Tap, tap, tap.
Is this thing on?
That's me, milking the mic for a moment, wondering if still a single soul is venturing to what was formerly the widely-read(?) and highly-acclaimed(?) Confessions of a Blogophobe.
I've let the ink go dry on this here page for a near-month now, accidentally on purpose to be truthful, plagued by a devilish desire to do anything but write.
Sad really, that I would let waste away my perch, my soapbox, my stage, my spot, at a time of great growth within the readership no less (Kirby's, thanks be to you!), but disinterest got the better of me.
Mea culpa.
Truth be told, I'm tired.
The Final Addition has been acting up of late, still suffering from whatever it is that has ailed him since the mid-summer moment when he did what never I would do, which is to decline the offering of Hot Wife's bosom.
The boy didn't take to the milk and has taken to no other in fact, save for the medically prescribed formula that up until recently made it possible for him to eat, drink and be merry without fussing up a storm. All. Night. Long.
Still, since birth he's been eating at an every-three-hours clip, leaving Hot Wife and I to wonder when or if we'll ever encounter a full night's sleep again.
To make matters worse, The Daughter Formerly Known as The Latest Addition has developed her own maddening affinity for screaming the night away, waking up at all hours to let us know that dodo-time is over.
Midnight. Fini dodo, she screams and yells and taunts, from the bedroom, the hallway, from within an inch of my nose.
2 a.m. Fiiiiniiiii doooodooooo, she screams and yells and taunts, her conviction growing with every grunt and groan.
On and on and on it went for a few nights in a row recently, a distinctly difficult development as it kept happening in between the boy's feedings, until finally Hot Wife had enough and saddled our precious little demon-child (I kid, I kid) back in the playpen as punishment.
The DFKATLA thought it was a camp-out and saw it as a reward.
Fail on our part, but at least she's not emerging from her room at all hours to proclaim that what they say is really true and there is, in fact, no rest for the wicked, or weary, or whatever it is they call them.
I also got my sack snipped since last I posted on these pages, as pleasant an experience as I've ever had with my knickers at my ankles.
Right.
All I kept thinking as Dr. Death to Reproduction persuaded me to drop my drawers was that the least he could have done was buy me dinner first. Does it make me easy that I gave in without a fight?
Eight minutes later, Bob Barker would be proud to know that I was neutered, and according to the handy vasectomy pamphlet, unlikely to ever hump anyone's leg under the kitchen table again.
A sad development for my weapon of mass production, but for our dinner guests a pleasant reprieve from a few awkward moments.
In a nutshell, these would be a few of the reasons that have kept me from the keyboard for so long.
I make no promises to be back again tomorrow, but know this, the tens of you still reading this page, rather than invest my time in sleep this evening, I've invested it here instead.
That's saying something. What, exactly, I don't know.
Maybe it will come to me in a minute.
In bed.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Interactive storytelling, Volume II
Ten months have passed since last we engaged in some interactive storytelling where you, the readers, push the tale in whatever direction you wish it to go.
As I did in the wildly successful story of Shartsy’s misadventures, I will set the scene before letting the readership author the story’s denouement, jumping in with my own two cents along the way of course.
I count on you to keep this ball rolling in the comments section.
“For the last time, look at me!”
Scarlet was growing impatient with her younger brother’s disinterest in her mastery of the moonwalk.
“Watch me again,” she said, annoyed.
With Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean blaring in the background, Scarlet jumped up onto the family room’s parquet wood floor, a relic of 1980’s decor gone wrong if ever there was one, and proceeded to glide her way across the room with all the aplomb of a wounded worm limping across a ball of crumpled sandpaper.
It was not pretty.
She was walking backwards, Scarlett was, in a disjointed and robotic attempt to imitate the smooth, suave style that was the Michael Jackson trademark, white glove notwithstanding.
“You’ll see, Rico,” she said, talking to her disinterested younger brother, “when I get to my audition, my moonwalk will blow the judges away.”
Rico rolled his eyes.
He had grown immune to his sister’s delusions, to her grand aspirations of stardom, to her constant referrals to herself as Scarlet the Starlet.
She had no talent.
Rico knew it. Their parents knew it. Even their pets knew it. Whenever Scarlet would launch into one of her impromptu song-and-dance routines, it was always a treat to see which of Speedy, the three-legged turtle, or Blackie, the albino rat, could evacuate the premises first.
As for Scarlet, she was just clueless. But what she lacked in raw ability she more than made up for in the self-confidence department. In her mind, Scarlet the Starlet was destined to go down as one of Hollywood’s all-time greats.
“You’re dumb,” Rico said. “You’re auditioning for American Idol and you think the moonwalk is going to get you on the show?”
“No, the moonwalk is what will seal the deal. I’m not just a singer, Rico. I’m a performer. And as a performer, I intend to show those judges that Scarlet the Starlet is the TP.”
“You’re the toilet paper?”
“No, silly, the total package. Scarlet the Starlet is the total package.”
“Whatever, your moonwalk still sucks,” Rico retorted as he left the room.
Scarlet ignored her brother and quickly went back to rehearsing her choreographed moves, in her mind a diva of Celine’s proportions but in reality a karaoke bar’s worst nightmare.
In her right hand, she held an old hairbrush, singing into it with every ounce of effort she could muster. With her left hand, she pressed a thumb into her ear, mimicking the Mariah Carey’s of the world who always sing with a finger in their ear, for what reason, Scarlet didn’t know. If it worked for Mariah and Beyonce though, it would work for her too.
For hours, she rehearsed, until finally she fell to the floor in a heap, reduced to a sweating ball of exhaustion.
Twelve hours later, Scarlet woke up in a frenzy, realizing that in less than an hour the doors to the local auditorium would open, as would the doors to her Hollywood dreams. But she was far from ready.
In a huff, Scarlet rushed upstairs to shower, but the bathroom door was locked; Rico, the precocious little brother, was in there feigning a case of the runs so he could take his sweet time secretly flipping through that month's Cosmopolitan magazine.
With not a second to spare, Scarlet couldn't be bothered to argue with Rico. On the spot, she decided to pass on washing and brushing her teeth and instead ran to her room, packed up her audition bag and ran out the door.
It was only on her way to the bus stop that she realized...
TO BE CONTINUED IN THE COMMENTS SECTION
As I did in the wildly successful story of Shartsy’s misadventures, I will set the scene before letting the readership author the story’s denouement, jumping in with my own two cents along the way of course.
I count on you to keep this ball rolling in the comments section.
**********
“For the last time, look at me!”
Scarlet was growing impatient with her younger brother’s disinterest in her mastery of the moonwalk.
“Watch me again,” she said, annoyed.
With Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean blaring in the background, Scarlet jumped up onto the family room’s parquet wood floor, a relic of 1980’s decor gone wrong if ever there was one, and proceeded to glide her way across the room with all the aplomb of a wounded worm limping across a ball of crumpled sandpaper.
It was not pretty.
She was walking backwards, Scarlett was, in a disjointed and robotic attempt to imitate the smooth, suave style that was the Michael Jackson trademark, white glove notwithstanding.
“You’ll see, Rico,” she said, talking to her disinterested younger brother, “when I get to my audition, my moonwalk will blow the judges away.”
Rico rolled his eyes.
He had grown immune to his sister’s delusions, to her grand aspirations of stardom, to her constant referrals to herself as Scarlet the Starlet.
She had no talent.
Rico knew it. Their parents knew it. Even their pets knew it. Whenever Scarlet would launch into one of her impromptu song-and-dance routines, it was always a treat to see which of Speedy, the three-legged turtle, or Blackie, the albino rat, could evacuate the premises first.
As for Scarlet, she was just clueless. But what she lacked in raw ability she more than made up for in the self-confidence department. In her mind, Scarlet the Starlet was destined to go down as one of Hollywood’s all-time greats.
“You’re dumb,” Rico said. “You’re auditioning for American Idol and you think the moonwalk is going to get you on the show?”
“No, the moonwalk is what will seal the deal. I’m not just a singer, Rico. I’m a performer. And as a performer, I intend to show those judges that Scarlet the Starlet is the TP.”
“You’re the toilet paper?”
“No, silly, the total package. Scarlet the Starlet is the total package.”
“Whatever, your moonwalk still sucks,” Rico retorted as he left the room.
Scarlet ignored her brother and quickly went back to rehearsing her choreographed moves, in her mind a diva of Celine’s proportions but in reality a karaoke bar’s worst nightmare.
In her right hand, she held an old hairbrush, singing into it with every ounce of effort she could muster. With her left hand, she pressed a thumb into her ear, mimicking the Mariah Carey’s of the world who always sing with a finger in their ear, for what reason, Scarlet didn’t know. If it worked for Mariah and Beyonce though, it would work for her too.
For hours, she rehearsed, until finally she fell to the floor in a heap, reduced to a sweating ball of exhaustion.
Twelve hours later, Scarlet woke up in a frenzy, realizing that in less than an hour the doors to the local auditorium would open, as would the doors to her Hollywood dreams. But she was far from ready.
In a huff, Scarlet rushed upstairs to shower, but the bathroom door was locked; Rico, the precocious little brother, was in there feigning a case of the runs so he could take his sweet time secretly flipping through that month's Cosmopolitan magazine.
With not a second to spare, Scarlet couldn't be bothered to argue with Rico. On the spot, she decided to pass on washing and brushing her teeth and instead ran to her room, packed up her audition bag and ran out the door.
It was only on her way to the bus stop that she realized...
TO BE CONTINUED IN THE COMMENTS SECTION
Saturday, October 31, 2009
It's close to midnight
... and something evil's lurking in the dark
Under the moonlight, you see a sight that almost stops your heart
You try to scream but terror takes the sound before you make it
You start to freeze as horror looks you right between the eyes
You're paralyzed
'Cause this is thriller, thriller night
And no one's gonna save you from the beast about to strike
You know it's thriller, thriller night
You're fighting for your life inside a killer, thriller tonight
You hear the door slam and realize there's nowhere left to run
You feel the cold hand and wonder if you'll ever see the sun
You close your eyes and hope that this is just imagination, girl!
But all the while you hear the creature creeping up behind
You're out of time
'Cause this is thriller, thriller night
There ain't no second chance against the thing with forty eyes, girl
Thriller, thriller night
You're fighting for your life inside a killer, thriller tonight
Night creatures calling, the dead start to walk in their masquerade
There's no escaping the jaws of the alien this time (They're open wide)
This is the end of your life
They're out to get you, there's demons closing in on every side
They will possess you unless you change that number on your dial
Now is the time for you and I to cuddle close together, yeah
All through the night I'll save you from the terror on the screen
I'll make you see
That this is thriller, thriller night
'Cause I can thrill you more than any ghost would ever dare try
Thriller, thriller night
So let me hold you tight and share a
Killer, diller, chiller, thriller here tonight
'Cause this is thriller, thriller night
Girl, I can thrill you more than any ghost would ever dare try
Thriller, thriller night
So let me hold you tight and share a killer, thriller, ow!(I'm gonna thrill ya tonight)
Darkness falls across the land
The midnight hour is close at hand
Creatures crawl in search of blood
To terrorize y'alls neighborhood
I'm gonna thrill ya tonight, ooh baby
I'm gonna thrill ya tonight, oh darlin'
Thriller night, baby, ooh!
The foulest stench is in the air
The funk of forty thousand years
And grizzly ghouls from every tomb
Are closing in to seal your doom
And though you fight to stay alive
Your body starts to shiver
For no mere mortal can resist
The evil of the thriller
Under the moonlight, you see a sight that almost stops your heart
You try to scream but terror takes the sound before you make it
You start to freeze as horror looks you right between the eyes
You're paralyzed
'Cause this is thriller, thriller night
And no one's gonna save you from the beast about to strike
You know it's thriller, thriller night
You're fighting for your life inside a killer, thriller tonight
You hear the door slam and realize there's nowhere left to run
You feel the cold hand and wonder if you'll ever see the sun
You close your eyes and hope that this is just imagination, girl!
But all the while you hear the creature creeping up behind
You're out of time
'Cause this is thriller, thriller night
There ain't no second chance against the thing with forty eyes, girl
Thriller, thriller night
You're fighting for your life inside a killer, thriller tonight
Night creatures calling, the dead start to walk in their masquerade
There's no escaping the jaws of the alien this time (They're open wide)
This is the end of your life
They're out to get you, there's demons closing in on every side
They will possess you unless you change that number on your dial
Now is the time for you and I to cuddle close together, yeah
All through the night I'll save you from the terror on the screen
I'll make you see
That this is thriller, thriller night
'Cause I can thrill you more than any ghost would ever dare try
Thriller, thriller night
So let me hold you tight and share a
Killer, diller, chiller, thriller here tonight
'Cause this is thriller, thriller night
Girl, I can thrill you more than any ghost would ever dare try
Thriller, thriller night
So let me hold you tight and share a killer, thriller, ow!(I'm gonna thrill ya tonight)
Darkness falls across the land
The midnight hour is close at hand
Creatures crawl in search of blood
To terrorize y'alls neighborhood
I'm gonna thrill ya tonight, ooh baby
I'm gonna thrill ya tonight, oh darlin'
Thriller night, baby, ooh!
The foulest stench is in the air
The funk of forty thousand years
And grizzly ghouls from every tomb
Are closing in to seal your doom
And though you fight to stay alive
Your body starts to shiver
For no mere mortal can resist
The evil of the thriller
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Happy Birthday Baby Girl
Today, The Daughter Formerly Known as The Latest Addition turns two.
Two years of constant giggles.
Two years of heartfelt hugs and kisses.
Two years of chattering, first incomprehensible, now a collection of comprehension far ahead of many her age.
She began bald, but now has the sweetest, blondest, curliest 'do a little girl could have.
She started weak, but now has grown into a healthy, happy ball of fighting fury.
She is the apple of our eye, no longer the baby in the family, but forever, for always, our precious little girl.
Happy Birthday DFKATLA.
We love you more than you will ever know.
And how best to celebrate a 2nd birthday? How about two parties and two cakes:
Two years of constant giggles.
Two years of heartfelt hugs and kisses.
Two years of chattering, first incomprehensible, now a collection of comprehension far ahead of many her age.
She began bald, but now has the sweetest, blondest, curliest 'do a little girl could have.
She started weak, but now has grown into a healthy, happy ball of fighting fury.
She is the apple of our eye, no longer the baby in the family, but forever, for always, our precious little girl.
Happy Birthday DFKATLA.
We love you more than you will ever know.
And how best to celebrate a 2nd birthday? How about two parties and two cakes:
Special thanks here to the Mother-of-Many for her splendid cake mix Tinkerbell rendition.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Monday morning musing
The opening minutes of Papa was a Rolling Stone... pure musical genius or just the soundtrack to every adult film produced between the years 1975 and 1984?
Not that I've ever seen any of those.
Not that I've ever seen any of those.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Bright lights, big city
Hard to beat Las Vegas for a long weekend escape from reality.
That's because there is no reality in Vegas.
Excess and extravagance is how I described it here.
Nearly a year and a half later, little has changed in the desert... well, except for the additional $$$ Hot Wife and I, along with Ginger and The Numbercruncher, pumped into the local economy. When all else fails, you can always count on a few green gamblers to leave their green behind.
In any case, many thanks to our friends for joining us on fun jaunt to Sin City, swift as it may have been.
Here's to better luck time!
That's because there is no reality in Vegas.
Excess and extravagance is how I described it here.
Nearly a year and a half later, little has changed in the desert... well, except for the additional $$$ Hot Wife and I, along with Ginger and The Numbercruncher, pumped into the local economy. When all else fails, you can always count on a few green gamblers to leave their green behind.
In any case, many thanks to our friends for joining us on fun jaunt to Sin City, swift as it may have been.
Here's to better luck time!
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Blackjack-War
When last Hot Wife and I travelled to Las Vegas with our good friends The Feathered One and His Hot Wife, we did so as relative neophytes to the whole gambling scene.
Witness this conversation as we approached for the first time what we thought to be a Blackjack table:
The Feathered One: We’re a little fuzzy on how to play Blackjack. Can you remind us of the rules as we play?
Dealer: This isn’t Blackjack. This is War!
War, for crying out loud.
For $15 a hand, I get dealt one card. The dealer deals himself one card.
Highest of the two wins, and in most cases, I lost.
War.
Pfffft.
I bring up the Blackjack-War debacle because it is one I intend to not repeat this weekend as Hot Wife and I join our good friends, Ginger and The Numbercruncher, for a fun-filled Vegas Vacation.
A little over a year ago, as I left behind my twenties and emerged on the other side a more mature and responsible man (yeah, right), Hot Wife surprised me with a trip to Las Vegas as a gift.
This year, it was my turn to reciprocate.
For her birthday in August, Hot Wife received this:
It's a an authentic-ish place ticket to the destination of Hot Wife's choice, within reason of course.
She chose Vegas, and I am pumped.
We leave tomorrow, with pockets full. We hope to return on Monday with pockets fuller.
From many wins at the Blackjack table. And to be honest, at the War table too.
Wish us luck.
Vegas Baby.
Witness this conversation as we approached for the first time what we thought to be a Blackjack table:
The Feathered One: We’re a little fuzzy on how to play Blackjack. Can you remind us of the rules as we play?
Dealer: This isn’t Blackjack. This is War!
War, for crying out loud.
For $15 a hand, I get dealt one card. The dealer deals himself one card.
Highest of the two wins, and in most cases, I lost.
War.
Pfffft.
I bring up the Blackjack-War debacle because it is one I intend to not repeat this weekend as Hot Wife and I join our good friends, Ginger and The Numbercruncher, for a fun-filled Vegas Vacation.
A little over a year ago, as I left behind my twenties and emerged on the other side a more mature and responsible man (yeah, right), Hot Wife surprised me with a trip to Las Vegas as a gift.
This year, it was my turn to reciprocate.
For her birthday in August, Hot Wife received this:
It's a an authentic-ish place ticket to the destination of Hot Wife's choice, within reason of course.She chose Vegas, and I am pumped.
We leave tomorrow, with pockets full. We hope to return on Monday with pockets fuller.
From many wins at the Blackjack table. And to be honest, at the War table too.
Wish us luck.
Vegas Baby.
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