And the Academy Award for Best Parent in an Improv Performance While Operating an Automobile goes to …
Tuesday is my morning to chauffeur the lovely Miss Jayna to her nursery school, and doing so is always a bit of a crap shoot, because I never know which Jayna I’m going to get. Will it be the “Yay! School!” Jayna, or the “I DON’T WANNA GO TO SCHOOL! [weeping and crying and screaming]” Jayna?
This morning, it seemed to be the middle ground: she was neither psyched nor horrified by the prospect … and when your child is balancing between the realms of “Best Possible Outcome” and “Worst Possible Outcome,” ye must tread lightly and be on the lookout for potential landmines, for one wrong move and BOOM! And that explosion, brothers and sisters, will topple your little bundle of joy from the balance beam of ambiguity into a very clearly defined emotional realm, and you will wish you could put your fingers in your ears and curl up in a ball until The Screaming and The Crying have stopped.
And you definitely, definitely, de-fin-ite-ly do not want The Screaming and The Crying to take place as you attempt to part with your little bundle of joy during the preschool drop-off, because then you have yourself A Situation—or, worse yet, A Scene.
Still headbanging after all these years
There are so many things wrong with this photo (not the least of which is the fact that I was standing in the bathroom at midnight taking a picture of myself in the mirror), or at least why this photo came to be, that I hardly know where to begin.
When up on the roof, there arose such a clatter …
It wasn’t that I thought placing the ladder’s feet on the cement-and-flagstone walkway was necessarily a good idea … it’s just that that’s where I needed it to be in order to properly secure the Christmas lights to the gutter above the front door. I already had tried standing on the threshold of the doorway, but I couldn’t quite reach the gutter from there. A stepladder probably would have been the way to go, but it was getting darker and colder and I already had spent more time than I could afford trying to string up all of this holiday cheer, so fuck it, what’s the worst that could happen?
Um, no, really: I’m with the band …
There is a scene in the movie “Almost Famous” during which the protagonist — a young and budding music journalist — approaches the backstage door of a concert venue, rings the buzzer, gives the surly security guard his name and says that he’s there to interview the band.
The guard checks the guest list on his clipboard.
“You’re not on the list,” he says dismissively and slams the door shut.
Blast off
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I had no idea when I took this shot that I had captured Trent launching himself skyward; I was just snapping like a madman and hoping to …
Proud American
In the days immediately following 9/11, there was a feeling, and a display, of patriotism in this country the likes of which I had never experienced. When I would go out for a run during those first weeks, I would keep my mind occupied by counting all of the American flags I saw along my route.
The past 24 hours mark the first time since that post-9/11 period that I have been overwhelmed by a feeling of true pride in being an American. I had feared desperately that the political and ideological rifts that exist in this country, along with outright racism and fear of the unknown, would combine to prevent Barack Obama from becoming the 44th president.
I remember watching that asteroid movie back in the ’90s—not the Bruce Willis one; the other one—in which Morgan Freeman was cast as the president. I remember thinking how wonderful a concept that was, and how entirely unlikely it was that I would ever see such a thing happen.
I recall watching “The West Wing” during its final season and seeing Jimmy Smits portray a Latino presidential candidate—an exceptionally bright, composed, dignified man who took the high road throughout his campaign, and whose words, actions, integrity and gravitas truly inspired people, to the point that he did, in fact, become the president. I remember the sense of disappointment I would feel when an episode would end and reality would come back into focus—a reality that had left me feeling certain that seeing such a man, and a minority member at that, become our president was a fantasy that could only take place in a fictional world.
I can’t even tell you how unbelievably fortunate I feel to be alive at this time, and to see happen that which I thought was completely improbable, if not impossible.
And whereas my previous flood of patriotic feelings were brought on by an unimaginable tragedy, the catalyst this time is an unimaginable victory. It is, quite literally, a completely alien and unique sensation, and one that I am savoring as much as is humanly possible.
Patriotic duty
This morning, I taped my “Veterans for Obama” sign to my front-door window. I did so to compensate for the fact that some asshole walked all the way up to the front of my house in broad daylight yesterday and stole my Obama yard sign. Fortunately, I’m pretty sure that the lack of signage in my front yard won’t have a substantial impact on Obama’s final vote tally tomorrow.