Saturday, 21 August 2010

Today we went to my parents-in-law’s house. This marked Isla’s longest car ride and, apart from a visit to the midwife, her first time in another home. More importantly, it was her first time meeting her cousins Lyric and Asa. Actually, it was the first time Jennifer, Owen, and I had met Asa, too (he was just born earlier this month).

It’s funny, when Isla was born, the midwife said she looked like a girl (she was referring to the dainty features of Isla’s face, and not to the more obvious girl-looking areas). I wasn’t really sure what the midwife meant at that time – to me, babies just look like babies and I have a tough time ascertaining gender based on facial features alone (at least until they start shaving).

But today, seeing Isla up next to her boy cousin Asa, man, I gotta say: that kid looks like a boy. Sorry I can’t be more precise than that, but he just had the look of a boy and, seeing my daughter next to him, she did look like she has girl’s face.

Anyway, as you can imagine, there was all sorts of photography going on; what with two babies getting together and all four cousins being there along with the grandpa and grandma and great-grandma. My dad-in-law commented that it was like the paparazzi in his living room with all the flashes going off. I shot some video, too.

ISLA WITH HER NEW COUSIN:

Sunday, 22 August 2010

I submitted four articles to The Humanist some months ago, and the editor wrote back saying she was interested in publishing two of them, only she wanted to mash them together into a single article. I told her this was fine, and she sent me a draft of the conjoined articles. I responded with a few suggestions. Six suggestions, actually, and she decided to go with five of my six suggestions. A couple of days ago, I received the magazine in the mail, and I felt quite please with myself to see my article on page 36. I posted on Facebook telling people to go check it out at their local library or bookstore, but I’ve since discovered that the article is also available online. So, READ IT HERE.

Also, I wrote this article for The Minnesota Atheist (MNA). It’s actually a little long for MNA, so I may shorten it for the paper edition, but I’m gonna submit this article to a few places, too.

Monday, 23 August 2010

This morning, I watched the last half of the movie Psycho II (I’d watched the first half a few days ago). In case you don’t know, this is the sequel to Psycho. It was made 22 years after the first film, by witch time Hitchcock was dead. It’s safe to say, I think, that there was really no need for this movie, and that Hitchcock had no intention of ever filming a sequel to Psycho (or any of his films, for that matter).

I’m not really a fan of sequels. I hate the way they sully the memory of the original. They’re almost always disappointments – tacked on stories out for a quick buck once it was realized that the original made more money than expected. All sorts of great films have had lousy sequels made – and I would list them off here, but I think there are already a good number of lists of bad sequels to great films elsewhere.

But, I feel compelled to admit: Psycho II was a rather good flick. I mean, it was worth the watch. In fact, I’ll even go so far as to say that if you’ve seen Psycho, then go ahead and rent the sequel. It’s fun. Oh – and if you haven’t seen Psycho, what’s wrong with you? Put it on your Netflix queue and bump it up to #1.

Psycho II owes a deep debt to Hitchcock, a fact they graciously admit in the closing credits. Perkins reprises his role as Bates and is, again, brilliantly creepy, unsure, just plain mad. The music, while not as inspired as the first, is well done. The cinematography is reminiscent of the original and just as cool. It employs two of the great tricks of the master: first, the camera moves from one place to another to heighten the emotion. When characters are scared or confused, the camera rises up and we look down on the players from a bird’s eye view. In one particularly inspired bit of camera work, the camera pans out of the attic window as we watch Norman looking out; it then tilts straight down and head – in a single shot – for the cellar window. It’s at the same time disorienting and clever. The camera also takes the place of the characters’ eyes from time to time, another homage to the original. This is pure Hitchcock – nothing puts you into the action like sitting behind the actors’ pupils.

My favorite scene was near the end. Norman kills Ms. Spool. The scene was so jolting and well executed that I had to rewind the film and watch it again. In the days before digital manipulation, I was amazed at how precise the scene was. I can’t imagine how many takes it took to get that scene just right.

Still, the film has its detractions. The first two minutes of the film is simply a clip from the first film. And, predictably, it’s the famous shower scene. Out of place, and at the start of the film, the scene loses all meaning and becomes simply a murder scene. Other scenes in the film, while not using the same footage, are nonetheless exact copies of the original. Boring. And some things are just a bit too contrived – Norman is released from a mental hospital after being in the for over 20 years, and his doctor sees no problem in letting him return to his creepy home where all his problems first started. The home itself is so troubling for Norman that he can’t even go into some of the rooms. Then there’s the young woman who knows Norman’s past, yet still decides to stay in his house with him for several days. She and Norman even spend a night in the same room, where Norman stands guard…with a knife. Why is she risking her life like that? Oh, there’s a reason, but it’s a lousy reason.

Then there’s the case of the film showing us what’s about to happen. In the original, I enjoyed when the camera took viewers aside, as if to say, “but what about this?” That’s great film-making, but this sequel, instead, tries to say: “guess what’s gonna happen!” Yes, yes, I am guessing, but don’t make it so obvious. The worst offense is when Norman offers a guest some tea, and then we see him reach into the cabinet and grab the tea…and the poison. Come on. That scene would’ve been so much better had I not known for sure if he was going to poison his guest or not.

Bottom Line: B+

Thursday, 19 August 2010

I took Owen to the Minnesota Zoo today.

After living within four miles of the zoo for about 14 years, including 4 years in which I lived within a mile, and several years as a member, let’s just say the zoo has lost some of the wonder and appeal it’s supposed to carry.

Nevertheless, here are a few random items I feel like mentioning:

*When we first entered the Tropics Trail, we stopped to observe the tortoise enclosure. Inside that enclosure, there are three life-sized wooden models of extinct animals, including one of an elephant bird, which was the largest bird to ever exist. Standing next to Owen and me was a father with two young children, around Owen’s age. “What’s that?” asked the little boy, pointing to the elephant bird.

“That’s a bird that some people used to think exist.”

“What’s that?” the boy asked, pointing to a foot-long model of an egg that shows the enormous size of the elephant bird’s egg.

“That’s the egg that some people think came from that bird.”

Nice job, dad.

Later, Owen and I went on the monorail, which is a great form of transportation for moving cash from a parent’s wallet into the zoo’s cash register. But later, as we were driving home, Owen asked if that was his first time riding on a train, and then I figured maybe it was worth the money.

Did you know the zoo has a trio of grizzly bears now? Yeah, super cool. We watched as one bear lumbered into the water, chased around a salmon (you can see under the water thanks to some thick plexiglass), catch the salmon, carry it onto the shore and then eat it. Made me hungry for salmon.

There’s also a butterfly enclosure now, too. That was especially enjoyable, as they give you a little plaque with all the species listed on it, along with accompanying pictures. This works out great, since Owen asked “What kind of butterfly is that?” about 20 times, and I was able to answer with the correct nomenclature. Hey – did you know some caterpillars lose their entire digestive tract (including mouth) during cocoon stage? So when they emerge as butterflies, the only energy they’ll ever have to live off of is what they ate back when they were caterpillars? Gives me a new appreciation for The Very Hungry Caterpillar. There was a sign in the enclosure saying that most butterflies live only two to four weeks. I pointed out to Owen that all the butterflies he was seeing were all the same age as Isla. He gave me a slack-jawed look that indicated he either thought that was really nifty, or that he had no idea what I was talking about.

Later, Owen lost track of me at the tiger exhibit, and freaked out. He stared crying and said he wanted to go home, but I told him I was right there, I was just on the other side of a display. We went and watched the otters for a while (Owen got me to lost another dollar by insisting I donate to the save-the-otters program) and then he laughed when he saw them playing with ice chunks.

I explained to him that ice is what some people think happens to water when it freezes.

Friday, 20 August 2010

We took Isla to my place of employment today, so that she could see where her dad has to bust his ass everyday to pay for her crap.

Oops, sorry. Let’s try that one again, slightly less cynical:

Today the four of us ventured to my job to show my co-workers the latest in a series of JamesJennifer-spawn.

We had to check in at the front desk, because visitors need to obtain a pass to enter the building. In the few weeks I’ve been gone, they’ve gone computerized, so I had to use this little laptop to fill out my wife’s name and some other info. While I was doing that, the receptionist was busy fawning over Isla, then she turned to Owen, put her hand on his, and said: “Oh, you have a little sister now, don’t you?” He meekly said yes, and then she said, “And you know what? I have a coloring book for you.” She turned around and opened up a filing cabinet. As she did so, she said: “And it’s all pictures of princesses, too.”

Hm. Okay, I don’t like princesses – especially the Disney and British versions – but I was busy entering my wife’s reason for visiting (“Other”) and, besides, I didn’t want to sound gruff, so I just figured she was apologizing for not having anything else to give a little boy except a princess book.

Anyway, so she pulls out this wad of princess pictures, hands it to Owen and says, “’Cause you’re a princess, aren’t you?” Again, I was only half-listening, so in the moment, I just figured she was making a joke, but as my wife and I walked into the building, my wife said: “Why didn’t you stick up for our son?”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“She thought he was a girl.”

“Oh-“ I said, the reality of the situation suddenly dawning on me, and then I went on to explain what I just wrote, above. Then I think I ended with: “Why didn’t you stick up for our son?” I think my wife said: “Because you’re the head of the house.” Just kidding. Jennifer’s the head of the house. I abdicated that shitty job in June 1998.

Later, we were standing around with a bunch of my co-workers, showing off the kind of good-looking baby that we can create, and one of them looked at Owen and said: “Do you ever feed your baby sister?” Owen just looked at her with an extremely confused look, until Jennifer prompted him to say no.

Okay, I don’t mean to rip on or make fun of my co-worker, because it’s a perfectly understandable question from her viewpoint and from mine. But not from Owen’s. See, I’m pretty sure Owen is unaware that some babies are fed from bottles. He’s never had a bottle, and neither has his sister. So, I’m pretty sure Owen’s confusion stems from the fact that, when my co-worker posed the question, Owen was probably thinking: “Of course I’ve never fed my sister. I don’t have breasts of any kind, much less the lactating sort.”

Poor kid. First someone thinks he’s a princess, then someone inquires as to his ability to lactate.

Princesses. Yuck.

Sunday, 15 August 2010
Some friends came over today. We first met at Buca for lunch, which pretty much made up for the bland crap I had a Ruby Tuesday lat time I went out to eat. So, good for me and my taste buds.
Later, they came over to our house and, right before they left, Owen whispered into my ear and said he wanted to give their daughter a hug goodbye. So I said to the little girl that Owen wanted to give her a hug goodbye, and she consented. Then I asked Owen if he wanted to hug anyone else goodbye (since our friends also have two sons), but he said he didn’t want to.
Aww, cute. I think he has a crush.

Monday, 16 August 2010
A few good things today:
First: I’m happy to announce that we’ve gone 48 hours without any cat puke to clean up. Also, I never thought I’d say this, but I was happy to see some poop in the litter box, too. This is great because it means food is going in the font end, staying in, and then coming out the back end. I’m so glad because any other scenario wouldn’t have been good at all (e.g., putting the cat to sleep, spending hundreds of dollars at the vet to figure out what’s wrong…).
Second: Some friends stopped by today to see Isla and they brought vegetarian soup. Total score! The soup tasted great and it’s like, the best present for new parents to bring them food. Actually, to be more clear: bringing food is always the best present for me, whether I’m a new parent or not.
Third, I finally got in contact with the Minnesota Department of Health this morning. I called the woman (Roxanne Summers) at 9:00 this morning, left a message, then declared to Jennifer that I would call her every hour and leave a message, until she responded. I didn’t expect this, but when I called again at 10:00, she answered her phone and as soon as I said my name, she said: “Oh, yes, James, I have your paperwork right here. Ha! Dam right you do!

Tuesday, 17 August 2010
More visitors came today. My sister made a return visit, and claimed that Isla has noticeably grown since she’d last seen her a little over a week ago. She’s probably right – Isla had a visit with the midwives yesterday, and we found out that she’s 8 pounds and 6 ounces, which means she’s put on one pound since birth. The midwife told us that a general rule of thumb is that babies bulk back up to their birth weight by the age of two weeks. So, in less than three weeks, Isla not only got back up to her birth weight, but even gained a pound. Man, with all that pooping and spitting up, all I can say is that my wife must be making massive amounts of milk. Either that or she’s feeding our daughter straight-up butter.
Then we had more visitors this evening. They brought over a gift for Isla and some books for Owen. Did I mention our friends who came over on Sunday brought a kite for Owen? Well, I’ll mention that now: our friends who came over on Sunday brought a kite for Owen. All I gotta say is, baby gifts are nice, but I looove the presents for Owen. Kites and puzzle books are way more fun than burp rags and onesies.
On a related front: we’re down to three chocolate cigars. Owen said: “What will we do if people come over and there’s four of them?” I told him that we’d have to convince them to share. Not sure what other solution there is…if anyone can think of one, let me know.

Wednesday, 18 August 2010
Today, while on our way home from somewhere else, I decided to stop at the Dakota County Library in West St. Paul. Owen and I stopped at a library in Hennepin County last week, and I asked the front desk clerk if she ever had any passes for the Children’s Museum. (In case you don’t know: the libraries in the metro area have passes available to get into museums for free.) She said they no longer had passes for the Children’s Museum, but that I could check with Dakota County.

So that’s what I did today. And – what luck! – they had one pass left just sitting there. Owen, who has ventured with me to a few libraries as I’ve searched for said pass, was very excited that we’d finally found one. We quickly took it up to the check-out counter, and the clerk took my library card and then announced, “Oh, actually, these passes are only for residents of Dakota County.”

“Oh,” I said, “I didn’t know that. That’s disappointing.” I looked at Owen, who was slumping his shoulders. He’s not one to spazz out, but if he ever was gonna have a meltdown, I really wished he would’ve right then. ‘Cause then I could say to the lady: “Can you please explain your arbitrary rule to my five year old?”

It’s not that we can’t go to the Children’s Museum, it’s just that it’s so expensive. In fact, I am even eligible for a discount thanks to my employer, but it’s still so expensive. So…you know, it’d be nice if the Museum Pass Program didn’t discriminate against non-Dakota County residents. Shame on you Dakota County Library. Shame on you and your stupid policy.

Saturday, 14 August 2010

I don’t even recall how we came up with the idea for Single White Male. I think it had its origins in our joking around about what Owen, as a newborn, would want in a mate. We figured, for example, that since nearly all the girls his age were bald, that he must like bald girls. We also assumed that, since he slept three-quarters of every day, that that must be what he would like in a mate, too.

So, one day – September 12, 2005, to be exact – we filmed Owen as he placed a classified ad for a lady companion. This was about the earliest possible day in Owen’s life that we could create such a film. He was just old enough to hold his head up and just old enough to listen to some of our cues as we directed him.

I finished that film today.

What could possibly have taken me nearly five years? you ask. That’s a great question. Let me try to give a great answer.

The thing is, when we first filmed the video, we weren’t much in the mood to create fun films like that. It was only at my insistence that we filmed it at all and, like the ICP Pregnancy Test, we knew there was a narrow window of time in which we could effectively get the footage we desired. So, after shooting the video, I shelved the project for about two years. At that time, I was ready to get working on films as a hobby again.

The first thing I did was import the footage into my computer. I then spent several lunch hours at work editing the footage down into a workable 2.5 minutes. Then I asked Jennifer to help me come up with some clever dialogue. Then, one evening when I had the house to myself, I recorded my voice as I read the script.

But there was part of the problem: an adult man’s voice did not fit very well with a little boy’s face. So I played with the audio filters until Jennifer first complained that it sounded like a man who had sucked in helium, and then that it sounded like a creepy midget.

“Well,” I said, coming up with a great idea, “how about we just wait until Owen is old enough to say the words himself?” Jennifer agreed this was a good idea.

Then my hard drive crashed. Thankfully, I had learned from past episodes to back up all my data, so the only thing I lost was (drum roll…) the edited footage for Single White Male. Oh well, no big deal. I figured I’d just wait until Owen could talk fluently.

So I waited. And waited. And waited.

During the summer of 2009, I again imported the footage, edited it down and (to make a long story shorter) lost it again.

So, about six months ago, I imported the footage a third time, and edited it once again. Jennifer and I worked with Owen one winter afternoon to get him to say the dialogue but, as fate would have it, he was just getting over a cold and his voice sounded too nasally. We repeated our attempt in June and, finally, had successfully captured audio that could be married to our video. Embroiled, as I was, in another video, I didn’t bother to finish up the video until mid-July.

On July 27^th, the video appeared to be completed. I played it on the TV screen, and we noticed the titles looked a little pixilated. “No problem,” I said, “I’ll fix that tomorrow and then it will be all done.”

Well, instead of finishing the video that next day, our attention was diverted to the birth of our daughter. I thought it would be months before I finished the video.

Alas, hanging out at the local elementary school while Owen was in his community ed. class afforded me some spare time to work on selfish pursuits. At long last, I put the final touches on the little film last night and uploaded it to the worldwide web this morning.

Here then, at long last, is Single White Male:



Thursday, 12 August 2010

Here’s a conundrum we’ve thrown around for a few days here: what are the chances that a set of parents, who have two children, have one boy and one girl? Is it a third (~33.3%) or is it half (50%)?

It’s a third. There. Problem settled.

Now on to more pressing issues:

So…I have 31 days from the time of my child’s birth to get them onto my insurance plan. If I don’t get them on my insurance plan by then, then any medical costs they’ve incurred up to that point will not be covered and, further, I won’t be able to get coverage for them until the next calendar year begins.

So, it should be easy enough, right? I mean, I just have to log onto my company’s HR site and add her. The only problem is that, after asking for her name and date of birth, I have to enter in her Social Security Number.

Ah…there’s the kicker. How to get a Social Security Number…hm…

I called the Minnesota Department of Health on Monday. Specifically, I called the woman who passes out birth certificates for home-brewed babies. She wasn’t there. She was out of the office. I was going to leave a message, but her mailbox was full.

So I called Tuesday. Same story.

So I called Wednesday. Same story. But then I pressed 1 for more options, which let me talk to someone else. That woman told me that I could just go ahead and call any county office to get a copy of my daughter’s birth certificate. I told her that my daughter had no birth certificate yet – that’s why I’m calling: I need to create one. She said I’d need to talk to Roxanne. I said I’d called Roxanne three days in a row, but that I just get her voicemail telling me she’s out of the office. This woman didn’t even know Roxanne was out of the office and, after putting me on hold, said there was no one else in the entire Department of Health that could assist me.

So I called back today. No out-of-the-office message. But I still got her voicemail. I left a message asking her to call me back. She hasn’t.

Friday, 13 August 2010

Today, seeking a little venture outside the house, Jennifer and I went and dined at Ruby Tuesday’s. Like the bland Rolling Stones song with which the restaurant shares its name, I’m gonna go ahead and declare Ruby Tuesday’s to be the most mediocre restaurant I’ve been to in a long time.

Let’s see…

The salad bar – probably larger than any other salad bar I’ve seen at other restaurants – had nothing beyond the ordinary: basic lettuce, one choice of cheese, those mouse-turd looking bacon bits, plain, dry-bread croutons, week-old onion bits, and all the blandest dressings you could ever want. There was Ranch, French, lo-cal Ranch, Italian, Thousand Island, and a couple of other super cheap dressings. No poppy seed, or anything else that could possibly take the food outside the ho-hum world of salads.

I ordered the Southwestern Quesadillas. Then the waitress said: “It comes with beef, but if you’d prefer chicken I’ve had it both ways and I think it’s just as good.”

I said: “Oh…um, I didn’t think it came with any meat. I was hoping for no meat.”

She said: “Well we can make it without meat, that’s no problem.”

I said yes, and then she tried to sell me guacamole for an additional $1.99.

Here’s my problem with that: the most expensive ingredient in the meal is the meat. Since I’ve asked to have that removed, shouldn’t I be given the guacamole at no charge? In fact, why slight vegetarians at all? Why not just list the meal as coming with your choice of beef, chicken, or guacamole? Or better yet, why don’t you hold the meat, give me the guacamole AND the $1.99.

Anyway.

Jennifer got fries with her meal, and so I grabbed one off her plate, because I’m greedy that way. Yuck. I’ve had better fries at McDonald’s. And they were less expensive, too. These were just the most absolutely plain fries you could possibly ask for. They had no seasonings on them, they were soggy, they were limp, they looked like they were snagged out of a frozen meal.

And did I mention they sat us at a booth that was in the bar area? Do you know why I hate the bar area? Because of the TVs. It just occurred to me that I should make a list of things I really hate, and TVs at restaurants will have to rate pretty high. See, if I’m going to bother putting pants on, driving in a car, showing up at a restaurant with other people, then I want to talk to those people. If I wanted to stare at a TV and not talk to anyone, I could do that at home. In my underwear. With better, less expensive food, and waaaay better beer. If the TV is airing a show I care about, don’t worry: I’ll catch it at home when I can give it the attention it deserves. If it’s playing something I couldn’t give a Ruby Tuesday’s french fry about, then I don’t want it thrown in my face when I’m trying to talk to my friends.