... and other dubious perks of parenthood:
1. "No, sweetie - you can't use the dinosaur to mop up pee."
2. "Kitty doesn't like it when you put raisins in her ears."
3. "There aren't any YouTube videos with Elmo and R2D2."
4. "I know your cousins are smaller than you and can't walk, but they're not kitties."
5. "Do you want another laundry hamper ride?"
6. The discovery that mommy's fancy soap isn't nearly as tasty as it smells.
7. "You can't go to Oma's house if you're naked."
8. "I don't think there are any videos with pandas and Yoda either."
9. "Don't stand in front of Daddy when he's trying to pee."
10. "Patzla."
"What?"
"Patzla!" (Tugs open kitchen drawer and gropes around inside)
"Ohh... spatula?"
"Patzla!"
(Lengthy session of handing him several spatulas of various materials, all of which he rejects with increasingly loud expressions of frustration and displeasure, until he throws himself to the floor and screams like an angry howler monkey after I try giving him a wooden spoon. Then I give him a black sort-of cross between a spatula and a slotted spoon.)
{delighted} "Patzla!"
(Does a little stompy dance, then toddles out to the living room where he drops the spatula five minutes later after rediscovering a jingly cat toy under the sofa.)
17.7.09
War is Hell (but you get chicken afterwards)
Our house seems to lie in the DMZ between the territories of two outdoor tomcats. There hasn't been a huge catfight in our front yard in a couple of years, and The Black Bastard (hereafter known as BB) is generally courteous enough to stay on the sidewalk when he's raiding The Orange Bastard's (OB's) turf. However, OB still wanders through our front and back yards with impunity, which drives our indoor cat (Hobbes, a.k.a. MY Bastard) crazy with territorial rage. (Alice appears to be content to let Hobbes do the snarling and tail-puffing, or, more likely, simply hasn't noticed there are other cats outside. She's kind of dim, is our Alice.)
So for the past several weeks, OB has been skulking around under the hedge, in the back yard, and occasionally even lurking in the front flowerbeds just under the window. Hobbes has been beside himself with rage, and I haven't been particularly happy about it either, partly because Hobbes is unhappy, partly because I don't want to find a bunch of cat crap in the flowerbed next spring when I plant a bunch of flowers. Unfortunately, I decided on this occasion to give OB a bit of a scare, wrenched open the front door, and hissed at him. Meanwhile, Hobbes launches himself out the front door at OB, chasing him into the neighbours' yard where there is a tense, yowling standoff of several minutes before Hobbes attacks again and OB flees up the street.
Hobbes went and hid out under the hedge until I finally coaxed him out with promises of cat treats and chicken. When I got him inside, he was limping slightly. He had a few minor scratches, but I think the main problem was that he's getting to be an old cat and he probably pulled something during the fight. So for the last few days I've been making a big fuss over him and giving him treats, carrying him to bed with me, and so on. S. points out that this is probably giving him the idea that getting into fights is a good idea.
On the upside, OB hasn't shown his face around here for over a week now.
So for the past several weeks, OB has been skulking around under the hedge, in the back yard, and occasionally even lurking in the front flowerbeds just under the window. Hobbes has been beside himself with rage, and I haven't been particularly happy about it either, partly because Hobbes is unhappy, partly because I don't want to find a bunch of cat crap in the flowerbed next spring when I plant a bunch of flowers. Unfortunately, I decided on this occasion to give OB a bit of a scare, wrenched open the front door, and hissed at him. Meanwhile, Hobbes launches himself out the front door at OB, chasing him into the neighbours' yard where there is a tense, yowling standoff of several minutes before Hobbes attacks again and OB flees up the street.
Hobbes went and hid out under the hedge until I finally coaxed him out with promises of cat treats and chicken. When I got him inside, he was limping slightly. He had a few minor scratches, but I think the main problem was that he's getting to be an old cat and he probably pulled something during the fight. So for the last few days I've been making a big fuss over him and giving him treats, carrying him to bed with me, and so on. S. points out that this is probably giving him the idea that getting into fights is a good idea.
On the upside, OB hasn't shown his face around here for over a week now.
5.5.09
Underground Market (dreamtime)
I'm on an elevated train passing over an old, decaying neighbourhood on the cusp of gentrification. Most of the original houses still standing are in poor repair, with broken windows, peeling paint, and sagging porches. The surrounding areas have been leveled or are in the process of being excavated for new foundations. I get off the train at the border between this area and one that is still resisting redevelopment. I'm supposed to be meeting someone at a local tea shop, but I've got a fair bit of time to kill, so I wander into an isolated corner store with heavy grilles over the windows and Christmas lights strung around the window and door frames.
Inside, there are the standard items - small, overpriced grocery staples, cigarettes, lottery tickets, and snacks. There is also a wall dedicated to various posters looking for or advertising apartments, jobs, and goods of dubious provenance. The shopkeeper is a short man in a faded tie-dyed t-shirt, a scruffy beard, and small round glasses. He suggests that I check out the local market down the block. "It's quite a sight, even if you're not looking for anything in particular." I've got a fairly heavy bag, but he offers to look after it while I'm at the market. "Not like I got any plans tonight, more's the pity."
I have a few misgivings about leaving my stuff with this fellow, but then there's nothing really valuable (or interesting) in my bag, so after some dithering I hand him my backpack and wander off down the street. The entrance to the market is marked by a small grubby sign strung up over an alley between two semi-habitable brick apartment buildings. The alley runs straight for about 10 meters, then turns into an unpredictable labyrinth. The asphalt gives way to cobblestones. The houses and apartment buildings on either side lean inward, allowing only a sliver of sky in between to remain visible.
After walking for a while, I notice that the buildings appear uninhabited - they're full of stacks and piles of cloth, which spill out the windows into the street. Some of the cloth has tags attached indicating a price per meter or bolt, some of it appears to be printed with ads for various shops further along in the market. The path slopes gradually but steadily downhill, and apart from other tourists on the path, I haven't seen a single person. There are no longer any houses - the cloth (and yarn, and what looks like shredded paper) are contained in massive, transparent plastic containers, their sides bulging. These give way to plain white walls, and then I find myself in a rabbit warren of branching paths, some of which lead to private residences, some to small cafes, smoke shops, and pawnbrokers. I find myself walking through someone's backyard, then wind up in a tea shop. The woman wiping off a table tells me that the shop won't be open until after dark. I pass by a few large rooms strewn with cushions and fake-fur rugs, lit by candles and lava lamps. Hugely dilated eyes peer at me from dark corners and arms wave languidly like seaweed, beckoning me inside. I keep going.
The light becomes brighter, as if I'd been walking all night without realizing it. Now the rooms are occupied by families, still lounging around on the cushions, but eating breakfast and playing games. There's one area packed wall to wall with bicycles of various sizes and styles. I suspect they're stolen, but the fellow selling them banters pleasantly with passers-by.
When I finally come out the other side, the sun is going down, and the facade is lit up garishly. This side is obviously a tourist attraction, complete with souvenir stalls and the ubiquitous candy shop with dozens of different kinds of fudge. I have no idea where the corner store is from here, so I head towards a tour bus to ask directions.
Inside, there are the standard items - small, overpriced grocery staples, cigarettes, lottery tickets, and snacks. There is also a wall dedicated to various posters looking for or advertising apartments, jobs, and goods of dubious provenance. The shopkeeper is a short man in a faded tie-dyed t-shirt, a scruffy beard, and small round glasses. He suggests that I check out the local market down the block. "It's quite a sight, even if you're not looking for anything in particular." I've got a fairly heavy bag, but he offers to look after it while I'm at the market. "Not like I got any plans tonight, more's the pity."
I have a few misgivings about leaving my stuff with this fellow, but then there's nothing really valuable (or interesting) in my bag, so after some dithering I hand him my backpack and wander off down the street. The entrance to the market is marked by a small grubby sign strung up over an alley between two semi-habitable brick apartment buildings. The alley runs straight for about 10 meters, then turns into an unpredictable labyrinth. The asphalt gives way to cobblestones. The houses and apartment buildings on either side lean inward, allowing only a sliver of sky in between to remain visible.
After walking for a while, I notice that the buildings appear uninhabited - they're full of stacks and piles of cloth, which spill out the windows into the street. Some of the cloth has tags attached indicating a price per meter or bolt, some of it appears to be printed with ads for various shops further along in the market. The path slopes gradually but steadily downhill, and apart from other tourists on the path, I haven't seen a single person. There are no longer any houses - the cloth (and yarn, and what looks like shredded paper) are contained in massive, transparent plastic containers, their sides bulging. These give way to plain white walls, and then I find myself in a rabbit warren of branching paths, some of which lead to private residences, some to small cafes, smoke shops, and pawnbrokers. I find myself walking through someone's backyard, then wind up in a tea shop. The woman wiping off a table tells me that the shop won't be open until after dark. I pass by a few large rooms strewn with cushions and fake-fur rugs, lit by candles and lava lamps. Hugely dilated eyes peer at me from dark corners and arms wave languidly like seaweed, beckoning me inside. I keep going.
The light becomes brighter, as if I'd been walking all night without realizing it. Now the rooms are occupied by families, still lounging around on the cushions, but eating breakfast and playing games. There's one area packed wall to wall with bicycles of various sizes and styles. I suspect they're stolen, but the fellow selling them banters pleasantly with passers-by.
When I finally come out the other side, the sun is going down, and the facade is lit up garishly. This side is obviously a tourist attraction, complete with souvenir stalls and the ubiquitous candy shop with dozens of different kinds of fudge. I have no idea where the corner store is from here, so I head towards a tour bus to ask directions.
25.3.09
The Last Night on Earth (dreamtime)
It's the night of December 20th, 2012. I'm at a huge party in a downtown hotel in my dream city. Everyone I know is there, even people I knew in high school and haven't seen since. I spot MHZ in the crowd at several points, although as usual, he's avoiding me and / or being dragged around by the latest psycho girlfriend who's attached herself to him like a leech. I'm shocked at how badly he's aged.
Midnight is fast approaching, and although the exact time of whatever's going to happen is unknown, midnight is as good a time as any to cut loose. We spill out into the parking lot outside and see that the entire front wall of the hotel (a seamless sheet of mirrored, reinforced glass) has shattered into diamond-like cubes all over the pavement, mixing with the snow and glitter from the partygoers.
In less than 10 seconds, I've got little bits of glass in both of my shoes. In less than 20 seconds, the glass bits have put runs in both of my (outrageously expensive) stockings. I sit down on the hood of an expensive-looking sports car and shake the glass out of my shoes. The hotel employees are hanging up giant sheets of mylar (I assume it's mylar - it's got that sort of shiny quality to it) and trying to keep out a horde of people spilling over from another party in a skeevy strip club / swinger bar down the block. Some cops show up and attempt to stop the incipient orgy in the parking lot.
There's a sudden flash of light, and I think this is it, with a weird thrill of mingled anticipation and dread. But it's just the fireworks starting - starbursts of white and violet and green breaking open the sky and glittering in the windows of the skyscrapers and the broken glass on the pavement. The booming of the fireworks is drowned out by a rushing noise, and I turn to look in the direction of the river and see the water creeping up the banks and hundreds of boats floating past with people crowding the decks and waving at everyone onshore.
S. grabs my hand and grins at me.
"Here comes the flood," he says.
Midnight is fast approaching, and although the exact time of whatever's going to happen is unknown, midnight is as good a time as any to cut loose. We spill out into the parking lot outside and see that the entire front wall of the hotel (a seamless sheet of mirrored, reinforced glass) has shattered into diamond-like cubes all over the pavement, mixing with the snow and glitter from the partygoers.
In less than 10 seconds, I've got little bits of glass in both of my shoes. In less than 20 seconds, the glass bits have put runs in both of my (outrageously expensive) stockings. I sit down on the hood of an expensive-looking sports car and shake the glass out of my shoes. The hotel employees are hanging up giant sheets of mylar (I assume it's mylar - it's got that sort of shiny quality to it) and trying to keep out a horde of people spilling over from another party in a skeevy strip club / swinger bar down the block. Some cops show up and attempt to stop the incipient orgy in the parking lot.
There's a sudden flash of light, and I think this is it, with a weird thrill of mingled anticipation and dread. But it's just the fireworks starting - starbursts of white and violet and green breaking open the sky and glittering in the windows of the skyscrapers and the broken glass on the pavement. The booming of the fireworks is drowned out by a rushing noise, and I turn to look in the direction of the river and see the water creeping up the banks and hundreds of boats floating past with people crowding the decks and waving at everyone onshore.
S. grabs my hand and grins at me.
"Here comes the flood," he says.
22.3.09
Down in the Valley-O (dreamtime)
I'm staying in a village in an isolated valley with a group of friends. Most of them are warriors, and I haven't seen them since we arrived. I assume they're keeping busy hunting and trekking around the valley. For some reason, we can't leave - the villagers are afraid of something on the heights that they won't speak of. Every time I try to walk up the paths towards the valley walls, I get this sick feeling like something's crushing down on me, making it impossible to breathe.
The village has no contact with the outside world. They grow wheat for bread, raise sheep for milk and wool and meat, chickens for eggs, and have vegetable gardens and a small orchard. I have no idea what date it is, only the time of year. There is a small church or temple, but there are no symbols to indicate what faith these people practice, and I can't read their language, although I can speak it, or we speak the same one.
I am getting impatient - we've been stuck here for so long because I burned out all my power in a fight, but now I have recovered, and we should leave. I go to talk to one of the healers, who tells me that my friends have spent the last several weeks at his house after they tried to climb up a ridge. He says he would be happy to let them stay, but he's running out of food. I haven't been aware of any of this, and after giving him pretty much all of the rest of my money, I go off and try to get some answers from the other villagers about what the hell is going on in this valley. Predictably, they close ranks and in a few cases become openly hostile.
The POV switches to a sort of omniscient perspective at this point - I'm with a friend (nobody I recognize from waking life, but I've met her before in dreams) in a big room cluttered with old toys - action figures, Lego pieces, model vehicles of various kinds, and scenery from wargames and dismantled train layouts. I'm looking for fantasy-medieval action figures and accessories to represent my group. Unfortunately, most of the figures are mechs or based on films (Batman, Star Wars, etc.) and are therefore the wrong genre.
Just before I woke up, we were starting up a narrow path zigzagging up the valley wall, and there was a greenish tinge to the sky and a weird crackly feeling in the air like the moment before a lightning strike.
The village has no contact with the outside world. They grow wheat for bread, raise sheep for milk and wool and meat, chickens for eggs, and have vegetable gardens and a small orchard. I have no idea what date it is, only the time of year. There is a small church or temple, but there are no symbols to indicate what faith these people practice, and I can't read their language, although I can speak it, or we speak the same one.
I am getting impatient - we've been stuck here for so long because I burned out all my power in a fight, but now I have recovered, and we should leave. I go to talk to one of the healers, who tells me that my friends have spent the last several weeks at his house after they tried to climb up a ridge. He says he would be happy to let them stay, but he's running out of food. I haven't been aware of any of this, and after giving him pretty much all of the rest of my money, I go off and try to get some answers from the other villagers about what the hell is going on in this valley. Predictably, they close ranks and in a few cases become openly hostile.
The POV switches to a sort of omniscient perspective at this point - I'm with a friend (nobody I recognize from waking life, but I've met her before in dreams) in a big room cluttered with old toys - action figures, Lego pieces, model vehicles of various kinds, and scenery from wargames and dismantled train layouts. I'm looking for fantasy-medieval action figures and accessories to represent my group. Unfortunately, most of the figures are mechs or based on films (Batman, Star Wars, etc.) and are therefore the wrong genre.
Just before I woke up, we were starting up a narrow path zigzagging up the valley wall, and there was a greenish tinge to the sky and a weird crackly feeling in the air like the moment before a lightning strike.
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