Um...
PS: I can't take credit for the clever title of this post. Saw it on Deadspin.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
No, baby... That's just jokes!
By now I'm sure most of you have heard about the Rev. Jesse Jackson's desire to, ahem, cut Barack Obama's nuts off. A contrite Jackson has apologized for his "crude and hurtful" remarks, and Barry has graciously accepted the Reverend's mea culpa.
But if I learned anything from The Big Lebowski and Eddy Murphy Raw, it's that threats of castration (2:35 to 4:03 below) are never to be taken lightly:
But if I learned anything from The Big Lebowski and Eddy Murphy Raw, it's that threats of castration (2:35 to 4:03 below) are never to be taken lightly:
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Yup, Gracie and I are going to get along just fine.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Gracie Girl
Dear Grace,
You were born at 10:59am on Thursday, July 3rd, 2008. You weighed 7 pounds 10 ounces and measured 21 inches long. You had dark hair, impossibly long feet and perfect little ears. You were beautiful.
The sun was shining by the time you arrived that morning, but it was cool, dark and rainy when Mom and Dad checked in to the hospital at 11pm the previous night. Over the course of the next twelve hours, Mom was the picture of strength, weathering the storm of each contraction without pain medication. With the help of a midwife named Amy and three different nurses (first Kate, then Natalie and Syra), Mom went from the bed to the birth ball; from the birth ball to the shower; from the shower back to the birth ball; from the birth ball back to the shower; from the shower to the tub; and from the tub back to the bed. Dad was with her every step of the way and woke up the next morning with the sore back to prove it.
As labor progressed and Mom's pain became more intense, Dad reminded her to stay in the present rather than dwelling on the contraction that had just passed or worrying about the one that was right around the corner. Mom responded like a champ, using the time between contractions to rest and to communicate which comfort measures were working and which weren't. By the time Mom was in the tub, word had spread that she was laboring without an epidural. And by the time she was fully dilated, a nursing student, a med student and an on-call OBGYN had all come to the delivery room to watch Mom push.
And what a sight it was. With Dad holding one leg and Natalie holding the other, Amy coached Mom through the last forty minutes of labor. Dad watched in complete awe as Mom summoned all her strength to push, push, push you into this world. First your head appeared, then your face and finally your entire body emerged, slippery, writhing, miraculous.
Amy placed you on Mom's chest while Dad stopped crying just long enough to cut the umbilical cord. Mom and Dad took one look at one another and, after the most amazing night of their lives, decided on something they had known for months:
Your name was Grace Emily.
And you were loved.
Love,
Dad
You were born at 10:59am on Thursday, July 3rd, 2008. You weighed 7 pounds 10 ounces and measured 21 inches long. You had dark hair, impossibly long feet and perfect little ears. You were beautiful.
The sun was shining by the time you arrived that morning, but it was cool, dark and rainy when Mom and Dad checked in to the hospital at 11pm the previous night. Over the course of the next twelve hours, Mom was the picture of strength, weathering the storm of each contraction without pain medication. With the help of a midwife named Amy and three different nurses (first Kate, then Natalie and Syra), Mom went from the bed to the birth ball; from the birth ball to the shower; from the shower back to the birth ball; from the birth ball back to the shower; from the shower to the tub; and from the tub back to the bed. Dad was with her every step of the way and woke up the next morning with the sore back to prove it.
As labor progressed and Mom's pain became more intense, Dad reminded her to stay in the present rather than dwelling on the contraction that had just passed or worrying about the one that was right around the corner. Mom responded like a champ, using the time between contractions to rest and to communicate which comfort measures were working and which weren't. By the time Mom was in the tub, word had spread that she was laboring without an epidural. And by the time she was fully dilated, a nursing student, a med student and an on-call OBGYN had all come to the delivery room to watch Mom push.
And what a sight it was. With Dad holding one leg and Natalie holding the other, Amy coached Mom through the last forty minutes of labor. Dad watched in complete awe as Mom summoned all her strength to push, push, push you into this world. First your head appeared, then your face and finally your entire body emerged, slippery, writhing, miraculous.
Amy placed you on Mom's chest while Dad stopped crying just long enough to cut the umbilical cord. Mom and Dad took one look at one another and, after the most amazing night of their lives, decided on something they had known for months:
Your name was Grace Emily.
And you were loved.
Love,
Dad
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Moose out front shoulda told ya.
Imagine if, when you were a kid, you woke up on Christmas morning and your parents told you that Santa Claus was running a little behind schedule:
You: "Um... What?"
Your Parents: "Behind schedule."
You: "What does that mean?"
Your Parents: "It means that he'll be here... Just not today."
You: "So, he's coming?"
Your Parents: "Right."
You: "Just not today?"
Your Parents: "Precisely."
You: "So... Tomorrow?"
Your Parents: "Not necessarily."
You: "Come again?"
Your Parents: "You see, he might be here tomorrow, but also maybe not."
You: "What the fuck kind of program are you running here?"
OK, that last line is probably a stretch, but you get my point. Amanda and I were under the impression that our little ball of joy would be arriving on or before the 24th of June. And yet the red-letter date came and went without the proverbial stork paying us a visit.
It's the damndest thing. You spend nine months taking candy out of your own personal advent calendar, and then when you get to the big day, you open the little window and there's a note that says, "Would it be okay if we gave you this last piece of chocolate in like a week? Ten days, tops."
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
RIP George Carlin
Jerry Seinfeld's take on George Carlin's death:
The honest truth is, for a comedian, even death is just a premise to make jokes about. I know this because I was on the phone with George Carlin nine days ago and we were making some death jokes. We were talking about Tim Russert and Bo Diddley and George said: “I feel safe for a while. There will probably be a break before they come after the next one. I always like to fly on an airline right after they’ve had a crash. It improves your odds.”
I called him to compliment him on his most recent special on HBO. Seventy years old and he cranks out another hour of great new stuff. He was in a hotel room in Las Vegas getting ready for his show. He was a monster.
You could certainly say that George downright invented modern American stand-up comedy in many ways. Every comedian does a little George. I couldn’t even count the number of times I’ve been standing around with some comedians and someone talks about some idea for a joke and another comedian would say, “Carlin does it.” I’ve heard it my whole career: “Carlin does it,” “Carlin already did it,” “Carlin did it eight years ago.”
And he didn’t just “do” it. He worked over an idea like a diamond cutter with facets and angles and refractions of light. He made you sorry you ever thought you wanted to be a comedian. He was like a train hobo with a chicken bone. When he was done there was nothing left for anybody.
But his brilliance fathered dozens of great comedians. I personally never cared about “Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television,” or “FM & AM.” To me, everything he did just had this gleaming wonderful precision and originality.
I became obsessed with him in the ’60s. As a kid it seemed like the whole world was funny because of George Carlin. His performing voice, even laced with profanity, always sounded as if he were trying to amuse a child. It was like the naughtiest, most fun grown-up you ever met was reading you a bedtime story.
I know George didn’t believe in heaven or hell. Like death, they were just more comedy premises. And it just makes me even sadder to think that when I reach my own end, whatever tumbling cataclysmic vortex of existence I’m spinning through, in that moment I will still have to think, “Carlin already did it.”
The honest truth is, for a comedian, even death is just a premise to make jokes about. I know this because I was on the phone with George Carlin nine days ago and we were making some death jokes. We were talking about Tim Russert and Bo Diddley and George said: “I feel safe for a while. There will probably be a break before they come after the next one. I always like to fly on an airline right after they’ve had a crash. It improves your odds.”
I called him to compliment him on his most recent special on HBO. Seventy years old and he cranks out another hour of great new stuff. He was in a hotel room in Las Vegas getting ready for his show. He was a monster.
You could certainly say that George downright invented modern American stand-up comedy in many ways. Every comedian does a little George. I couldn’t even count the number of times I’ve been standing around with some comedians and someone talks about some idea for a joke and another comedian would say, “Carlin does it.” I’ve heard it my whole career: “Carlin does it,” “Carlin already did it,” “Carlin did it eight years ago.”
And he didn’t just “do” it. He worked over an idea like a diamond cutter with facets and angles and refractions of light. He made you sorry you ever thought you wanted to be a comedian. He was like a train hobo with a chicken bone. When he was done there was nothing left for anybody.
But his brilliance fathered dozens of great comedians. I personally never cared about “Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television,” or “FM & AM.” To me, everything he did just had this gleaming wonderful precision and originality.
I became obsessed with him in the ’60s. As a kid it seemed like the whole world was funny because of George Carlin. His performing voice, even laced with profanity, always sounded as if he were trying to amuse a child. It was like the naughtiest, most fun grown-up you ever met was reading you a bedtime story.
I know George didn’t believe in heaven or hell. Like death, they were just more comedy premises. And it just makes me even sadder to think that when I reach my own end, whatever tumbling cataclysmic vortex of existence I’m spinning through, in that moment I will still have to think, “Carlin already did it.”
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
I call shenanigans.
In case you missed it, President Bush got all up in Congress's grill on Wednesday, berating Democrats for not lifting the federal ban on offshore oil and gas drilling. Some choice comments included:
"There is no excuse for delay... Families across the country are looking to Washington for a response... I know the Democratic leaders have opposed some of these policies in the past. Now that their opposition has helped drive gas prices to record levels, I ask them to reconsider their positions."
Bush went on to say that if congressional leaders head home for their July 4 recess without taking action, they will need to explain why "$4 a gallon gasoline is not enough incentive for them to act. And Americans will rightly ask how high gas prices have to rise before the Democratic-controlled Congress will do something about it."
You tell 'em, W. I'm sure the Democrats will get right on that. While they're at it, are there any other long-standing policies that we can lift in an effort to pander to the oil industry? I've never been crazy about habeas corpus. And don't even get me started on eminent domain.
"There is no excuse for delay... Families across the country are looking to Washington for a response... I know the Democratic leaders have opposed some of these policies in the past. Now that their opposition has helped drive gas prices to record levels, I ask them to reconsider their positions."
Bush went on to say that if congressional leaders head home for their July 4 recess without taking action, they will need to explain why "$4 a gallon gasoline is not enough incentive for them to act. And Americans will rightly ask how high gas prices have to rise before the Democratic-controlled Congress will do something about it."
You tell 'em, W. I'm sure the Democrats will get right on that. While they're at it, are there any other long-standing policies that we can lift in an effort to pander to the oil industry? I've never been crazy about habeas corpus. And don't even get me started on eminent domain.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
