Not a Dry Enough Heat
Vancouver is experiencing some kind of heatwave. In other words, it is abnormally hot, and has been so for a little while.
I may have stated earlier I am unaccustomed to the heat. Right now it feels hotter that the nutsack of a spandex-clad triathlete at mile 24 of the running portion at the Hawaii Ironman event. Or, turning to something with which I have had experience, that of a large diaper-clad 6-day old in a post-war bungalow lacking in a/c. If this global warming thing turns out to be more than some fly-by-night scientific theory (and what are the odds of that?) I had best move to Prince Rupert now. (For those unfamiliar with the town of PR, ity is very far to the north of where I am presently typing and sweating. I think it is the cloudiest or rainiest place in our fair dominion or something like that. I trust this brief yet vague description will assist all 6 of you in appreciating the high-brow family entertainment I am brewing here.) (And original. Did I mention it is also strikingly original?)
Mo is presently feeding the baby giant and is so doing with great relief. Now, I am a decidedly ignorant man, but from what she tells me, she received her delivery of milk in the last 2 days, but le geant has preferred to doze while her milk waits on the porch in this heat, making her a little uncomfortable regarding quality control. Maybe it's quantity control. Or pain management, I'm not sure which, but the not-news regarding Kid Rock and Pamela Anderson has really captivated me of late. I can hardly sleep at night thinking of the sweet love they must make. (I wonder if video of their sweet love will appear on the internet.) It's like, besides that fine tale of true love, there's no good news anywhere. Nobody is getting along, except the shrub and our head of state who spent some time, according to reports, under shrub's desk during his recent visit. They're getting on too well, I'd say. No-one's allowed to mention the 'soft wood' issue.
Anyway, the pump was out, some hoovering performed, but it is hot, so the activity is less fun than it looks. My access to the device, for experimentation, has been restricted. Our son is well. He was, after 2 days of deliberations, given a name. It is not Daquelle, or D'ontarious, or Fuzzy. As if. Our girl, she is bearing up well, all things considered.
I feel blessed. And tired. (And hot.) In this mad (x4) world where PMs blow Presidents, people blow each other up because they are mad, downtrodden, uptrodden, righteous, less-than-righteous, and so on; where cute little owls, funny blubbery whales, and stripey tigers are disappearing because we need to kill helpless leafy trees, or herd plastics, or something; where baseball is more popular than tennis; and where white middleclass lawyers and librarians do not use perfectly good names for their son like "Jedediah", "Cletus", or "Demarcus", it is easy to lose hope. Based on my experience it is all too easy.
I'm not going to Dutch out here (I lack the patience, the research skills, the personality) and attempt to spin some homily for general consumption out of my personal experience (unless I do so, in which case I am merely being disingenuous, but how would you know that, unless I embarked on this navel-gazing nearly-the-end-of-the-post sentence-athon?). That said, today I feel like the act of having children with someone I love and building a family of some type, appears the most effective antidote to any hopelessness arising from within and a highly personal message to any of the aforementioned malfeasants, global and local, that I won't give up. Of course, having a family with actual human children may not work for you. Maybe you prefer pets. Maybe you'd rather have no family, and furtively practice unlicenced animal husbandry on ungulates at a zoo near you. You get my point.
Of course, that could be the heat and the sleeplessness talking. Yep. That's it.
We'll try to fashion a post soon with links and punctuation and like, an idea, or something soon.
PMO
I may have stated earlier I am unaccustomed to the heat. Right now it feels hotter that the nutsack of a spandex-clad triathlete at mile 24 of the running portion at the Hawaii Ironman event. Or, turning to something with which I have had experience, that of a large diaper-clad 6-day old in a post-war bungalow lacking in a/c. If this global warming thing turns out to be more than some fly-by-night scientific theory (and what are the odds of that?) I had best move to Prince Rupert now. (For those unfamiliar with the town of PR, ity is very far to the north of where I am presently typing and sweating. I think it is the cloudiest or rainiest place in our fair dominion or something like that. I trust this brief yet vague description will assist all 6 of you in appreciating the high-brow family entertainment I am brewing here.) (And original. Did I mention it is also strikingly original?)
Mo is presently feeding the baby giant and is so doing with great relief. Now, I am a decidedly ignorant man, but from what she tells me, she received her delivery of milk in the last 2 days, but le geant has preferred to doze while her milk waits on the porch in this heat, making her a little uncomfortable regarding quality control. Maybe it's quantity control. Or pain management, I'm not sure which, but the not-news regarding Kid Rock and Pamela Anderson has really captivated me of late. I can hardly sleep at night thinking of the sweet love they must make. (I wonder if video of their sweet love will appear on the internet.) It's like, besides that fine tale of true love, there's no good news anywhere. Nobody is getting along, except the shrub and our head of state who spent some time, according to reports, under shrub's desk during his recent visit. They're getting on too well, I'd say. No-one's allowed to mention the 'soft wood' issue.
Anyway, the pump was out, some hoovering performed, but it is hot, so the activity is less fun than it looks. My access to the device, for experimentation, has been restricted. Our son is well. He was, after 2 days of deliberations, given a name. It is not Daquelle, or D'ontarious, or Fuzzy. As if. Our girl, she is bearing up well, all things considered.
I feel blessed. And tired. (And hot.) In this mad (x4) world where PMs blow Presidents, people blow each other up because they are mad, downtrodden, uptrodden, righteous, less-than-righteous, and so on; where cute little owls, funny blubbery whales, and stripey tigers are disappearing because we need to kill helpless leafy trees, or herd plastics, or something; where baseball is more popular than tennis; and where white middleclass lawyers and librarians do not use perfectly good names for their son like "Jedediah", "Cletus", or "Demarcus", it is easy to lose hope. Based on my experience it is all too easy.
I'm not going to Dutch out here (I lack the patience, the research skills, the personality) and attempt to spin some homily for general consumption out of my personal experience (unless I do so, in which case I am merely being disingenuous, but how would you know that, unless I embarked on this navel-gazing nearly-the-end-of-the-post sentence-athon?). That said, today I feel like the act of having children with someone I love and building a family of some type, appears the most effective antidote to any hopelessness arising from within and a highly personal message to any of the aforementioned malfeasants, global and local, that I won't give up. Of course, having a family with actual human children may not work for you. Maybe you prefer pets. Maybe you'd rather have no family, and furtively practice unlicenced animal husbandry on ungulates at a zoo near you. You get my point.
Of course, that could be the heat and the sleeplessness talking. Yep. That's it.
We'll try to fashion a post soon with links and punctuation and like, an idea, or something soon.
PMO
posted by p-man at 11:46 p.m.
2 Comments:
Glad you two and Tiny are doing well. This heat is awful. We were at 111° (almost 44 C) yesterday and I won't even look at a thermometer today.
No a/c here either. I went to San Francisco with the girls yesterday but I couldn't stay there forever.
My best to mo-wo.
Sounds familiar. It was hotter that Venus beach-front property in NY last year right after Cheeky was born, and while that machine borrowed from the Pit of Despair was noisily sucking the sweet nectar from my wife's boobies we were slowly losing our ability to complete thoughts as our mental capacity was sweated out of us. If we'd had a basement we would have cowered in some dark cool corner of it and been content simply not to feel like we were being punished for something Dante hadn't thought of yet.
In short, I'm wishing you guys well and hope it gets better soon. Don't move...you'll regret it later. For the name of god DON'T write any soliloquys (sp?) And chilled beer works well, although only for one of you...the other is SOL.
See, I don't help at all.
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