Category: Humour

creative jus and structural integrity

My experiences with certain young people and the young couple formerly downstairs have me in the middle of writing a song.  This will be an ‘anti love song’.

Picture 50’s / 60’s doowop.

Young dumb and crazy

Young dumb and crazy

You can’t be serious

Love makes us delirious

We have trouble with bound’ries; we have issues at borders;

Court appointed attorneys; and restraining or-or-ders

I dosed her with chloral; she hit me with crock’ry

Our manners and morals are mostly a mock’ry

I’m smelling trouble; she’s smelling perfume

And on the double, up goes the volume

Young dumb and crazy

Young dumb and crazy

I want to be passionate

My hope – you are dashing it

Other than that, not much to report.  I am in receipt of an email from the Luddite outlining his latest activities, with one disgruntled comment about the weather, which has been dreadful for a cyclist.  Not too much fun for me either, as I have lost my umbrella and not replaced it, because that’s what umbrellas re FOR, to be lost, and there really seems little point to get into this infinite loop again of purchasing umbrellas, being happy with them for the first little while, watching them slowly lose structural integrity and then about the time you want to pitch them you conveniently leave them on the bus.  It’s been 15 years since I left something on a bus, I feel really dumb, but on the other hand, it was just an umbrella, and not a very good one at that. It’s a recursive loopy kinda day!

Teaching the children to swear

Jeff says he likes it when I rant.  Not in person, of course, that’s yucky, but the written rants are okay.

Today I’d like to rant about teaching children to swear.

Now, in traditional child rearing, parents don’t swear and so…. children don’t swear.  If they do swear, they get paddled, or grounded, or whatever the traditional punishment method is.  Paul and I were not so much with the traditional child rearing, except those parts that are kinda apple pie, like getting them immunized and taking them to school and feeding, clothing and housing them adequately. But we did a lot of non traditional stuff, like nursing until they could talk and cosleeping.  And, not to put too fine a point on it, we both swear.  Paul is less pungent than I on most occasions, but he can certainly let out a beaut from time to time, and so, we had a dilemma.

The child rearing books frown most creasingly at hypocrisy on the part of parents.  We were essentially left with two options; scold the children for imitating us, or – and this was not an easy decision – TRAINING them how to swear.  On the face of it, this is nuts, but this is how it works.

About the time the kids start swearing – usually around four but you could probably profitably do it until the kid is about eight – you sit them down with all of the words, and you go through them all.  FIRST.  Do not assume that children know what the words mean.  Make sure they know.  This took almost an hour, because the kids got right into the swing of things, and also there were many side trips… kike, paki, chink and nigger took a long while to explain especially to kids who were in racially balanced daycare from the time they were tiny, and went to equally racially balanced schools.  SECOND.  Having defined the words, EXPLAIN WHY THEY HURT.  The blasphemy words hurt people who are religious, the bodily function words hurt people who are squeamish, the slurs hurt real people ‘Fag” being an example, even if partly recovered by Dan Savage – anyway, you get the idea.  You don’t tell kids that the words are bad, you tell them that they have varying effects on different people, and that some people would rather be slapped than listen to foul language.  THIRD.  You tell them – and this is really important – that there is not a single word on that list that they can’t say, in or out of context, at home.  You also give them a list of adults they may swear in front of.  In other words, you kinda sorta keep a secret – that there are people who know, and people who don’t know.  There are people on the inside, and people on the outside. There isn’t a four year old on the planet who isn’t familiar with this level of mild social hypocrisy but you’re also providing a safety valve in case the kids need to talk about something important with a family intimate – who isn’t you – thank you Jan and Soon and Catherine.  FOURTH  You give them the Canonical List of people NOT TO SWEAR IN FRONT OF.

  1. Grandparents, font of all prezzies.  Why?  Because when little kids swear, it’s not their fault, it’s the parents’ fault, and you don’t want the grands to think we’re bad parents, right?  I know you aren’t going to believe this, but this is precisely the kind of reasoning you can use on a child that age.  Then you casually mention the prezzies again.  Kids aren’t stupid.  Also, we mentioned older folks, as having a higher standard of behaviour than the rest of us.
  2. Babysitters and babysitters’ children.  Why?  Because babysitters can hire and fire us, and if we make life difficult for them or are ‘bad influences’ on their kids, out the door we will go.  Kids got that one in a real hurry.
  3. Schoolteachers and schoolmates.  Why?  It’s not worth the hassle.
  4. Anything in a uniform.  It can be a busdriver or an escalator repair mechanic, but if you get out of the habit of swearing in front of uniformed individuals, you will be in good shape later.

At the end of our dialogue – imagine keeping the attention of a four year old girl and a six year old boy for two hours, which we did, and many times Paul and I were blown away by the observational skills and emotional savvy both kids demonstrated that day  – the kids had a working knowledge of swearing and they didn’t break training until Katie was 11. After that I didn’t really care – nobody was expecting me & Paul to have ‘control’ over their behaviour at that point anyway.

YMMV. Blessed be!

The shame, the shame

I’m not posting the link, because my spine curls and my skin shrivels at the notion of linking to ANYthing with Paris Hilton in it, but Paris Hilton’s response video to McCain is pretty funny.  I think my favourite part is where she’s trying really hard to look presidential….

I guess there are a lot of sites I don’t like admitting going to, but hey, once you’ve admitted you had a picture of Trudeau on your wall when you were a kid, and that you pooped your pants in the Parliament buildings when you were a kid, and that you like classic seventies porn especially anything with Marilyn Chambers in it,  it’s obvious that shame is not the motivating factor. Mike showed me Autobiography of a Flea on the weekend, and I loved it.

Shame…. is there any?  I mean, I’m not exhibiting much.  I must claim to some.  After all, my parents read this blog, but I know that my mother isn’t reading right now and my dad doesn’t bother when my mom’s not around, so bwa ha ha!  I feel liberated to talk about badshit!  Actually not, if I want to talk about badshit I use the “whining” or “sexxxay” filter in livejournal.

Whining is for when it’s obvious that it’s time to ‘bang a teakettle’ in the shtetl phrase.  What?  No Yiddish?  Let me elaborate.  This is from Every Goy’s Guide to Common Jewish Expressions by Arthur Naiman, as I recollect (and Cousin Reck likes it too, so there).  Anyway, in the days of the pogroms back in oldt contry, when a woman had absolutely had her fill of her domestic situation, she would grab a wooden spoon and a teakettle and run into the middle of the street banging the snot out of the teakettle and yelling like a she’d been trodden on by a golem.  All her neighbours who were able would run out into the street too and there would be an impromptu therapy session.  A magnificent social invention.  Also, I have girlfriends I can call, whose lives are every bit as ‘interesting’, ‘difficult’ and ‘complicated’ as mine, some more so because they have more children and screw YOU if you don’t think that doesn’t make for more complexification, especially once you get into steps, grands, adoptees and homestays, so I can ‘bang a teakettle’ with them, but sometimes as a writer I want to keep the mood green and nothing beats that like writing it down.  After all, if I hadn’t written down my long, long paragraph of vituperative venom, I would not have kept hold of the expression “pig’s ass in vomit” which was how I characterized somebody I was, uh, not very fond of at the time.  Then I learned that you’re defined by what you hate and had to give that emotional tone up, but it’s still a damned evocative expression and I have every intention of using it where appropriate.  Except when the Dalai Lama’s in town, that would be wrong.

Sexxxay is for all the stuff that can’t make it into this blog because my mother would wince and my dad would heave.  Then they would stare at each other uncomprehendingly.  They do that a lot, with respect to their children.  I am still at the involved stage, which means I long to slap my kids instead of just look uncomprehending.

Speaking of the kids, Katie said something re shame the other day.  “In the videos you never yell at us”  and I just looked at her like she had a closed skull fracture and said, WTF?  Of COURSE I wasn’t yelling at you in the videos!!!! Why would I want evidence of my dreadful parenting and worse vocabulary immortalized for all time?  whassamatta u????  One of the best women I know thought about drowning her offspring in a bathtub when she was a young mother.  I can’t recollect ever wanting to harm the kids, but they will attest to the fact that I did use physical discipline, and they’ll also stand right by me and defend me for doing it, such are the strange ways of the simian brain.

Well, I’d simply love to ramble on more about shame.  There are times I want to take all my clothes off at work.  The right people would dig it, and the right people would get completely freaked out.  But my boss has told me that I should just let that urge roll right on over and straight on through, because she doesn’t think there’s a snowball’s chance I’d stay employed, no matter what she said in my defense afterwards.  She has a point.  Now it’s time to go to work.  Shame about that, really.

Came home from drinking with coworkers last night

And there’s a block for all the knives, a new toilet seat, and, in the freezer, chocolate ice cream. It’s like I live at Hogwarts and every time I turn my back the house-elves have done something. Go Jeff.

Said goodbye to Liz and Klaus last night. Liz is an Irish lass who was with us in HR very briefly but memorably and honorably (and if I say why she was memorable, that would be indiscreet) and Klaus is a German lad who was with the company for about the same length of time as me. Like everybody who’s been at BigCo for more than ten minutes, he has an Allegra anecdote; faithful readers of this blog will know that I write Valentine cards for coworkers every year. One year his read, “I love you as much as I love the company ERP” which is kinda like saying you love boils, plague, cedar splinters and popped collars. He sought me out afterwards and with a classic everyman WTF expression on his face BEGGED me to reveal what in God’s name he’d ever done to deserve such a card. Everybody in earshot hearing this for the first time burst out laughing…especially the people from Finance.

I spent 50 bucks on jugs of beer and nibblies, and some of the folks there coughed up some money, so I only ended up spending what I would have spent on myself, so it was more than satisfactory.

I am making chocolate waffles. My happiness is tempered somewhat by the knowledge that somewhere, lurking in the batter, is a piece of eggshell. I hope I get it and not Jeff.

Ooh, I just remembered. Ian M. gave me a lift home and he’s got a brand new Prius. Silver, of course. What a sweet ride that car is!

Migraine, Psychic

I’m kinda aiming sideways at the screen, since I can’t see all of it. Before I sign off for the day, though, I thought I’d mention something that happened on Sunday. As I walked down Duranleau, I saw the sign for the psychic, and had an overpowering urge to go in. This DESPITE having seen the Bullsh*t episode about psychics (it’s a show by magician debunker atheist darlings Penn & Teller). I paused on the landing for five minutes, while the urge to go up got stronger and stronger. So, hoping like hell nobody from work would see me, I gingerly climb the stairs, where a pleasant looking woman tells me “Sorry, we’re closed.”

Guess she didn’t see that coming. I was giggling to myself as I went down the stairs.

Heh. I’m watching Band of Brothers with my brother

Seems a little recursive, and somehow, so fitting.

I’ve decided to pass on Jericho tonight – I know, just because the weather is iffy doesn’t mean I shouldn’t go, but I just feel blah – and concentrate on more domestic activities.  Wednesday I’m dining out with Asha and we’re going to do what women have been doing for millennia – chinwag about the hopelessly inappropriate people their children are sleeping with – for all the berloody good it will do us or anyone.  Thursday, the Luddite will appear for dinner bearing too much chocolate.  Not for me, for Jeff.

Look at what the Repulsigans are doing!

I couldn’t put it better myself.

Just in case you are needing to read something.

Satidday roundup

Two hundred thirty seven reasons to have sex.  Guess I am going to have to read the original research to get the list. This was forwarded to me – but I won’t say by whom….

How will you know when the housing market has bottomed out?  A handy formula. 

A canonical list of “They do it” one liners.  Definitely some giggles in there.

Brian Kiely goes to Kenya in February for the UU movement, and reports back.  I’ve seen him deliver a couple of sermons and the guy is fracking awesome, and he’s also the only minister I’ve ever seen who incorporated Chet Baker music into a service.  By way of sidestream comment, has anybody else besides me had a conversation about genocide in Canada recently?  The existence, the possibility?

I asked my brother for advice about a haircut and after a blank stare, he said, “Uh, not a brush cut,” which now concludes my attempts to ever ask him appearance related questions again.

Since some of my readers will be progenizing shortly, and some have progenized and like getting reminders of how traumatizing it was (sample conversation with my mother.  “Remember when I here insert description of frankly horrid and unsafe and at best unsanitary teenage behaviour?”  “No.” “Well one of us is luckier than the other.”)  So I am providing a link to an interesting list of things new moms should know.  When I read it I nodded a lot, and I also went hunh?? a couple of times too.

The science behind monster waves.

Rational atheism.

Interesting green blog. Obviously it exists to sell things, but there’s cool stuff in there too. 

I LOVE THESE PICTURES.  The expression on the young man’s face, the poses, the clothing that he’s wearing.  And he was hanged. I just think of Deadwood, and melt.

Maybe it’s not a safe place to put money, but it’s an interesting place.

Young and coordinated.

And now… a dancing walrus.

Life on line…. death on line.

Your opinion?  I poop on it!

Finally, a joke.  What’s Australian foreplay?  “Brace yerself, Sheila!”

Laff Riot Girls

Jeff and I went to see the finals in the Funniest New Female Comic contest at Lafflines in New West.  I was expecting at very least to have a good time but the calibre of the comics – given that they are all amateurs – was astounding.  Best line of the evening from Shay – “Canada is gay friendly – look at the nickel!  Beaver on one side, Queen on the other….”  Got to see daughter Katie briefly, as well as Suzanne.

We went on the transit.  It’s a bit of a hike to Joyce Station but it was quite doable, and then Lafflines is spitting distance from Columbia Station.

Got home before 11 and listened to about an hour of Godley Creme Consequences. I’ve always liked the album but I’d forgotten how berloody amazing it was.  My ex-husband was the first person to play it for me and I remember being blown away.  Chipper’s auld acquaintance Pat is a big fan too as I recollect.  And the wind said, “Let …. me…. in!”  Maybe it’s the most self-indulgent concept album of all time, I still like it.