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Posts for the date of Friday, October 18, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 12:55 PM |
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I was talking to Matilda yesterday about how people view her. What, did she think, was the one thing that she did or was interested in that she thought people identified as her main interest? Without missing a beat she replied, “Art.” She said the same thing about her mom. Art is the one thing that most defines her.
So I asked her what she thought about me. I fully expected movies, books or music. Those are the things I think I spend the most time talking about. The fact that people called me “The Movie Guy” for so long had to come with a reason. Right?
I guess I was wrong. Matilda responded, “Either computers or science.”
Interesting. True, I am interested in both, without a doubt. But how could this eagle-eyed seven-year-old have so thoroughly picked up on it?
Computers are an obvious choice. After all, I spend most of my time on a computer. Too much time, in fact. Morning, noon and night I’m working on this damned machine. Either on freelance work, writing, Intercot or just plain goofing off. She heard the conversations I had when I was toiling over what to do about the old crappy machine and planning the future with the machine I have now.
But science? Where did she get that? I’m not denying the interest. It’s there, overtly to be sure. However, where did she pick up on it? I encourage all of her scientific interests, that’s true. When she wanted to take part in Mad Science, I applauded. When she gets home from each session I grill her about all the details. Is it because I’m encouraging her or is it because I’m jealous? Hard to be sure.
But I don’t think in our daily home life I talk about science incessantly. Do I? How much is my interest a part of my life? It’s true that when I was investigating a satellite service to make my living hell in this rented rat hole a little easier the one thing I refused to live without was the NASA channel. It’s true that when I have the chance to watch the NASA channel I will vegetate in front of it for hours watching two anonymous suited individuals fitting the ISS with some random coupling. And if there’s nothing of note currently occurring on the NASA channel I will watch the tracking of the ISS or random images of Earth from space. I can’t help it.
And it’s true that I like to point out random scientific facts. When Matilda is interested in something, I always ask if she knows how it works. We try to appreciate the world not only for its aesthetic beauty but also for its mechanical and atomic beauty. I admit to being fascinated by the structure of a blade of grass or the sociology of squirrels.
But do I make these things obvious? I didn’t think so. I could swear that I spend more time discussing the finer points of the bridge in “God Only Knows” than I do the finer points of Quantumelectrodynamics. Both are great interests of mine.
For that matter, I’m not the geeky dad who takes apart the TV to see how it works and I certainly do run experiments in my kitchen. Of course, when we were at the Science Center last and watched a presentation on comets, I suppose she could tell by my rapt attention and complaints about inaccuracy that maybe, perhaps, there was an interest there.
More importantly I think Matilda has keyed into my insatiable curiosity. If something clicks with me, I need to understand it. And I think she knows, somehow, that if I had it all to do over again I think I would find a way to become a scientist.
You can look at a scientist in any way you wish. Most people just find them weird and boring. But hardly. My personal opinion is that any scientist has a brilliant mind that has never lost a child’s curiosity. You may see them working on a vastly complex issue involving concepts that you don’t understand. But I think they see themselves a merely trying to figure something out. Trying to understand.
And that’s where my late quest for scientific understanding comes in. I want to understand things. Whether it’s the function of a quasar to the purpose of a neutrino, I want to know. Sure, it takes me a long time to understand, but I really do want to get to the heart of the matter.
Scientists should have the accolades of Rock Stars. They may not have the glamour of the good life, but what they do is fascinating. More so than Hoobastank. They see life in so many different layers than we do. And yet we mock them and run away.
I want to be a scientist. But I never will be. Perhaps one of my kids will be. But, to be honest, I’ll be happy if they’re dog groomers.
But, in the very least, if I can convince them to look beneath the layers and seek understanding, I’ll be happy. I can already see it happening. Can I take credit? Probably not. But it doesn’t matter. Because right now, in many ways, Matilda shares my quest.
And that’s a good thing.
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Posts for the date of Thursday, October 17, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 8:20 AM |
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I’m quite groggy this morning. I was out late last night seeing a movie and an hour after I fell asleep Gertrude woke up and decided it was time to play. If you want to understand true fear, stare into the eyes of an alert baby at 1 a.m.
It’s like staring down the barrel of a Howitzer. You know that you don’t have a chance.
Now, I’m the dad in this situation. It’s my job to convince the baby to go back to sleep not because I’m afraid she’ll be crabby all day. I do it because I’m afraid I’ll be crabby all day.
I situate her, rub her back, snuggle with her, coo at her. No avail. She wiggles and squirms and gets angry and kicks and fidgets. Then she looks at me, gives me the raspberries and says “Uh-oh.”
Meanwhile I’m getting frustrated thinking about all the things I have to do in the morning and how difficult they will be when I’m looking at life through the fog of exhausted parenthood.
I love this baby. I really do. I love this child in ways I cannot describe. She brings out emotions in me that I never thought I’d feel. That I didn’t even dream were possible. When I look at her little sweet face I’m overcome by joy and happiness.
But that’s between 6 a.m. and 10 p.m. At 1 a.m. I’m frustrated with her. I feel horrible for being frustrated with her. She can’t help it that she’s wide-awake at this hour. It’s not her fault that her daddy took of the night before to have a beer and see a movie with friends. It’s not her fault that she didn’t get to play with him before bedtime or steal the book he and her sister were reading, just like every other night. And gosh darn it, here she is conveniently awake and whom does she find? Daddy! Why don’t we party papa? I’ll grab the beanie ferret and you make the funny voices. Come on!
I tried to convince her that daddy would be much more interesting in the morning. That daddy would love to wiggle and giggle with her during her favorite morning kids’ shows AT A REASONABLE HOUR.
I was just about at the end of my rope. I had tried everything I could to calm this baby down and convince her to sleep.
Then her mother picked her up, put her back in her crib and came back to bed. The baby started to cry. I started to get out of bed to go get her, but my wife grabbed my arm to stop me. She cried for five minutes. Then ten. Then . . . nothing.
I think she stopped breathing. I started to get out of bed. The hand on my arm again.
Two minutes later I hear a gentle little snore.
Huh. Put her back in bed and let her fall asleep on her own. I admit I had never thought of that. I’ll have to send that on in to Ann Landers.
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Posts for the date of Wednesday, October 16, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 10:56 AM |
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You know, I just don’t really have a lot to write about today. I suppose that is the danger to promising to write something every single day.
Let’s see . . . I have work to do. That’s exciting. I have a website to work on. That’s fun. The design is coming along, with help (I’m certainly no designer). The kids are still alive and strange as ever.
Today Gertrude grabbed the remote, ran toward the TV squealing and managed to turn it on mid-Wiggles episode. She dropped the remote and danced.
Sometimes kids are so damn cute you just can’t help deciding to keep them, rather than sell them on the black market.
Matilda, however, is frightening me. Years ago Geek Friend sold us his Play Station and games to give to Matilda. Most of the games he had benefited me, so we picked up a few age-appropriate titles for Matilda. Winnie the Pooh, Disney Racing and the like. However, after time, she discovered me playing Tony Hawk Pro Skater. A game I find entirely relaxing because of its fluid movement.
Matilda asked to play. Then she started getting good. Now she plays with frequency. I figured, well . . . it’s a skateboarding game. There’s no violence, except for when you land a particularly graceless face plant. Well. It’s certainly not violent but . . .
The soundtrack is filled with punk music. Not the profane “Let the mother----- burn” type of punk. But more mainstream, family friendly punk by bands who usually do the more vulgar variety. Well . . . She’s picked up the songs. I noticed this last night as we were trying to grab a hidden tape in a particularly beguiling place. Suddenly, Matilda began yelling, “I’ve got . . . Psycho Vision.” This was the song playing in the background.
Now, I have to admit that I’m happier with her listening to inane punk without a hint of sexuality than plastering her walls with Justin Timberlake and declaring him a hottie, like her friends. At her age my favorite song was "Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'" by Journey (someone should have stopped me). However, I can’t help but feel like a horrible parent for introducing my seven-year-old daughter to punk music.
Granted, punk isn’t exactly what it used to be. I mean, we’re not talking about Matilda listening to Johnny Rotten spew out his particular brand of tuneless, revolutionary music. However, she’s listening to music that has a hard edge (but only within the confines of this game, mind you).
I know I need to put a stop to it. But she is so truly enjoying this game. It’s her only kid-like indulgence outside of playing in the dirt. She’s such a quiet, reserved little one that it’s surprising to hear her exclaiming with glee, “I just nailed a totally massive Japan Air!” It’s really odd.
However, I’m wondering what the future holds. Will she eventually move off to the more socially acceptable pop music detritus that is all the rage these days? Or will her love of “Pyscho Vision” and “New Girl” eventually lead to an obsession with the Dead Kennedys and variety of piercings by her ninth birthday?
Maybe I’ll just turn off the music. Or maybe I’ll buy an X-Box, which allows you to create your own playlist for their games.
I wonder if she’ll be able to grab some mad air while listening to Stereolab?
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Posts for the date of Tuesday, October 15, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 8:34 AM |
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I’ve got some of the site up. The blog’s not working over there yet, so don’t click on that link. However, some of the other sections are sort of working. They probably won’t look like that and the content isn’t finalized. But still . . .
Lately I’ve been trying to work out how I deal with situations in a more logical manner. I think this new outlook on life is coming from reading the works of Richard Feynman, a Nobel winning physicist who was a colorful character who made the most out of life. Through his writing about science and his life I’m learning that I need to look at life with less seriousness than I have in the past.
Usually when I get upset or angry, I do it in a big way. I let my entire life pile up on me until I snap and buckle beneath its weight. After that, life is hell for everyone around me while I beat myself up and act like a wounded bear in search of a picnic basket.
But now I just apply logic to the situation. I don’t deny my right to feel the emotions, mind you. I choose to look at the situation and discover what I’m really upset about. Then I find the appropriate response.
Matilda is taking this journey with me. And it’s working for her as well. Her latest tooth loss is a good example.
She’s no longer fooled by the Tooth Fairy and knows where the money comes from. She would, however, rather be tortured by marmosets than admit the truth to any other child. Last Friday night, she had a fresh tooth ready for TF. Last year her Grandmother gave her a special pillow with a pocket designed specifically for the Tooth Fairy. This time, however, the pillow was buried in a box of stuff from her room we’ve been meaning to sort.
She was greatly upset. So we sat down and discussed it.
“What are you upset about?”
”I can’t find my Tooth Fairy pillow.”
“Where did you last see it?”
”It’s in the box in my room.”
”So we know exactly where it is?”
”Yes.”
“So, really, you’re upset because you know exactly where your pillow is but we can’t get to it right now.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
”Well, we have two choices. We can wait until tomorrow when we can get the pillow or we can put the tooth in an envelope under your pillow.”
”I’ll wait until tomorrow.”
And she was happy. So was I.
We get upset so easily about the wrong things. But, when you look at life logically, you realize that quite often you’re really upset about nothing in particular. Because the truth of the situation is generally trivial.
And it’s working for me. Whenever I feel stressed out I can figure out that life is exactly what I’ve been expecting, I’m just throwing in wrenches for myself. All in all I think I’ve been happier and more productive these days. I’m busier than ever before but I can sleep at night because everything I’m worried about has been diffused by reality.
And it’s good. Everything is good. You should try it yourself. It really works.
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Posts for the date of Monday, October 14, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 7:54 AM |
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This weekend was rather hectic and strange. It culminated in highly infections materials being spread over the entire house. But I get ahead of myself.
Matilda stayed home on Friday because she had no school. Naturally, it was difficult getting anything done. Working at home by yourself is difficult enough. Working at home with a gaggle of insane children running up and down the stairs is nearly impossible.
If you think you can to it easily, I’ll be happy to send a group of these kids over to your office one day while you’re trying to get the Smegma contract out the door. Let’s just see how well you do. Would you be Dr. Spock or Mr. Hyde? I just wonder.
Saturday we had a wedding of one of my childhood friends. I always dread weddings. First of all because I generally don’t like the food. Secondly I have to wear a suit and I’m not very good at that. Thirdly it’s usually required that I dance. I’m not a very strong dancer. In fact, there’s few counties left in the state that actually allow me to dance.
Luckily the wedding was so far away from civilization that no one could possibly notice that I suck. Whew.
We made some fun Wedding Friends whom we chatted with, conspired with and got seriously inebriated with. Yes, inebriated. I had four beers before dinner. I was done drinking before the first course arrived. Then one of my tablemates passed around shots of whiskey he had horked from the bar. I declined, saying I was hoping to stay sober in order to drive my wife home. They played the Irish card. I couldn’t disappoint my lineage so I tanked it.
By the time I got the feeling in my face back, they were passing around another load. I sipped it and passed it along to a good friend of mine who looked like he was ready for the evening to end. He downed it and couldn’t feel his face either. Best I can figure our entire table had numb faces. We probably all looked like a bunch of dental patients who really enjoyed Novocain. Which I don’t, by the way.
Later, as I was enjoying my dessert, I discovered that one of my new wedding friends had spiked my coffee with a liberal amount of said whiskey (I must add that this wasn’t typical wedding whiskey that comes in a familiar looking bottle with a name like “Mack Laniels” or “Ack Dandiels.” No, this was good stuff. Really good stuff. $60 a bottle good. My face was numb, but it was numb in a pretentious sort of way.)
It was now nine o’clock and I had treacherous, rain-slicked roads to drive. While I wasn’t exactly drunk, I was happy. And that pissed me off because that meant I was having fun at a wedding. Sorry Jim. But I had to get sober in order to drive home. Since I was only buzzed, it wouldn’t take long.
However, what happened in the intervening time wasn’t my fault. Let’s just say it involved dancing and “Let’s Get It On.”
I enjoyed the time with our new wedding friends. I’m not sure if we’ll ever hang out with them again. It would be rather fun, as they were enjoyable company. And, despite the fact that my suit was too big and I looked like my tie was strangling me, they appeared to think we were cool.
Or, more appropriately, I think they thought my wife was cool. And married to a weird, fat guy who had a numb face.
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