows to her plan for world domination. Then, as if the disgrace her desire for dominance, they pinned her down to inject her full of some sort of vaccination. Right . . . Government tracking serums is more like it.
There were for shots total. The first two, little Gertrude was very gracious. She took the stinging pain like a trooper. Her little lip pouted a bit, but she was okay. The third irritated her. She looked at the nurse and gave her a warning. NEVER do that again. But the nurse did and Gertrude let out a plaintive wail that was heard for blocks around. Children all over the world stopped, bowed their heads and thought silently about the poor child that had just been vaccinated.
Gertrude gave that nurse a look. A dirty look. A look that said, “I never forget a face. Woman, when I can walk and have a concept of revenge, you are first.”
But that is beside the point.
As I was loading the baby into the car to deliver her to the sitter, I noticed there were two small children in the car next to me. No parent. I had seen them when I pulled in. There was a dad of some sort in the front with them, but he was gone.
Well, I thought, maybe he’s under the car checking for leaks. Nope. Perhaps he’s hiding in the back, playing a game. Nope. Perhaps his body was flung into this ditch and is waiting to be discovered by authorities. Nope.
No, this jerk left his two kids in the car. Alone. Looked to be about three and one. The best part was the one-year-old was not restrained in any way. He roamed about the car, trying to discover what sort of horrible act he could perform. The other kid sat there, blandly allowing himself to be neglected. I could see the pent up rage building itself up deep within him. He may not figure out how to retaliate today. Or even this decade, but you could tell by the look on his face that he would exact his revenge on his errant, moronic dad someday . . . when he least expected it.
My wife stayed to make sure the kids were okay. Eventually the dad came out and retrieved his kids. Wife didn’t say anything to the guy, but gave him a dirty look.
This guy is seriously missing two of the seven senses (Horse and Common). What kind of jerk leaves two young children in a car on a parking lot? Would it have taken so much to get the two kids out and take them in with him? Are they not important enough to him? How could anyone let their children out of their site for that long? For crying out loud, I stop the car to make sure my kid is breathing properly. I would never consider leaving her alone for a second, much less keeping her in a car alone while I go about my business.
This prick makes us all look bad.
It’s bad enough that fathers have a reputation based upon moronic stereotypes from television sit-coms. We can never catch a break. I know this for a fact based on the way my daughter’s brownie moms have treated me. I am an outsider to them. A bumbling Neanderthal bastard who shouldn’t be caring for children because I am probably afraid of changing diapers. I am not worthy to share the brownie room with them because . . . well . . . I have a penis and that makes me incapable of proper child care. I should be relegated to cleaning gutters and charring flesh over an open flame.
Heck, open any parenting magazine and look for all the articles that deal with fatherhood. Exactly . . . none? And when a father is mentioned, it’s usually in reference to him putting on a diaper backwards or trying to feed the baby chili.
But that’s beside the point. I know I’m a good Dad. I know many good dads. There are many in my family alone. And yet, jerks like this guy are the ones who give us the stereotype of stupid, uncaring, incompetent nincompoops. We’re not all that way.
To quote the movie Parenthood, “You need a license to drive a car. You need a license to own a dog. But any butt-reaming asshole can be a dad.”
This is true. But, do not judge us based on the stereotype. Look around. There are plenty of us caring fathers around.
Also, look around again. If you see this guy, who was driving a powder blue Volvo station wagon, kick him. Hard. In the crotch.
Or you can wait another ten years when he picks up his son at the police station for dealing drugs. He’ll be the one moaning about how the media has corrupted his kid. He’ll be the one completely blind to the fact that parenting actually involves paying attention to your kids.
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