Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Seven Random Topics

I’m XXX, Baby!

I had always thought turning thirty would be a big deal…but it just wasn’t. Typically, I’m a big fan of meaningless number games like this. I love watching the odometer flip to zeroes, I remember phone numbers by finding mathematical patterns in the sequence, and I enjoy it when I notice the clock reads 6:22…cuz that’s my birthday. Plus, my birthday was on a Thursday this year, which always makes me happy for some odd reason. So I had every reason to believe that watching my personal odometer flip to a nice even "0" would be an exciting event for me. But when June 22 rolled around, it just didn’t matter too much. It was a good excuse to have some good friends over for some cake, but that was about it. I felt neither particularly celebratory nor old.

The main reason for this is surely Pumkin. Of the life changes I’m going through right now, surviving my 30th revolution around the sun seems like pretty small potatoes. In addition, I think that turning thirty at this precise moment just feels so right that it’s hard to think much about it.

My Dad was 30 when I was born. Well, pretty much...I was born 8 days before his 30th birthday. This age, therefore, has just always seemed to me like the right age to have a kid. I’ve assumed since I was 12 or so that I’d become a Dad on or around my 30th. It’s looking like I’m going to be about a month behind schedule.

Anyway, the point here is that if I weren’t about to be a Dad, 30 would seem suddenly old to me. If, on the other hand I was a Dad and not yet thirty…I think I’d feel too young. So, the fact that the stars aligned and I’m turning thirty at exactly the same time that I’m becoming a Dad made my birthday a point not worth feeling one way or the other about. It’s just the right age to be at the right moment.

And besides… being XXX sounds much cooler than being XXIX.


Pumkin's First Party

As is tradition at this stage of a pregnancy, there was a baby shower on June 23rd. It never ceases to amaze me how much work and planning goes into what, in the end, is just a simple get together. Who’s coming? What games will be played? Where will it be? Where are people staying? Who handles what? Luckily, Moonshot and I, as the guests of honor, got to sit to the side of all the chaos and just watch. We answered questions here and there about what we’d like, but mostly we only got pulled into the complexity for the “where are people staying?” question.

This question comes up often for us. Other than Jet, we have no family locally. For big events such as baby showers and such, we have two families worth of people coming in from Lake of the Ozarks, Kansas City, and Iowa and only two houses in which to stash them all. To add more complexity, there is a fine balancing act between the two families. You see, my family tends to swoop in for such gathering like a swarm of locusts. We’re loud and we travel in packs. Moonshot’s family is smaller and quieter. The baby shower brought the standard fear that given her family’s smaller size and basic tendency toward calmness, their enjoyment of the weekend could be hampered by my family’s…um…enthusiasm. Now, it should be said that this boisterousness is what makes my family what it is…so I’m not complaining at all. However, the differences in the two families are very real factors and are worth considering in events like this. After much wrangling, we arrived at a solution that would find most of my family over at Jets where they could stay up late and drink and holler. Moonshot’s family, on the other hand, would bunk at our place with my grandparents. We were to be the early to bed group and that suited us just fine.

Both houses would be packed, but that’s just part of the fun. Small spats were had on both sides over who got beds, who got couches and who got relegated to the dreaded air mattresses. When the dust finally settled, we had what I thought was a good system. However, as is the case with all family drama, last minute changes were introduced. All the wonderful arguments over bedding were rendered moot when much of my family canceled. With Aunt Gimpy’s recovering health, her kids were unwilling to leave KC. Plus, my Grandpa had an odd health issue the day before the shower that made his trip from the Lake impossible. We understood completely and mention these issues only because they made all our concern over family balance seem a bit…unnecessary. We ended up with space to spare and happy family members on both sides of the isle. We still would have opted for originally planned overcrowding, but were pleased none-the-less.

What eventually emerged from all the shuffling and planning was a BBQ over at Jet’s place hosted by Jet, MoMa, Husker, Panache, and Mouse. We braved the heat of a Missouri June and played some fun baby games. First was the Play-Doh Baby competition in which teams of friends and family created multi-colored baby-like sculptures for Moonshot and I to judge. I was pleasantly surprised at the level of craftsmanship. Later in the afternoon came the Diaper Relay in which we fought to see which of two teams could have each of their members change a dolls diaper first.

I was the first to go for my team and was pitted against Duke. I ran up to the table determined not to be the typical clueless dad. I fully expected Duke to take his team to an early lead due to his daily experience with this “game,” but I figured I could hold my own. I started out strong with proper form and confidence. However, modern advances in diaper technology proved my undoing. In my attempt to fasten the diaper on my plastic child, I was looking for a peel-and-stick adhesive. I was convinced that the tab I was playing with should have a removable layer of cellophane that would reveal some useful stick-um. I picked and picked and finally yanked…removing the tab completely. As the second member of the opposing team completed their task, MoMa had to come to my rescue with Scotch tape. I hung my head in clueless father shame and handed the doll to my teammate.

Now, in my defense, MoMa later admitted that she had been ready with the tape because she had done the exact same thing. Turns out that the diapers today rely on incredibly fine velco. Velco so tiny that it feels smooth. Once you get it, it really is a vast improvement over the peel-and-stick variety, but they did nothing that day but make my friends and family nod and smile knowingly as my mom had to help me change a dolls diaper. [sigh]

Anyway, the shower was a lot of fun. Thank you so much to everyone who pitched in and made it happen. Thanks to everyone who came over and had fun with us. Thanks to everyone who gave generous gifts to Pumkin…s/he loves them all. And a special thanks to our friend Rack. He had to work that day so was unable to attend. However, as our only friend who drives a truck, he took the time to run long tables over to Jet’s house before the shower. So thanks, Rack, for working to stock a party you weren’t even able to attend.


















Mouse and Freddy J craft their masterpiece



Mr. Dingus and his daughter make their entry


Freddy J and Mouse craft their masterpiece

Mr. Dingus and his daughter make their entry


All the Play-Doh Babies



Moksha and Moonshot judge


All the Play-Doh babies

Moksha and Moonshot judge


Carbon Leaf

For my birthday this year, Jet treated me to a June 27th Carbon Leaf show down at the Duck Room. I love this band, I love this venue, and I love catching shows with Jet…so I loved this gift.

The Duck Room is basically the basement of a locally famous restaurant called Blueberry Hill down on the Delmar Loop. The Loop is the social scene that flanks Wash U and Joe Edwards, the owner of the Blueberry Hill, is the guy who almost single-handedly revived the Loop from its 1970 squalor. Blueberry Hill itself is just ok. The food’s fine but with all the options available down there now, it’s mainly cool for its history. However, down in the basement, huddled between the low, wooden ceiling joists and the exposed brick walls, is the Duck Room. Its small size means you’re only likely to catch small or local acts there, but the intimate setting and the acoustics makes it worth it. I know that Carbon Leaf is about to outgrow the tiny little Duck Room and will soon have to make the leap to Joe Edwards’ main venue, the Pageant. It’ll be great for the band, I know, but I will miss being able to hang out after the show and chat with the band. They are some of the nicest “rock stars” I’ve met and it will be shame to loose that casual setting.


Beatle Bob
Plus, Beatle Bob won’t be as fun to watch at the Pageant. Beatle Bob is a local legend. He’s this odd little man who shows up at good concerts and goes into a crazy dance trance. He stands pressed against the stage and dances silly dances as if he were alone in his living room. Some people find him distracting, but I, for one, love Beatle Bob. He’s the harbinger of a good show and having him spinning on his heels and wagging his finger approvingly at the bass player promises good things. Just think of him as a musical shaman disguised as a 1964 George Harrison.

An Overly Wordy Review of Superman

Wednesday found Moonshot and I tagging along with Duke and the gang to see the newest incarnation of the Man of Steel. Duke has been beside himself waiting for this film. The question was not whether or not he would see it opening night, but which of his 12 Superman t-shirts he should wear for the event. And while I’m not a huge Superfan, I do tend to be entertained by a movie about costumed heroes. And the fact that Duke, Duran, and I can geek out afterwards as we discussing minutia, really adds to the enjoyment for me. So, while I didn’t go in with outrageously high expectations, I was fully expecting to be entertained.

I don’t want to turn this blog into a full on movie review, but I wanted to share that I was highly disappointed with this movie. And what’s odd is that all the things I thought I’d hate were the things I liked about it. Brandon Routh was excellent at Superman/Clark Kent. I really enjoyed the scenes between Supes and Lois and appreciated the lonely Superman take. What really bugged me, though were the action scenes. It feels like Hollywood is so in love with their new-found ability to make ANYTHING happen with computer graphics that they feel they have to continually give us “something we’ve never seen before.” And to some extent, I can get behind that. But all too often, what they’re showing me has never been seen before for good reason…because it is outlandishly impossible or freakishly convoluted. Pretty much every big CG scene in Superman lost me. When I was supposed to be fearing for my life in Metropolis, I found myself instead snapped back to a crowded theater in St Charles…which is exactly where I paid to be removed from. I sat in the theater thinking about the newly overblown King Kong and the unbearably long “exciting” middle section which suffered from the same problem. I’m hoping that Hollywood will soon remember that it doesn’t take over the top excess to engage the human imagination.

I’ll accept that a bit of suspension of disbelief is required to watch a movie about an alien super hero who flies around in brightly colored tights, unstoppable save for his aversion to a glowing green crystal. Fine. But what I want to see is what happens IF that hero were actually here in our real world. And nothing in the alien hero premise requires the basic laws of physics to be ignored so that passengers on a standard jumbo jet merrily survive an unexpected jaunt into space. All I could think of was Burt Rutan pounding his fists at the screen, “You think it’s that easy, do you?!” I’m absolutely fine with all those meditative moments Superman spends drifting in the vacuum of space…that’s part of him being super. But Lois doesn’t come back from that trip.

In the end, the movie was just so-so. A silly movie with hints of greatness peaking around the corners just to remind you of how great the movie almost was. But I want to say one additional thing about Superman before I move on to other topics. What does Brian Singer have against dogs? I’ve looked around to find any other web reference about this and haven’t found anything, so I feel its my duty to bring to light Brian Singer’s obvious hatred of dogs. There were three times during the film that Moonshot and I found ourselves mildly shocked by his “being mean to dogs is funny” jokes.

Ok, the first instance was odd, but not particularly offensive. Clark has returned to the Kent farm and the family dog is happy to see him. Pooch runs up with a baseball and drops it in front of Clark expectantly. Clark takes it and freakin’ launches it over the horizon. Dog whines sadly and the crowd laughs. What? Am I to believe that Superman just doesn’t know his own strength to THAT degree? And even if that’s the case…go get it, you jerk. With your super speed it would take you less time to return with the dogs toy than it takes me to dig Arlo’s ball out from under the couch. Teasing a dog with a fake throw or two is one thing…launching its toy into the stratosphere seems oddly mean for the big, blue boy scout. That was a bit out of character for Superman, but not horrible.

Just shortly after this however, Lex and his girlfriend return to the house of the late-widow whose fortune Lex had recently swindled. When last we were at the house, there were two cute little Pomeranians who had cuddled together in the bed of the dying widow. As we return, we see one of the Poms chewing greedily on a small mound of bones. Lex’s girlfriend comments, “Weren’t there two of them before?” Ok, so the humor here is that two dogs were abandoned in a house for so long that one of them was forced to kill and eat its companion? Ha Ha Ha Ha! I don’t get it. In certain contexts, like a zombie flick or something, I’m all for this type of thing. But in a Superman film it seemed very out of place and therefore all the more disturbing.

And then, as a small throwback joke to the above mentioned laugh fest, when Lex and his girlfriend find themselves stranded on an island with the remaining Pom, Lex insinuates that he plans to eat the second dog. Normally, this would just be an, “Oh, Lex, you asshole,” moment. But with the image of a cute Pom chewing on doggie bones still fresh in your mind, you are forced to consider that Brian Singer is indeed expecting you to imagine a scene in which Lex picks the last remaining bit of Fluffy from his teeth. And furthermore, Singer expects you to be laughing.

In short, Moonshot and I won’t be inviting Brian Singer over to our house anytime soon. He tends to make fun movies, but I’d be afraid to leave him alone in the room with Arlo.


There Should Have Been Balloons

June 30th would have been my Dad’s 60th birthday. He’s been gone for almost nine years, but I still miss him just about every day. And, as one would expect, I find myself thinking about him even more as I prepare to become a father myself. The symmetry brought on by his being almost exactly 30 when I was born and my being almost exactly 30 when Pumkin will be born is comforting to me on many levels. However, it does tend to highlight his absence. And I don’t seem to be the only one who is feeling this. On several occasions recently, Moonshot has brought up how much she would have liked to meet my father. I can only agree and realize that this feeling will probably amplify as we all begin wishing Pumkin could have met his/her grandpa.


Dad
On most days, it’s hard to pinpoint how exactly my life would be different had fate unfolded in another way. I sit at a desk during my workday and that’s probably what I’d be doing even if Dad were still cheerfully boating down at the Lake. Sure, I’d talk to him on the phone and visit him, but it’s difficult to say exactly when these moments of contact would occur. However, I can say that on June 30th, 2006, there should have been a party. We should have been mocking the old man with black balloons and questioning his level of senility. Significant moments like this bring to the forefront how differently things turned out. There was no party, just a day on the calendar that came and went. And though no one really mentioned it, I can only assume everyone in the family was imagining those black balloons.

A Much Appricaited 10-Hour Drive

Moonshot chats with Elsa and TaltapTaltap and Elsa came for a visit last weekend. They were unable to attend Pumkin’s shower, so they made the long trek down from the Twin Cities the next weekend. That worked out better anyway since we were able to devote our full attention to the weary travelers. I’d like to fill this blog with tales of our exploits and exciting accounts of our shenanigans in and about St Louis. However, it was 95 degrees all weekend and Moonshot is nine months pregnant…there were no shenanigans. We lounged about the house and enjoyed hours of wonderful conversation with our far-away friends. We did travel out to O’Fallon on Saturday evening for the annual Dolly/Duran 4th of July BBQ. But even then, aside for a few intense games of bocce, our activities were mainly confined to enjoying wonderful conversations. Same activity…larger group.

Sunday we tried to go down to Old Town St. Charles and join in the festivities there, but quickly retreated when Moonshot started feeling the effects of the heat. We ended up renting the new remakes of “The Hills Have Eyes” and “Pink Panther.” I can honestly say my IQ has been permanently damaged by this disturbingly idiotic combination. Our thinking was that the stupidity of Pink Panther would counteract the gore of the Hills. What we didn’t count on was the fact that hidden beneath the gore, Hills was just as insultingly dumb as Panther. My head still hurts to think about that viewing combo. Luckily, we had our witty and snide comments with which to defend ourselves.

Pumkin Update

As we enter the final leg of the Pumkin growing phase, changes are finally starting to be noticeable at a quicker pace. Braxton-Hicks contractions have, on three occasions, reared their head to make Moonshot’s face contort into slight grimaces. Furthermore, Pumkin chose this weekend to silently slide down a bit to get into launch position. While neither of these developments really mean much as far as narrowing down the timing of the birth, they do serve to draw attention to the fact that Pumkin is preparing to exit his/her first home so s/he can come out and demand in a high pitch wail to be renamed either Caleb or Norah. The reality that the time until this transition is better measured now in days than in months is slowly sinking in.
Moonshot: Week 35
Moonshot: Week 36

4 comments:

Moksha Gren said...

Well, I'd happily do smaller blogs more frequently if you guys would stop whisking me around to have fun. It's hard to find the time to tell people what you're doing when you're too busy doing things.

Anonymous said...

I second the motion for more frequent blogs! Your child's 2 closest relatives (beside yourselves) have spoken!
I am feeling quite proud of myself at the moment, because I knew that Moonshot wrote Arlo's updated bio before I got to the little italicized line at the end that said "Transcribed by Moonshot." Although I know being able to tell my own sister's writing style from someone else's really says nothing about my own literary ability, it makes me feel that my four years at the Harvard of the Midwest were not wasted. GO BULLDOGS! :)

Moksha Gren said...

I'll see what I can do about the posts, Mouse. However, I should warn you that you may get a response from Oaf on your "Harvard of the Midwest" comment. Apparently there are enough schools out there that claim to the be the Harvard of This or the Harvard of That, that I once saw Oaf in a t-shirt that read "Harvard: the Harvard of Harvard" ;)

Anonymous said...

For those of you who complained that Moksha should blog more often, I feel that I should take some responsibility for the problem. While I'm happy that he keeps everyone informed and enjoy reading what's been written, I have to confess that when Moksha announces he's going to spend the evening writing, my reaction has sometimes been less than supportive. Sorry everyone, especially Moksha, and I will try to do better:)