Gibberish, not Jibberish

After placing second with her downfall being the oh-so cruel but simple sounding word 'gibberish' -- this after the success of 'homonym' and 'onomatopoeia' -- April would not stop practicing and correcting and screaming.

Three days later and much to her mother's annoyance, her daughter simply refused to stop spelling.

"April, honey, you've got to stop this. It's not cute anymore. Honestly, it wasn't that cute to begin with. But now it's just annoying."

"Ay-en-en-oh-why-eye-en-gee."

"Sweetheart, you have to stop. It's not healthy. I'm sorry you lost. I'm sorry it was with such an awful word."

"Ay-doubleyou-eff-you-elle," replied her daughter.

(At age 11 April was still slightly too young to realize that "eff-you-elle" was dangerously close to "FU all" but her mother let it slide rather than give her child even more pronunciation ammunition.)

"But it wasn't your fault. You did so very well with the other words. And they were much harder words. But that word is tricky and it isn't spelled correctly at all. Your spelling of the word was much, much better. So let's just stop this nonsense and..."

"It's all your fault, Mommy! You and Daddy helped me study and you said I'd be great and I'd win and I was smart and you were wrong! You lied to me! You said I'd make you proud and that I'd show everyone, and you lied, you lied, you lied!"

"April, how were we to know they'd use a word like that? We couldn't know. Honey, that word..."

"Don't you say it! Don't you ever say it! I never want to hear that word again. It's a dumb word, a silly word. And it should be with a 'jay', and I checked and it can begin with a 'jay' and it's not fair!"

"I know, honey. But you know the rules and they use one dictionary and..."

"You lied to me and I hate that word and I'm smart and I hate you! I'm smarter than you and Daddy and everyone and I hateyou, hateyou, hateyou."

And all her mother could think was that she would give anything to go back in time and have April as a tiny baby when it was all coos and sounds and baby talk. Back when the world was all joyous gibberish and the spelling of a word wouldn't be the cause of a tantrum.

And she found herself smiling at the word 'tantrum' even as its personification exploded in front of her and she suddenly realized that it was contagious as she found herself silently spelling in her mind: 'Tee-ay-en-tee-are-you-em.' They had thought of the name Emily for their daughter but had gone with April instead and 'Are you Emme?" spells rum and although she didn't drink liquor very often, her daughter was certainly taking her to the point were a drink wasn't a horrible idea.

But at that point she made the mistake of smiling quietly to herself while her daughter's petulant fury continued and her quiet joy at that quiet memory was noticed by the angered child.

"You're laughing at me! You're smiling! You didn't help, you lied, you promised, and now you're just laughing at me!"

"April. Stop. I'm not smiling at you. I'm not laughing at you. That's ridiculous. I was remembering a time when you were born and we were thinking of calling you 'Emily' and I remember you when you were so very tiny and..."

"I am NOT ridiculous! Ridiculous: are-eye-dee-eye-see-you-elle-oh-you-ess! That's how you spell it! You probably don't even know how to spell it! I hate you!!"

And the spelling spree continued.

Dreamt of a Lie

My wife had a nightmare the other night. I was awakened because the dream was so intense that she was shaking with fright. I asked her the next day what the nightmare had been about. She told me that she didn't remember.

And it makes me wonder: why would someone lie about something like that?

Making Trouble

I wanted a challenge so I thought I'd try to bite off more than I could chew and perhaps even more than I wanted to taste.

So over at the Trouble With Comics site I'm writing reviews of all 52 issues of the newly re-launched DC Comics.

(Okay, it's only 51 issues because I threw the gauntlet down after the debut of Justice League #1).

Part one is here...
with action and an animal, man.

And Part two is here...
as I attempt to figure out how to build a better bat-trap.

Yes, instead of getting beauty sleep I've been reading comic books that I usually wouldn't have bothered with and then I'm writing about them to see if I would have missed something great or my instincts would have been correct. Winners, surprises and stinkers.

And for my next trick I'm going to pull a rabbit out of my hat and then force feed it to a goldfish.

Post Labour Day thoughts

Four things:


1. When I was as a teenager I remember being giddy on the Tuesday after Labor Day because I would run to the local variety store and grab the Fall Preview issue of TV Guide. I read that puppy like it was my new best friend and learned about all of the great new shows. School was fun, but the fall preview issue of TV Guide was better. And for a long time (much too long) I kept all the issues.

And now TV Guide no longer exists and the fall tv season premieres run through September, October and November, and I am therefore ever so slightly less giddy than I used to be. - sigh -


2. Years ago I knew a woman who told me that when she was a child her parents bought her new underwear for the new school year and all of the old stuff would go in the trash. She told me that she now continues the tradition and, for her, Labor Day is synonymous with new undies.

I have always thought that story was kind of cool. Labor Day becomes Lingerie Day! There's a holiday every couple could celebrate!!


3. I didn't realize the proper spelling until a couple of days ago -- so it's been a lifetime of spelling the word incorrectly in my mind...

But now it seems quite obvious that "symmetry" has two m's otherwise it would look unbalanced and untrue to itself.


4. I found myself pondering this the other day...

A man and woman are hurrying through a door as they run across a wet floor.

It's a true battle of the Titans. Which wins: ladies first or safety first?

More coffee on the Inside than Outside

You ever have one of those mornings where the world feels just a wee bit blah?

It's funny, I'm hesitant to say "I'm kinda depressed" because that word now has this dazzling, scary weight to it, but I'm definitely feeling blah. Let's put it this way: was Charlie Brown ever chronically depressed? -- Probably not, but I'm sure that when the damn football was snatched away for the gazillionth time he probably wasn't feeling in the best of moods.

So, while it's not like I play football, I certainly feel like something has been snatched away from me.

And this is the silly stuff I do to make myself feel better...

First, a cup of coffee in a Tardis mug.

My lovely wife bought me a Doctor Who book for Father's Day (did I mention the Darwyn Cooke "Parker" page she got me for Christmas -- she is truly and astonishingly wonderful) and it was a great book but I already had it, so off I went to exchange it.

And as she said afterwards, had she seen the mug that I exchanged to book for, she would have got it for me. And there is nothing better than exchanging a gift and getting the stamp of approval for the new present. So although I went and got the mug, I really got it from her.

It is however more beautiful than it is functional. The mug is surprisingly difficult to drink from and I have to steer myself to the corners which is not where one instinctively goes to take a sip, but once I got over the awkwardness and found a way to make it work (which, I know, sounds stupid cuz IT'S A MUG but its beauty outshines its grace) it is a lovely thing. It and my Far Side 'Cat Fud' mug are treasures on a coffee needing morning.

So, cup of Tardis coffee and a bowl of cereal (Raisin Bran cuz I'm trying, really trying to be a bit healthier) as I read about Jack Layton's life. With regards to Jack: we all know the end is coming, but Layton knew his was imminent and that sense of an unavoidable closing chapter gave him the opportunity to leave with style. Quite remarkable.

And after breakfast the other silly thing I did was I opened Mister Miracle and Big Barda.

There is a wonderful comic shop in London Ontario named Heroes Cards and Comics (although I think they mostly go by "Heroes") and I was there last week as we visited my brother and his family. And I know I shouldn't have, but I ended up buying a fabulous Mister Miracle t-shirt (to which my lovely wife responded, "Does that mean you're going to cook dinner? -- Because *that* would be a miracle," which is, let's be honest, some funny shit) and of course it is a t-shirt that I don't need but it looks really geeky cool.

I grabbed two action figures as well. Hence their freedom this morning.

Years ago when "40 Year Old Virgin" came out my wife was amused with the similarities between me and the main character when it came to action figures. My boys, should they see the movie in years to come, will also marvel at the fact that "Hey, my dad didn't want to open his action figures either! We'd always ask him when he'd open the Doctor Who Dalek Attack set and he never did!"

But today -- What the hell, throw caution to the wind, be crazy! -- and out came Mister Miracle and Barda. If you know the character, you're not surprised that he escaped the packaging cuz of course that's what he does. And then he'd help Barda out, too cuz they are husband and wife. But you know all of that.

(Barda should be taller than her husband, but I guess they action figures are of a standard size but they look so nice together, free of their packaging. And yes they are standing in front of a giant Opus. I'm sure they will all get along.)

Cup of coffee in the tardis mug, open a couple of action figures and then the best part...

Zed came into my office as his mum phoned and as she & I were gabbing he starts using my 'no it's not Rory' gladiator figure from Doctor Who to quietly attack the stufffed dragon that's sitting on my desk. And as my eight year old later explained "The gladiator attacked Torch but then he realized that he's a good dragon, so they're friends now."

And with that, the morning seems so much brighter.

Between all of those things the world no longer seems so blah; instead, it's filled with creative wonder and enthusiasm. And somehow I doubt that Charlie Brown ever felt the wonderful silly grin that comes with that realization.

That Covers It

Yesterday I'm at the supermarket with the boys and I noticed that Zed, age 8, seemed all embarrassed and flustered.

I asked him what's wrong but he wouldn't tell me. I persisted and he finally confessed that he noticed a magazine cover that was inappropriate. I then explained to him that no magazine at a supermarket is inappropriate and that it's all okay. He then said that he noticed that *I* was looking at it and he didn't think it was right that I should be staring at it.

And all I could think was "You little monkey!"

Had my wife been with us perhaps I would have been more subtle. Hell, even with her absence I thought I was being subtle!! But this apparently was not the case.

But the worst of it was this: I was among men!!! And men never comment when other men are looking!!! But one of those 'men' was an eight year old boy who obviously figured his father shouldn't even be looking at images of women. Damnit.

Here is the offending (but oh so very unoffensive) cover that my son spied me looking at. I didn't even flip through the the magazine! I looked but did not touch!!

The funny thing is this: there may have been other magazines at the checkout, but my son was right cuz this was the only one that caught my eye. All other covers sit down when Rosario Dawson is on the stands.

But I have now learned that even the supermarket isn't safe when my son is watching me to make sure I'm not looking.

Patrick and the Playoffs

(A month away from the blog?!? Credit the volunteer work and two weeks of practicums (and the up until 2, 2 and 3:20 in the morning work that went with it) which all made me like Jack in "The Shining" (without the ax and the "Here's Johnny!" attitude). The playoff reminder for the team looked like this...)

- Where am I?
In the village
- What do you want?
Information.
-Whose side are you on?
That would be telling. We want information... information... information.
- You won't get it.
By hook or by crook, we will.
- Who are you?
The new Number Two.
- Who is Number One?
You are Number Six.
- I AM NOT A NUMBER. I AM A FREE MAN!

My Fellow Dragons:

Congratulations on the regular season and ending up as Patrick McGoohan in "The Prisoner" because in the end we ranked number six in our division.

But, let's be honest, the regular season results means sweet f.a. as we head into the playoffs cuz come the playoffs it's a whole new thang.

Two losses will mean a team is eliminated. Get to the end with no losses and you are not only crowned the winner, you also get an hour-long conservation debating the necessity of tax increases in the United States with Sarah Palin while wearing a two piece bikini. But to be clear: *you* will be wearing the bikini, cuz to picture Ms Palin in a bikini is disrespectful and sexist. But, yes, she will be keeping her hot librarian glasses on during the entire encounter. And you will be allowed to drink as many diet ginger ales as you'd like.

The playoffs start on Tuesday at 8:30 down at the MC Centre -- the site of our awesome and inspiring victory last week. And as Brent so eloquently said to my e-mail that read "victory rocks my little world," he replied "I like victory. It beats defeat ever time!"

And hence the new Dragons motto: "Victory Beats Defeat Every Time!" As a motto it states an absolute truth, but also conveys the passion and drive towards excellence that the entire team strives for. And thus it will replace the functional but slightly less inspiring former motto of "We could probably defeat Helen Keller, but no farm animals will be accepted as payment."

Gentlemen! The playoffs! Get your game face on! Bring you i.d.! And if it helps, go take 20 kids to The Smurfs movie this weekend and get angry about how you could have gone to see a good film by yourself and then spent the remaining money on beer!

Game face! Game Face!! GAME FACE!!!

Tuesday night 8:30 against the Penguins. We've tied them twice and have yet to beat them. So they're due for a beatin' Tuesday night.

Gentlemen, it's the playoffs: separating the men from the boys, the winners from the losers, and the debonair drinkers from the disgusting drunks for generations!

Sarah Palin and an unlimited quantity of diet ginger ale await!

Hope to see you at the first game,
Kevin.

GAME FACE!!!!