In a beautiful moment of synchronicity, I logged in to post about my game-playing episode with Super Giant Killer when I got notification that Adjective Queen had posted on women and competition. Now I don't know what to write!
So, last night the Killer and I sat down to play the Nancy Drew Mystery Game. It was the first time either of us had played it and she picked up on it really quickly. But I had to watch her like a hawk because she is so competitive. She kept sneakily removing my game pieces and hiding them under the game board and growling at me when I got the better of her. Then she brought out checkers, which I didn't even know she could play and I myself had poor luck remembering all the moves and stuff like kinging. I took the first game and then in the second game she started in with the psychological warfare. She had me in a trap and she just couldn't wait to spring it. I was desperately scanning the board looking for a move....
SGK: It's your turn.
Me: I know, I'm thinking
SGK: Well, go.
Me: Hey, back off. I will when I'm ready.
SGK: TAKE YOUR TURN!!!
Me: Hey, shut up and let me think! (should've done "it's not whether you win..." I know)
She runs to the bathroom and comes strolling in with her head wagging with hip-hop swagger...
SGK: Did you move, bitch?!
I could not believe she said that. I'm not even sure where she heard that. Of course, I wanted to roll over laughing, but I just ignored it and went ahead and moved into her trap.
I don't know, Queen. SGK is pretty competitive. It's not just in games, either. She competes with her sister, the kids at school, and her best friends. She has little scorecards for herself and everyone else. It's not 'scorekeeping' in the sense of grudges, but rather she'll say, "I read 100 pages and Classmate X only read 75." Or, "Sis says she's taller than me, but I can run faster." So far she hasn't become a bully, but it worries me.
I haven't read the Girls of Summer book, but I'm actually surprised it had to address competitiveness since one frequently hears how the two decades since Title IX have created female athletes who 'aspire' to the worst traits in male athletes. Check out the multiple listings on Bad Jocks and listen to Frank Deford on your beloved NPR.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Thursday, July 27, 2006
The Fate of the Human Carbine
A couple of days ago YHWH went for an annual checkup and her doctor recommended she try some natural/herbal products for general health. On the way home, she decided to stop by Akin's. She actually called me on her cell to ask me if I needed anything from there. My reaction, unseen or heard by her, was an eyeroll and a pshaw sound. I refrained from, "Yeah, right!" But I appreciated her thoughtfulness and said, "Oh, let me think. Ooooh! Something carob would be nice!" Only the least bit of sarcasm was present because at the thought of it, I sort of had a hankering for some good old carob.
You wouldn't know it to look at me, but much of my youth was spent eating healthy foods. This was an extension of my mother's troubled relationship with food. Or rather, her own body. Growing up on a farm, my mom was bird-thin. She was the middle of 11 children (4 boys, 7 girls) , but she was very beautiful and delicate, so she 'got' to do the housework and cooking instead of the outside chores involving shoveling, slopping, castrating, etc.
For this I am eternally grateful because, during the brief periods when my mom wasn't a health food nut, we ate some awesome food. For our first Thanksgiving together, I invited YHWH to our clan's feast and I told her for weeks how awesome a cook my mom was. YHWH felt that I had promoted it so much that it could not possibly be as good as I made it out to be. She was also concerned that I must be a momma's boy because of my love of her cooking. So after dinner YHWH said, and still does, that it was the best meal she's ever had in her life and that I hadn't even begun to describe how good it was. Sadly, it was the last Thanksgiving meal my mom ever cooked.
Anyway, about the time I was four or five my mom got ardently and religiously into health food. This lasted about a decade. Kelp, whole grains, vitamins, live active cultures - and carob. Our bread had sawdust in it. There was no salt in the house and our sugar consited of cane sugar in granules twice the size of C & H - it crunched when you ate it. We got regular lectures on digestion and other body things you didn't want to familiarize yourself with. After school snacks were frozen grapes and soy butter n' honey balls. Tofu had not yet fully arrived, but we had all manner of soy products teeming from our cabinets and canisters. But carob; carob was the Cadillac of the health food scene. It was naturally sweet and even though your tongue (and thus brain) told you it was not chocolate, you greedily accepted it as a treat.
At the time we were pretty poor and health food then, as now, was sold at premium prices. There was a way to get the good stuff at low prices if you didn't own a farm, though - the co-op. The co-op was run by a hippie commune and priced to sell to the vain, fountain-of-youth-seeking Riverside residents who could afford it (the same people who have private Pilates instructors today). You could get the stuff for near free, though, if you agreed to work for it. So guess who spent lots of Saturdays and after schools pushing a broom and carrying bags of oats out to BMWs and Mercedes? I have often marvelled at this culture clash commerce. Here you had these hippies who had a room with a sunlamp in it I wasn't allowed into (wink) selling health food to the wealthy and a conservative Christian lower middle class family working the place. The hippie guys also ran the only health food restaurant I've ever known in the state (I'm sure there were probably others). It was called The Middle Path. Isn't that brilliant?
We found out later that my mom was actually anorexic. I'm not sure when it started; probably after having my sister, she started taking unrealistic glances in the mirror. As far as we know she didn't develop it in adolescence as so often happens. We didn't even know what anorexia was until Karen Carpenter died from complications of it. From what I can guess, she must have been anorexic or bulimic before I was born and the health food era was an attempt by her to actually eat food and not destroy her concept of her physical self. I wish she was around to help me understand this. Eventually, the health food thing stopped and the anorexia returned. Finally when I was about sixteen she had starved herself so much that she had to be hospitalized for a week while they put nutrition into her. She had the same treatment they give people who have been castaway at sea or found lost in the woods. I, of course, had no idea. It's just what my mom looked like.
Oddly enough, last year I got another clue as to when she developed it. I had gone in to a new doctor for a midlife checkup and got the usual admonition to lose weight. I explained that I eat practically nothing and don't eat a lot of junky stuff and yet the only time I have ever been close to a normal weight was when I was under severe anxiety after my first wife left. He said he had an idea and after running some benchmark tests he called me in and said before he gave me his opinion, he wanted to know if my mother had much morning sickness with me. That I did know the answer to. Yes. Legendary. She had morning sickness with me every day of her pregnancy, not just the first few weeks. She couldn't keep any food down. The doc said it's a newish theory, but there's some evidence that kids whose mothers have morning sickness like that have messed up metabolisms and hormone deficiencies because they are starving along with the mother. Essentially the theory holds that the fetus learns to hang onto every calorie it gets because it doesn't know where it's next meal is coming from - a variation of the 'thrifty gene' theory. Still no excuse for my not exercising enough! So was she anorexic before the morning sickness or because of it? We'll never know.
So what you just read (sorry so long) came rushing back to me while I was waiting for a delicious carob candy bar. Or maybe some carob kisses. Or these star-shaped carob candies we had at the co-op. When YHWH walked in and handed me a bag of trail mix, I was crestfallen. "What's this?" I nearly shouted. That's all they had she said. I peered into the bag. There were some chocolate chip things in there amongst the nuts and banana chips. "Whaddaya mean, that's all they had?" Not only were there no carob products in Akin's, the scenesters working there had never heard of carob. "What's wrong with chocolate?" they wanted to know.
You wouldn't know it to look at me, but much of my youth was spent eating healthy foods. This was an extension of my mother's troubled relationship with food. Or rather, her own body. Growing up on a farm, my mom was bird-thin. She was the middle of 11 children (4 boys, 7 girls) , but she was very beautiful and delicate, so she 'got' to do the housework and cooking instead of the outside chores involving shoveling, slopping, castrating, etc.
For this I am eternally grateful because, during the brief periods when my mom wasn't a health food nut, we ate some awesome food. For our first Thanksgiving together, I invited YHWH to our clan's feast and I told her for weeks how awesome a cook my mom was. YHWH felt that I had promoted it so much that it could not possibly be as good as I made it out to be. She was also concerned that I must be a momma's boy because of my love of her cooking. So after dinner YHWH said, and still does, that it was the best meal she's ever had in her life and that I hadn't even begun to describe how good it was. Sadly, it was the last Thanksgiving meal my mom ever cooked.
Anyway, about the time I was four or five my mom got ardently and religiously into health food. This lasted about a decade. Kelp, whole grains, vitamins, live active cultures - and carob. Our bread had sawdust in it. There was no salt in the house and our sugar consited of cane sugar in granules twice the size of C & H - it crunched when you ate it. We got regular lectures on digestion and other body things you didn't want to familiarize yourself with. After school snacks were frozen grapes and soy butter n' honey balls. Tofu had not yet fully arrived, but we had all manner of soy products teeming from our cabinets and canisters. But carob; carob was the Cadillac of the health food scene. It was naturally sweet and even though your tongue (and thus brain) told you it was not chocolate, you greedily accepted it as a treat.
At the time we were pretty poor and health food then, as now, was sold at premium prices. There was a way to get the good stuff at low prices if you didn't own a farm, though - the co-op. The co-op was run by a hippie commune and priced to sell to the vain, fountain-of-youth-seeking Riverside residents who could afford it (the same people who have private Pilates instructors today). You could get the stuff for near free, though, if you agreed to work for it. So guess who spent lots of Saturdays and after schools pushing a broom and carrying bags of oats out to BMWs and Mercedes? I have often marvelled at this culture clash commerce. Here you had these hippies who had a room with a sunlamp in it I wasn't allowed into (wink) selling health food to the wealthy and a conservative Christian lower middle class family working the place. The hippie guys also ran the only health food restaurant I've ever known in the state (I'm sure there were probably others). It was called The Middle Path. Isn't that brilliant?
We found out later that my mom was actually anorexic. I'm not sure when it started; probably after having my sister, she started taking unrealistic glances in the mirror. As far as we know she didn't develop it in adolescence as so often happens. We didn't even know what anorexia was until Karen Carpenter died from complications of it. From what I can guess, she must have been anorexic or bulimic before I was born and the health food era was an attempt by her to actually eat food and not destroy her concept of her physical self. I wish she was around to help me understand this. Eventually, the health food thing stopped and the anorexia returned. Finally when I was about sixteen she had starved herself so much that she had to be hospitalized for a week while they put nutrition into her. She had the same treatment they give people who have been castaway at sea or found lost in the woods. I, of course, had no idea. It's just what my mom looked like.
Oddly enough, last year I got another clue as to when she developed it. I had gone in to a new doctor for a midlife checkup and got the usual admonition to lose weight. I explained that I eat practically nothing and don't eat a lot of junky stuff and yet the only time I have ever been close to a normal weight was when I was under severe anxiety after my first wife left. He said he had an idea and after running some benchmark tests he called me in and said before he gave me his opinion, he wanted to know if my mother had much morning sickness with me. That I did know the answer to. Yes. Legendary. She had morning sickness with me every day of her pregnancy, not just the first few weeks. She couldn't keep any food down. The doc said it's a newish theory, but there's some evidence that kids whose mothers have morning sickness like that have messed up metabolisms and hormone deficiencies because they are starving along with the mother. Essentially the theory holds that the fetus learns to hang onto every calorie it gets because it doesn't know where it's next meal is coming from - a variation of the 'thrifty gene' theory. Still no excuse for my not exercising enough! So was she anorexic before the morning sickness or because of it? We'll never know.
So what you just read (sorry so long) came rushing back to me while I was waiting for a delicious carob candy bar. Or maybe some carob kisses. Or these star-shaped carob candies we had at the co-op. When YHWH walked in and handed me a bag of trail mix, I was crestfallen. "What's this?" I nearly shouted. That's all they had she said. I peered into the bag. There were some chocolate chip things in there amongst the nuts and banana chips. "Whaddaya mean, that's all they had?" Not only were there no carob products in Akin's, the scenesters working there had never heard of carob. "What's wrong with chocolate?" they wanted to know.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
I Recognize You from the Awesome Edge of Your Sword
Very very infrequently I hate being a Pisces - two fish swimming in different directions with their tails tied together. It's not a problem in a determinist sense. I mean just because their tails are tied together it doesn't mean they have to swim against each other. But sometimes they do.
Right now, I really want to move out of this country. I've tried to understand why. I've eliminated politics. I've eliminated fundamentalists (not literally; you'll have to do that yourself). I've eliminated job dissatisfaction. I've eliminated family strife. I even moved within my MSA, thinking that I'd left a piece of my soul somewhere around Penn Square Mall. After six months, it appears I didn't. The only reason I can think of is genetics (or is it heredity?). I'm descended from Ulster Scots. It's in the blood. I have to move. My paternal line is so nomadic it's nearly impossible to fathom. By the time I turned 19, we had moved 21 times. I've already described the hereditary willingness to abandon homes and families in order to satisfy a biological urge to roam.
But that other fish is indicating that I stay. "You know we belong to the land" - it's written right there in our state song. My whole adult life I've resisted moving to Texas like everyone else -- the brain drain. I've tried to be a voice of reason -- purple. I even listed Okie apologetics as one of my interests. I should be on the state payroll I'm such a patriot. Several people have said that I have helped them appreciate the place, Tex included. So, it's not that I've been staying out of complacency or letting the moss grow. I've tried to make it a better place. I feel guilty for wanting to leave.
So, I've been scheming. A few months ago I was thinking Ukraine. The criteria, loosely, are that the place be reasonably stable, have a reasonable number of English speakers, have a reasonable chance of letting me work (that rules out Canada and Western EU), and I'd prefer they weren't anti-American on the street (the toughest criteria). I figured I'd have a better chance of working in an Eastern country and Ukraine looks so damn much like home. But the regular airline crashes, energy disputes with Mother Russia, and that assassination attempt on the president via a flesh-eating bacteria are a tough sell. Plus the Cyrillic.
Then, last week it hit me. That's it! Cyprus! It's an island; 62% speak English; they have a violent past which is sexy with it's green line. And - it's the birthplace of Aphrodite. C'mon, you know the story...Chronos castrates his father and throws his er, guy parts, in to the sea and Aphrodite rises up from the resulting foam. That's Cyprus! And they're in the EU. The EU doesn't let unstable countries in. Finally, they're not crazy about us, but they don't hate us.
For the record, I am not moving to Australia. My dad almost moved us to Australia in 1975, but we joined the cult instead. Everybody threatens to move to Australia. The rationale is that it's just like we used to be. Why would I want relive the last 40 years of our history? New Zealand I could do - yarn heaven. Probably no jobs, though. I'm open to suggestions. Just leave a comment.
So, now I have to convince YHWH, et al, to make the move. Won't be easy. I guess the girls could sort it all out in therapy later.
In case you were worried about the Israel-Lebanon sitch, I have some good news. One of the 24 hour newschannel heads just said that, "Tempers have definitely frayed this morning." That's a relief. You'd hate to see tempers flare.
Gouldie, I am in temporary possession of eight Godzilla movies belonging to a local legend movie critic...
Right now, I really want to move out of this country. I've tried to understand why. I've eliminated politics. I've eliminated fundamentalists (not literally; you'll have to do that yourself). I've eliminated job dissatisfaction. I've eliminated family strife. I even moved within my MSA, thinking that I'd left a piece of my soul somewhere around Penn Square Mall. After six months, it appears I didn't. The only reason I can think of is genetics (or is it heredity?). I'm descended from Ulster Scots. It's in the blood. I have to move. My paternal line is so nomadic it's nearly impossible to fathom. By the time I turned 19, we had moved 21 times. I've already described the hereditary willingness to abandon homes and families in order to satisfy a biological urge to roam.
But that other fish is indicating that I stay. "You know we belong to the land" - it's written right there in our state song. My whole adult life I've resisted moving to Texas like everyone else -- the brain drain. I've tried to be a voice of reason -- purple. I even listed Okie apologetics as one of my interests. I should be on the state payroll I'm such a patriot. Several people have said that I have helped them appreciate the place, Tex included. So, it's not that I've been staying out of complacency or letting the moss grow. I've tried to make it a better place. I feel guilty for wanting to leave.
So, I've been scheming. A few months ago I was thinking Ukraine. The criteria, loosely, are that the place be reasonably stable, have a reasonable number of English speakers, have a reasonable chance of letting me work (that rules out Canada and Western EU), and I'd prefer they weren't anti-American on the street (the toughest criteria). I figured I'd have a better chance of working in an Eastern country and Ukraine looks so damn much like home. But the regular airline crashes, energy disputes with Mother Russia, and that assassination attempt on the president via a flesh-eating bacteria are a tough sell. Plus the Cyrillic.
Then, last week it hit me. That's it! Cyprus! It's an island; 62% speak English; they have a violent past which is sexy with it's green line. And - it's the birthplace of Aphrodite. C'mon, you know the story...Chronos castrates his father and throws his er, guy parts, in to the sea and Aphrodite rises up from the resulting foam. That's Cyprus! And they're in the EU. The EU doesn't let unstable countries in. Finally, they're not crazy about us, but they don't hate us.
For the record, I am not moving to Australia. My dad almost moved us to Australia in 1975, but we joined the cult instead. Everybody threatens to move to Australia. The rationale is that it's just like we used to be. Why would I want relive the last 40 years of our history? New Zealand I could do - yarn heaven. Probably no jobs, though. I'm open to suggestions. Just leave a comment.
So, now I have to convince YHWH, et al, to make the move. Won't be easy. I guess the girls could sort it all out in therapy later.
In case you were worried about the Israel-Lebanon sitch, I have some good news. One of the 24 hour newschannel heads just said that, "Tempers have definitely frayed this morning." That's a relief. You'd hate to see tempers flare.
Gouldie, I am in temporary possession of eight Godzilla movies belonging to a local legend movie critic...
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Sandy, Why Can't We Look The Other Way?
I'm really not on a cranky streak. The World Cup was a nice break from our new part-time job dealing with the insurance company. YHWH is reasonably well; it looks like she'll mend but it will take awhile. I had a very nice appraisal at work and a pull-aside from an upper echeloner.
So, don't think I 'm being cranky when you read this, but for some reason this week I have encountered a spate of things that may have made my all-time list of things I hate. This has caused a certain bit of consternation because I can't find my damn list and I can't remember everything on it. A brightsider would make lemonade of this development and say, "Well, those things obvioulsy don't bother you anymore. Oh, but they do.
I definitely remember #1. You can never forget your #1. Or is that your first one? Well, anyway, it's non-Quebecois Canadians. Before I continue, I should point out that my list of things I hate is deductive. I don't set out to hate Canadians. I don't hate individuals because they are Canadian. It's just that of all the people I hate the most, they all happen to be from
White pants I was walking on my lunch break and I saw a woman wearing white pants and it just struck me, "Those pants really look stupid." And I looked at the woman to see if I was being biased in some way about her overall appearance. I wasn't. She was reasonably attractive, young, well-groomed; but her pants were stupid. I can't even say why. They're like the queen of hearts in the original Manchurian Candidate or that call from Donald Pleasance in Telefon. Whenever I see them I just get really upset like something bad is going to happen. So, I thought about it all during lunch and I couldn't think of anything positive about white pants. Your underwear shows. The slightest gastronomic mishap shows. Socks look stupid with them and then you have to wear sandals or flipflops and I hate those, too. With the exception of naval officers, I just really don't see any redemption for white pants.
"That's so random" and randomly These terms have reached a ubiquity resulting in fingernail-chalkboard status in my sphere of association. I growl under my breath everytime I hear it. And when the Queen used it in her headline earlier in the week it was all I could take - it had to go on the list. I'm into my fourth decade. I know every generation reinvents the language. But most of the time the words are either unusable in any other context (eg gnarly), an exaggeration (eg radical!) or of an already amorphous nature (eg cool). Cool and bad are perfect examples of words that can mean lots of things even among standard speakers that kids have attributed new meanings to. But random? Random only means 'haphazard' or 'without aim'. Queen used it that way, but the kids use it to describe things they don't understand - which when you think about it is so frequent it's not random but sadly predictable. Oh, man - I just checked Urban Dictionary and there are tons of entries on it by detractors! It feels so warm inside to know that I'm capable of belonging to a group! See, this is a positive thing, making this list.
Flipflops I've already opined about this a few posts back.
The Internet It would take too long.
Interviewees asking their own questions and answering them Already talked about this one, too.
The History Channel Like MTV and videos, HC rarely has history on anymore. Today was almost unbearable. While I was folding laundry, I flipped the channel to HC and they had the absolute worst show on about the Masons and Knights Templars. An obvious suck off the teat of Da Vinci Code. The really annoying thing is that HC doesn't even have original content. They buy all the shows from these production companies akin to puppy mills. They're literary equivalents of Nancy Drew at best and Harlequin romances at worst. In this one, all of the 'experts', none of which had an advanced degree in religion or history, had really bad Southern accents. At one point an expert said, the Pope changed his mind about Hitler because of the 'hurting of the Jews'. Huh? Hurting? This is the level of eloquence we get? And then they say that Pope Pius XI planned to stand up to Mussolini ... but died suddenly. He was 80-freakin-2 and in poor health. That's not suddenly. And you know what? The whole topic isn't even history! Here's the best part. When they get to the part where they say that the Masons took over the US, they flash these bad drawings of old white guys on the screen and one of them is - I kid you not - James Buchannen. Yes. James Buchannen. That is so random! OK, first of all, the guy who is largely considered to be the worst president ever should not be the poster boy for the Masonic takeover. I smirk, but I figure, you know, typos happen. But then, they show a painting of somebody identified as Johann Wolfgang. Johann Wolfgang What?! Goethe?! Did you mean Goethe?! Johann Wolfgang Goethe was a mason - but he had nothing to do with us! I spent the next hour walking around the house shouting, "AFLAC!" After that show they present their Real to Reel movie where they show a movie and then compare it to the true history of the situation. Tonight's movie? Road Warrior. Yeah, I know - Road Warrior, the post-Apocalyptic movie set in Australia, is both real and history. I actually watched Road Warrior because I like the movie and because they usually have a panel of experts who talk about the Real part. I thought they might discuss how likely such a scenario would be, which I would find interesting. No panel. And all their factoids were about production costs and marketing campaigns. That's history, folks!
I'm up to seven! That's 70% of my Top 10! If I could just find that list...
I'm knitting an earflap cap with an om embedded in it. I'll let you know.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
With A Purposeful Grimace And A Terrible Sound
This morning Rare OKC Native told me the Lyric Theater is doing Fiddler on the Roof. The Self loves the work of one the actors in the Lyric company so Rare felt compelled to pass on the info. "Can't do it," I told her. "Can't go there. Fathers and daughters. I can't watch the play or the movie." I saw the movie when it came out in 1973 or so with my family and the only thing I really remember about that was constantly asking my dad: When was this taking place? Where was this taking place? I was fascinated by the setting. Unfortunately, my dad was of limited assistance in answering my queries, but I will say that I soon became obsessesed with the Russian Revolution. I didn't see it again until about ten years ago, pre-kids, and I could barely watch it. It's such a perfect depiction of family life beyond it's cultural and historical settings - and that's where it got me. I'd just gone through the dissolution and eradication of my own nascent family and this wonderful movie was beautifully depicting for me what I would never have. How foolishly short-sighted of me, looking at life from the bottom of a well! Then, about two years ago I saw it again. It was too much. I couldn't make it past the first marriage. I knew that within an hour Tevye was going to take Hodel to the train station. "Papa, God alone knows when we shall see each other again."
When Super Giant Killer had her last birthday I told her she simply would not be allowed to have another one. She will have to stay this age forever. Having said that, though, she passed two major milestones this week. Tuesday night she saw her first Godzilla movie. King Kong vs. Godzilla. We had a great time watching it. We kept trying to replicate the sound of his roar with our own voices. Afterwards she replayed the whole movie in the bathtub with a plastic dinosaur and gorilla. I checked in on her and Godzilla appeared to have three nude Barbies and a Polly Pocket on the ropes, clinging to the soapdish. Kong appeared to be drowned face down in a soapy Tokyo Bay. I said, "Which one is Godzilla going to eat first?" She rolled her eyes, "Daaaaad! He doesn't EAT people!" She went on to explain that Godzilla was secretly nice and he was saving the girls from falling off a cliff and then he was going to save Kong. She'll make a compassionate queen. We might all want to make plans for relocating to Kashmir. I hear property is going for nothing these days if you don't mind a fissure or two.
The other big thing is that yesterday she got her new glasses. Very cute. The funny thing is that it had an almost immediate impact on her wardrobe. Unless we fight with her, she will choose a miasmic blend of garish pastels, no socks and inappropriate shoes. But her first with-glasses outfit was black pants, black shirt, and black boots with a black headband. Very Beat looking. She looks like Jean Seberg or rather Lisa Loeb. This was her first visit to the eye doc and YHWH said that the doc said she was 'very near-sighted' and the glasses would make a big difference. "She's probably never really seen the world," she said. "You'll probably find that she'll be more observant and her performance in school should pick up quite a bit." Holy S**t, Doc! Do you realize what you just said? We can already barely contain her!
When Super Giant Killer had her last birthday I told her she simply would not be allowed to have another one. She will have to stay this age forever. Having said that, though, she passed two major milestones this week. Tuesday night she saw her first Godzilla movie. King Kong vs. Godzilla. We had a great time watching it. We kept trying to replicate the sound of his roar with our own voices. Afterwards she replayed the whole movie in the bathtub with a plastic dinosaur and gorilla. I checked in on her and Godzilla appeared to have three nude Barbies and a Polly Pocket on the ropes, clinging to the soapdish. Kong appeared to be drowned face down in a soapy Tokyo Bay. I said, "Which one is Godzilla going to eat first?" She rolled her eyes, "Daaaaad! He doesn't EAT people!" She went on to explain that Godzilla was secretly nice and he was saving the girls from falling off a cliff and then he was going to save Kong. She'll make a compassionate queen. We might all want to make plans for relocating to Kashmir. I hear property is going for nothing these days if you don't mind a fissure or two.
The other big thing is that yesterday she got her new glasses. Very cute. The funny thing is that it had an almost immediate impact on her wardrobe. Unless we fight with her, she will choose a miasmic blend of garish pastels, no socks and inappropriate shoes. But her first with-glasses outfit was black pants, black shirt, and black boots with a black headband. Very Beat looking. She looks like Jean Seberg or rather Lisa Loeb. This was her first visit to the eye doc and YHWH said that the doc said she was 'very near-sighted' and the glasses would make a big difference. "She's probably never really seen the world," she said. "You'll probably find that she'll be more observant and her performance in school should pick up quite a bit." Holy S**t, Doc! Do you realize what you just said? We can already barely contain her!
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