The official site of Kelly Sedinger: Reader, writer, photographer, and dreamer
I think I’m going to file this news story away in my brain for the next time I have a disagreement with The Wife. Seriously, this may be the most horrible thing I’ve ever read. Wow. I can’t imagine that happening…with all eyes on you, the husband.
Those of you with spouses, go hug him or her. Those of you with significant others who may become spouses, do likewise. You just never know, do you?
Christmas is upon us once again. It’s a beautiful time, perhaps the most beautiful of times. Merry Christmas to all!
In an odd moment during the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, when the Dora the Explorer balloon floated by, The Daughter voiced her strenuous dislike of Dora. This took me by surprise, because time was – and not too long ago, either – when The Daughter liked Dora a great deal. But now? Not so much. She insists that Dora is for babies and she’s not a baby, so no Dora for her anymore, thank you very much.
But she still likes watching Caillou, whose appeal is, I think, even more limited than Dora’s.
For those who haven’t seen Caillou, he’s a four-year-old boy who lives with his parents and his toddler sister somewhere in pseudo-urban Canada, where he basically does all the normal stuff a four-year-old kid does. He plays with his toys, he gets upset when he’s left home with a babysitter but ends up having fun, he pouts about doing chores until his Mommy finds a way to make it fun, he helps Daddy wash the car (which consists of sitting inside it pretending to drive while Daddy does the work). Now, I personally don’t find Caillou all that objectionable, but I know that a lot of folks find him unbearably whiny, which I can certainly understand. I like that the show’s not grounded in any kind of fantasy or magical make-believe at all (although no explanation is ever offered as to just why if is that Caillou is as bald as a stone whilst every other member of his family has a nice thick head of hair). It does get annoying that every problem this family ever has is so easily defused and that the parents always know exactly how to fix any conflict or say the right thing or whatever.
Anyway, last time I was in the room whilst Caillou was on TV, I thought it would be funny if everyone in the Caillou-verse aged except Caillou himself. Imagine Caillou as an eternal four-year-old, reacting to stuff!
Daddy walks in. His ever-present green sweater is ripped at the hem and has some spots of brown goo on it. Daddy’s face is slightly green, his cheeks sport three days’ growth of beard, and his eyes are bloodshot.
CAILLOU: Mommy, Daddy’s home! Where have you been, Daddy? It’s Friday and you haven’t been home since Tuesday.
DADDY: Ooooooggg… (runs into bathroom)
CAILLOU: Daddy, you don’t look so good.
MOMMY: Maybe you should leave Daddy alone, Caillou. Maybe tomorrow when he feels better you can help him look for a new job by cutting out some of the want-ads for him!
CAILLOU: Was Daddy fired, Mommy?
MOMMY: Sometimes bosses and employees don’t agree on things, Caillou. And sometimes bosses are skinflint bastards who only care about the bottom line.
CAILLOU: Mommy, you told me not to call people ‘bastards’.
MOMMY: Yes, I’m sorry, Caillou. Hey! Can you come downstairs and help me bake some cookies?
CAILLOU: OK Mommy!
Caillou runs downstairs. Meanwhile, the sounds of retching come from the bathroom.
Caillou knocks softly on Rosie’s door. Rosie, now a teenager, is putting the finishing touches on her Goth outfit, dabbing black lipstick on her lips and getting the chain around her neck just the right tightness.
CAILLOU: Rosie? I can’t sleep!
ROSIE: Go talk to Mom, Caillou. I’m busy.
CAILLOU: I knocked on their door, but Mommy’s moaning a lot and Daddy threw a shoe at the door.
ROSIE: Well, maybe you should leave them alone, Caillou. Adults like to be alone sometimes.
CAILLOU: Not Mommy! She loves me. We’re going to bake cookies later!
ROSIE: Yeah…well, why don’t you go down to the kitchen and start getting the stuff for cookies ready? That way it’ll all be out when Mommy gets up to get a glass of water in about fifteen minutes.
CAILLOU: Okay Rosie! Are you sure it will be fifteen minutes?
ROSIE: That’s usually how long it takes them.
CAILLOU: Okay!
Caillou runs out, singing something about cookie baking with Mommy. Rosie shakes her head, puts own her black leather jacket, opens her window, and jumps over to the oak tree that’s her usual means of nocturnal escape.
Mommy and Daddy are in the kitchen. Mommy is doing dishes, while Daddy reads the paper, smokes a cigarette, and drinks coffee. Caillou can be heard offscreen, calling the cat.
CAILLOU: Gilbert! Gilbert! Come out wherever you are!
Caillou comes into the kitchen. Daddy quickly stubs out his cigarette and stuffs the butt into his pocket.
DADDY: Uh, hi there, Caillou!
CAILLOU: Hi Daddy. Wow, it always smells smoky in the morning in here.
MOMMY: That’s the garbage disposal, Caillou! The motor is breaking. I keep telling Daddy to get a new one.
DADDY: Yeah, but I just like that smell so much!
CAILLOU: I can’t find Gilbert anywhere!
DADDY: Really? He was just here. I think he went that way! (points to living room)
CAILLOU: Here I come, Gilbert!
Certain that he’s on the trail for sure this time, Caillou goes running out of the room.
CAILLOU: Come out wherever you are, Gilbert!
MOMMY: You know, most families tell their kids some lie about the cat going to live on a farm or a petting zoo.
DADDY: (pulls out his cigarette butt) Just shut up and get me another match, will you?
The living room in Caillou’s house. Lots of people are around. Everyone’s wearing black, except for Caillou, who’s in that eternal yellow shirt of his. Everyone’s crying too, except Caillou.
CAILLOU: I didn’t know they made boxes big enough for people, Grandma!
Grandma pretty much ignores Caillou completely.
CAILLOU: Will you need help pushing Grandpa’s box upstairs, Grandma? He’s pretty fat, you know.
Some guy we’ve never seen before, a long-haired guy who has paired a black suit with a tie-dyed necktie, appears beside Caillou and steers him away from Grandma.
UNCLE TIMMIE: Hey, little dude! Why don’tcha come outside with me, eh?
CAILLOU: Okay, Uncle Timmie!
Caillou follows Timmie to the kitchen, where they find Mommy and Daddy, who are standing over by the fridge in very close proximity to one another.
MOMMY: My, darling! You haven’t been like this in six days!
DADDY: You should wear black more often, dear! It makes your chest look so–
TIMMIE: (loudly) Oh, well, we’d better go outside, Caillou!
MOMMY: Oh Caillou! Yeah. Go outside. We’ll be out ourselves in a while. First we have some stuff to do upstairs.
DADDY: Heh!
MOMMY: Hee hee hee….
Caillou follows Timmie outside.
DADDY: Should Caillou spend so much time with Timmie?
MOMMY: Forget Caillou for once! I’m so sick of baking cookies with that kid!
Outside, Timmie sits down on the stoop with Caillou.
TIMMIE: Say, none of the people in there are cops, are they?
CAILLOU: No. Why, Uncle Timmie?
TIMMIE: Oh, nothing. Here, hold Uncle Timmie’s flask for a few minutes. (hands Caillou his whiskey flask) Oh, and hold this too.
CAILLOU: (takes a ziploc bag from Timmie) This looks like what Mommy puts in the lasagna.
TIMMIE: Ha! Well, this stuff wouldn’t taste too good in lasagna, Caillou! But it sure makes for some great brownies!
CAILLOU: Brownies? I love brownies!
TIMMIE: Me too, kid!
CAILLOU: Did you bake brownies with this stuff with Grandpa?
TIMMIE: (laughing) One time, yeah. He kicked me out of the house after that.
CAILLOU: He did?
TIMMIT: Uh-huh. Say, why don’t you show Uncle Timmie where Mommy keeps her baking supplies? I’ll let you lick the beaters when I’m done mixing the batter!
CAILLOU: Yayyyy!
(I know, I know…the subject of this post is sure to come up when I’m sitting down for my one-on-one Life Performance Review with Saint Peter.)
Well, how do you do, young Willie McBride,
Do you mind if I sit down here by your graveside?
And rest for awhile ‘neath the warm summer sun,
I’ve been walking all day, and I’m nearly done.
I see by your gravestone you were only 19
When you joined the great fallen in 1916,
I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean
Or, Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?
Did they Beat the drum slowly, did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the death-march as they lowered you down?
Did the band play The Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?
Did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind
In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined?
And, though you died back in 1916,
To that faithful heart are you forever 19?
Or are you a stranger without even a name,
Enshrined then, forever, behind a glass pane,
In an old photograph, torn and tattered and stained,
And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame?
Did they Beat the drum slowly, did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the death-march as they lowered you down?
Did the band play The Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?
The sun’s shining down on these green fields of France;
The warm wind blows gently, and the red poppies dance.
The trenches have vanished long under the plow;
No gas and no barbed wire, no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard that’s still No Man’s Land
The countless white crosses in stand mute in the sand
To man’s blind indifference to his fellow man,
And a whole generation who were butchered and damned.
Did they Beat the drum slowly, did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the death-march as they lowered you down?
Did the band play The Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?
And I can’t help but wonder, no Willie McBride,
Do all those who lie here know why they died?
Did they really believe when they answered the call,
Did they really believe that this war would end wars?
Well the sorrow, the suffering, the glory, the pain
The killing and dying, was all done in vain,
For young Willie McBride, it all happened again,
And again, and again, and again, and again.
Did they Beat the drum slowly, did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the death-march as they lowered you down?
Did the band play The Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?
Actually, I’m not sure what that post title has to do with anything, but it’s what leaped to mind, so there it is. Some notes:
:: Exactly fourteen years ago today, I turned twenty-two years old. Good times, those were! I remember it as though it was…fourteen years ago.
:: Happy Birthday George Gershwin, wherever you are! S’wonderful, s’marvelous, she should care for me….
:: Things may look a little weird around here for a while. I’ve exceeded the bandwidth limit on where I keep my graphics, and I don’t have time to try to fix it until later.
:: Only one guess thus far at last week’s Unidentified Earth, so apparently a hint is in order? Pictured therein is the only municipally operated one of these in the United States.
:: Here’s an article about the twenty greatest spaceship captains. It’s pretty good, up until the final five, when it gets the rankings horribly, awfully wrong.
:: EW, a magazine I wrote off years ago because I finally couldn’t take the insufferably smug tone of its critics, has a fairly non-smug selection of the Top ten episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation. They’re all superb episodes, and their Number One episode is also my Number One episode, which is nice. (Both these links from SFSignal.)
:: The women of SWILL have created a calendar which they are selling in order to raise money for Living Beyond Breast Cancer. Buy one here.
:: October 15th is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. More info here. Consider lighting a candle that night at 7:00 pm.
On a meta-blogging note, posting will be light for the next few days, and possibly even a week. The Wife starts a much-needed vacation tomorrow, and I’ll be taking a couple of days off from work in order to spend time with her and with The Daughter and do stuff that doesn’t involve a keyboard but may involve large amounts of Cool-whip. Behave, folks!
Hey, male readers! If you ever find yourselves stuck in the Middle Ages with your wife, and you get that, you know, loving feeling, and you’re wondering if you can, you know, roll in the hay with her and not be immoral whilst doing so, use this helpful flowchart:
Enjoy! Good luck storming the castle!
(Found via Mr. Sun.)
A bunch o’ stuff!
:: Several people have indicated that they were highly amused by the bunny with the pancake on its head. That’s great! But there turns out to be a backstory here: the bunny (now sadly deceased) was named Oolong, and had the ability to balance stuff on its head, an ability which was “exploited” by Oolong’s owner for Internet photos. The stuff you learn!
:: Reader Charlie (who hails from Iowa City!) directs my attention to this set of 2007 NFL predictions, which equates each team with a Star Wars character. This is pretty funny stuff…although Norwood’s miss was almost 17 years ago! Can’t we move past that as the defining moment for this franchise?
:: I don’t know about this possible approach to Star Trek that may be in the offing in the movie JJ Abrams is making. Basically the idea is that old Trek standby, the “bad guys go back in time to alter history so our heroes never existed” plot or something like that — but the plot succeeds in some fashion, meaning that instead of telling a story set within established Trek canon but in the days of James T. Kirk’s years at Starfleet Academy, Abrams is literally re-setting the timeline to zero. It’s an interesting approach, but I like established Trek canon, and I’ve never much enjoyed JJ Abrams’s work, so we’ll see.
:: I’ve had some search hits the last day or two for JP Losman on the Jim Rome Show; I assume they’re looking for this interview Rome did. We’ll see how he does on the field, but as far as talking to media goes, Losman’s come a long way. I really hope he succeeds as the quarterback here, because Losman’s just one of the most likable guys to come to Buffalo in a long time. He just seems like a good guy, and I hope his career reflects that.
:: For some reason I’m also getting lots of search engine hits for “What was the Millennium Falcon in when it lost its topside radar dish”, or some variant wording thereof. The answer is, of course, the superstructure of the Death Star II.
:: I sympathize with a guy who got sick, certainly, but I’m flummoxed as to how anyone could consume multiple bags of microwave popcorn on a daily basis for over a decade. I adore popcorn, and I don’t even eat it every week, much less every day. Wow.
:: Matthew Yglesias has a good, and brief, post about Sen. Larry Craig. I agree with pretty much every word.
:: A couple of weeks ago, Jayme e-mailed me about For Better or For Worse, when the strip was in the middle of a week-long thing where all that happened was Liz going on in very long-winded fashion to her friend Candice about how Anthony’s life has been a disaster and how he ended up in a terribly unhappy marriage and how now he’s free and he’s the love of her life and all that jazz. As Jayme wrote:
Seems to me that Lynn Johnson is going out of her way to justify the storyline’s direction, and writing almost a point-by-point rebuttal of bloggers’ gripes in the process.
Well, Comics Curmudgeon is on the case, finding an interesting parallel between recent “present day” events in FOOB and the past events that the strip is now depicting in some kind of weird flashback mode.
Personally, I find that reading Michael’s narration makes me hear the voice of Bob Saget in my head, and that’s never a good thing.
:: Here’s a fine essay on how we’ve lost “silence”:
Just give me five minutes without it; that’s all I ask, perhaps all I’ll need to bring it back into being for myself. Imprisoned by it as I am now, assaulted in every store, elevator, voice-mail system, passing car, neighbor’s home, by it and its consequent immolation in the noise of the quotidian, it is lost to me as anything other than a kind of psychic rape, a forced intimacy with sonic partners not of my choosing. When music is everywhere, it is nowhere; when everything is music, nothing is. Silence is as crucial to the musical experience as any of its sounding parameters, and not merely as a kind of acoustical “negative space.” Silence births, nurtures, and eventually takes back the musical utterance; it shapes both the formation of its textures and the arc of its progress through time.
(via)
:: I think that now I know where Linus will be hanging out this Halloween. He’s looking, after all, for the most sincere of all pumpkin patches!
I don’t usually take these quizzes, but hey, I like the Tarot stuff:
Hope, expectation, Bright promises.
The Moon is a card of magic and mystery – when prominent you know that nothing is as it seems, particularly when it concerns relationships. All logic is thrown out the window.
The Moon is all about visions and illusions, madness, genius and poetry. This is a card that has to do with sleep, and so with both dreams and nightmares. It is a scary card in that it warns that there might be hidden enemies, tricks and falsehoods. But it should also be remembered that this is a card of great creativity, of powerful magic, primal feelings and intuition. You may be going through a time of emotional and mental trial; if you have any past mental problems, you must be vigilant in taking your medication but avoid drugs or alcohol, as abuse of either will cause them irreparable damage. This time however, can also result in great creativity, psychic powers, visions and insight. You can and should trust your intuition.
What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.
Some lazy linkage and updates:
:: The next installment of Unidentified Earth will appear on Friday this week, as opposed to its normal Thursday appearance tomorrow. We’re going to the Fair.
:: I’ve been remiss in noting that Lynn has a new look and a new title. Adjust blogrolls as necessary. (Memo to self: revise the blogroll soon. I’ve got a lot of additions that I haven’t got to yet.)
:: I am now on the blogroll at By Neddie Jingo!, which I consider to be a high honor. Thanks to him. Linkage makes me all tingly inside. (So does rum, but that’s another thing.)
:: Reasons not to like workplace pizza parties. I never much liked them either when I was in my “office” job, because, well, fat chance getting toppings other than pepperoni or plain cheese. If you, like me, occasionally have a hankering for Italian sausage and mushrooms, well, you’re screwed at office pizza party time.
:: I’m rarely one to complain about Buffalo’s weather, but man, this heat-and-humidity is Godawful. I hate it. Of course, it’s not just a Buffalo thing; most of the country is unpleasant right now. But I still detest this steaminess.
:: I just checked out of the library three books by Anais Nin. When did I become interested in her? Seriously, I have no idea — but it may have something to do with the fact that there’s a quote by her on a bookmark that my dearest friend gave me last year. Anyway, I’ll report after I read some of it.
