this place is full of tourists

Once you live in the city for awhile, city things are slowly normalized. 

I haven't left the city, really, for about 8 months, so I forgot what 'Merica was like. 

My first thought when seeing all of these baseball caps, mom jeans, fanny packs, friendly smiles, and Midwestern accents was, "tourists. They're everywhere here." 

But, I'm actually the tourist. 

No one has been a trace ironic. My friends at the classy lounge last night were in town because going to local demolition derbies is their summer hobby. The folks tonight are here because there is a new mall that opened in the neighboring valley and it was a special trip for Father's Day. Someone is drinking Budweiser from a bottle. 

The mo-tel lounge has a pleather barstools. There is exposed brick in my room, but cinder block, not "brick." The breakfast buffet included fried chicken. 

I like it here, as a tourist.

Observations

Walmart

There is one right in the center of the city. I went there. I saw a young gal driving a Prius picking up a case of PBR. So much confusion in my brain. Aren't Prius programmed to avoid Walmart at all cost including self destruction? PBR? Sooo Portland 2004. Let's move on. 

#notinidaho

Young men wearing white button-down shirts, ties, black slacks, bike helmets, and black backpacks while riding bikes down the street are not necessarily Mormon missionaries. Just commuters. Hey! 

Who and where the hell am I?

Yesterday

Walking down H and a guy stops me. I think, "Ugh, no, I don't have any change." But he instead hands me three red roses. I think, "Ugh, no, I don't want to buy roses." He says, "I am fighting with my wife. I tried to give these to her and she refused them. Take them. I want to show her that a woman can accept flowers and be happy." 

I am happy, yet confused. Do emotional manipulation roses have bad karma?

The next guy I see asks me for $20. I offer him roses. He declines. Even Stevens. 

This morning

Typical work from home day. Sell a waterbed to a rhinoceros. You know. Work. 

This afternoon

Rush to Union Station to eat terrible pizza and visit with my cousin and her son during their horrific whirlwind tour of DC and NYC. Why would you torture yourself thus? 

Reminder: Driving is lame. Bus tours are uncomfortable. Teenagers are angsty. 

Tonight

At a burlesque "club" in Chinatown wearing heels and tight pants drinking cosmos. Who is this fancy lady? 

Tomorrow

Anticipating a hangover. 

Idiot-proofing the baby library: My review of “Five Little Ducks”

FIVE LITTLE DUCKS

By Raffi. Illustrated by Jose Aruego and Ariane Dewey
Random House (1989) (Board book, ages 6+m)

Imagine you’re a baby.

What’s your biggest, hugest, most insane fear? The one that results in a hysterical, high-pitched scream where the time between each spine-twisting wail lasts up to 30-seconds as you suck, suck, suck in the O2 to fill your tiny lungs and then re-attack the world with your animal noise?

You know, that fear? The one that makes you hold out your arms and sob uncontrollably as you toddle like a zombie stalker, single-minded in your quest to attach like Velcro to the shins of the Mommy?

C’mon, you can feel it. The terrifying nightmare that pulls you out of slumber, causes you to wrench your body onto it’s little chubby feet late, late at night while you emit a soul-crushing, trembling, incessant moan?

Do you have it inside you now? It’s the one thing that you can’t even bear to comprehend, so you cling and hope and feel the warmth of the Mommy and the Daddy, blanketing them in your tiny arms, gripping and pinching them with your slender fingers, feeling their reality and proximity.

The fear is that they will leave the room, and never, never, ever come back.

This book about ducks "going out one day..."

“Quack, quack, quack. But none of the five little ducks came back." 

There may be a happy ending in here somewhere, but I had to push down the urge to cry and vomit simultaneously at this point in the story.

I immediately called my mom to tell her I love her.

This is the worst book ever written.  

Idiot-proofing the baby library: My review of “Oh, the Thinks You Can Think!”

OH, THE THINKS YOU CAN THINK!

Written and illustrated by Dr. Seuss
Random House (1975) (Board book, ages 6+m)

I am a big fan of Dr. Seuss. I remember those days curled up on the sofa reading about the silly alien guy who wouldn’t even taste that green ham, so that tiny other alien followed him around bugging the shit out of him for what seemed like eternity. Just try it, already, I would beg and giggle because I knew the end.

Spoiler alert: Big alien loved that rotten food after all!

It wasn’t just “Green Eggs and Ham” either. I loved that “cat” alien and his pink slime, the Grinch, the colorful fishes, and the magical worlds that were even more fun when Dad was having a hazy poker night and the Dead were blasting on the home stereo.

But, here’s my problem with this particular board book. It’s a six-year-old’s novella adapted for a b-a-b-y.

Jesus, just because it’s a great book, doesn’t mean it’s suitable for infants. There’s a reason Disney hasn’t put out Pulp Fiction the Musical (although, there could be some fun in an Alan Menken song called “Ball Gag.” Think on it, Disney, and give me a call). 

Anyway, it’s true I was getting high on Seuss at the literate age of four. I’m advanced. But, not eight months.


At eight months we’re teaching shit like “don’t eat that,” “don’t eat that, either,” “definitely put that down and away from your mouth RIGHT NOW before I puke,” and “seriously, you’re going to eat puke, too?”

How is my kid going to learn anything if she’s introduced to things like “Guff” and “Schlopp” and “Na-Nupp” when she hasn’t mastered the basics of “no”, “yes,” and “dog?” She’s going to walk around making up some crazy ass language, and her preschool teachers are going to think we taught her Quenya, then they’re going to call child services. I see my future.

Then there are the illustrations. I appreciate the inclusion of “horse,” bird,” and “elephant,” but these drawings don’t even remotely resemble the actual animals in question. A horse with rabbit ears, a bird with hair, an elephant…well, I’ll give you a pass on the elephant.

Books are supposed to help kids learn about imagination, fantasy, and things their parents don’t want to talk about aloud. Baby books are supposed to help babies learn simple concepts like “red.”


The only thing my kid learned is that terrible Dr. Seuss board books printed in Mexico taste delicious. 

Please don’t call child services.