"It’s not that simple, Orco."

We’re watching a lot of “He-Man” on YouTube around these parts. Guess what? It’s really shitty. Ralph and I were appalled because as children TV viewers* He-Man was heavy, dramatic grist for our idealogical mill.

If He-Man can’t entertain Ralph and I with compelling storyline and rich explorations of the dichotomy of good and evil, he sure can deliver an excellent PSA:

Do you think anyone ever had the gall to touch He-Man on his bathing suit area? Perhaps when he was merely a shy, awkward Boy Adam. And I can’t help but think the last qualifier is made all the more awkward when it’s your rabbi or minister who’s doing the inappropriate touching.

* I grew up without a TV; I can only imagine my He-Man viewing was either at the grandparents’ or with friends – but I do remember my brother and I watched some. Billy? Do you remember? Was it in the back of that van where that man touched us in the way He-Man is talking about?

"Oh yeah, ’cause we all sell apples ’round here, don’t we?"

Today my day started out like this:

This morning I’d looked forward to a half-day trip with my parents and my children to Olympia (hereon out called ORLY) [ that’s good! ]. Instead I get an eleventh-hour bailout from my mom [ that’s bad! ]. I mean, I don’t want to get too personal or TMI but she basically had some sort of shitstorm going on that meant she couldn’t be more than ten feet away from a commode. So suddenly I find myself with my mean ole dad and my son, and no Mom nor the pleasure of her company nor the gravy-train Visa card of hers for lunch, and no help wrangling The Boy, on my way to a more-than-half day errand which I have to run because my dad has fainting spells so it’s not safe for him to drive himself.

I sure hope she had fun on that crapper this morning. Oh, and to be fair; she retained Sophie and took her to school and afterwards too.

Tonight I got a date I’d looked forward to; I went out with a girlfriend for dinner and a movie – dinner at Ocean Shores’ Galaway Bay (a caesar salad and Fish Tail Ale for me), the movie Hot Fuzz. I laughed so damned hard during the entire protracted ending, which achieved levels of satire combined with heart in a way I had previously never seen. I would have re-watched the movie instantly afterwards and I can say I haven’t really felt that urge before. I can’t wait for Ralph to see it.

And speaking of Ralph – he sent me this article today (in part of his effort to write a Father’s Day editorial, an idea he stole from a friend of mine). I have always loved Carolyn Hax and this is just more evidence. I almost got teared-up reading what she wrote. And yeah – “That’s good!”

Today on IM a friend writes,

“8:49 i dress like a total whore.”
“8:49 a homeless one.”

Which reminded me of today’s clip:

As I type this, a guy across the street jumps down his front steps. He’s wearing tight black jeans (w/belt), poofy white sneakers, and is shirtless with a respectable amount of back hair.

I truly love living here, and I’m not being ironic or sarcastic one bit.

"I didn’t say it was a *good* story!"

This evening I found out that our local take-and-bake pizza place – a place that’s been around forever as far as I can tell – is not long for this world. The entire set of buildings on one city block in Aberdeen have been sold and the businesses left to their own devices. My half-assed guess is they were probably paying a very low rent and now that they’re forced to go seek leases in the real market, they can’t survive and decide to fold tent.

With a lot of whinging I might add, which is what I’ve been subjected to the few times I’ve gone in to purchase goods from the shops in the doomed locale. For instance today I’m told I can’t get sourdough crust for my pizza. I say, “Oh, you’re out?” innocently enough and the proprietor looks at me like I’m, yes, fucktarded, and tells me they’re discontinuing items because they won’t be around for more than a couple weeks. “It’s been all over the papers,” he kind of scoffs, clearly disbelieving that I would be so misinformed about matters of such global importance. Now, I love the pizza at this place – it’s fresh, tasty, completely unlike Papa Murphy’s or any of that franchise crap, inexpensive, and familiar. But the business owner giving me shit right now? He looks like an older, stringier, scarier version of the really bad guy in Fargo (we’re talking doppleganger, here). He’s also Russian (“or somethin weird”), tends to the surly side, and sometimes wears snug jeans that display his genitalia with too much precision for my taste (right above the counter at eye level since he’s on the tall side). So, um… yeah, it’s kind of hard to buy pizza from him. Even when he’s not treating me like an ass.

When I get home I tried to look the story up on The Daily World for the scoop on the business closures – but as I couldn’t find it after five minutes of searching, I gave up.

I’m sad I won’t get to have that sourdough crust ever again.

OT – one of the sweetest things about this story is not only the sweetness of this British lad but his teeth as well.

And dear God. If you recognize this, you know what I mean:

hogabooms, the weekend hedonists

Yesterday, all things considered and with a continuation of lovely weather, Ralph and I decided on another bike adventure. While he collected bikes and helmets, I packed a picnic lunch (vegetarian po’ boy sandwiches, carrots and baby corn w/hummus, apples, snack mix, and plenty of drinkable) and we called my parents for ideas of good trips. My dad advised us – no shit – to the idea of taking the road from Vance Creek Park to the nuclear power plant.

As it turned out this was not only a beautiful route (we did about half the seven-ish miles it would have taken to get to the plant) but there was also a bike race going on. Pilot cars and whirring crowds of bicyclists, uniform in their race-car spandex and posture surprised us around turns and seemingly at random. For the larger groups my family would pull over and the kids would stand up in the bike trailer and clap. The weather was so nice the kids traveled with the trailer opened up to fresh air. Ralph remarked, “I’d love living out in the country like this. Except you hate the smell [ manure guns ] and I’m scared of the dogs.”

We got back late; too late to give kids their nap. After being home only an hour we packed up and headed to a churchy dinner thing at the Methodist in Hoquiam. And after that (good food, decent film, good discussion, excellent coffee), on to bowling at Rainier Lanes which housed loud rock and roll and mostly teenagers, except that old dude in the Wolverine t-shirt who I begged Ralph to get a picture of. Which he didn’t.
By the end of bowling – or should I say the premature end, as we did not finish our game – Nels’ lack of nap had him rude as hell and I was bored (as I get easily when it comes to bowling). We headed home, swung by the video store to rent a movie (Singer’s X-Men in hopes of decent family fare and perhaps by subconscious influence of the Wolverine guy), ate some cold cuts for dinner, and snuggled the rest of the night away.

All in all, Big Fun Weekend ended up being a success, although I’m hearing Ralph say he thinks we went too far with the “fun”.

Currently reading: Patricia Cornwell’s book on Jack the Ripper, which is the creepiest thing I’ve read in a while.

typical day + best. quote. ever.

Billy comes over for lunch and to take some pictures. I wish we had a camera. Scratch that. I wish we’d get off our asses and scrape up the $100 to fix ours.

Small gaffe on Mama’s part – so today my brother is taking pictures of Sophie and the latest two shirts I’ve sewn her and she says, “I want to take pictures of my bottom and punani!” and I say (without thinking), “That’s called kiddie porn. And we’re not going to do that.” She responds crankily, “Well I want kiddie porn!”

Yes, that's what she's saying.
Billy and I doubled up in silent laughter. I immediately regretted that whole conversation. But, let’s just move on.

Boy Ningo
Nels, pensive. He’s been like that lately. I think he’s undergoing a personality change. Since it isn’t in the direction of savagery, I’m happy with it.

My room, sunlit. I would say “our room” but as Ralph points out, we are sleeping along gender lines these days. Unless we can trick the kids to sleep together, which we do now and then.

P.S. I found some crystal meth on my walk to my parents’ today. Yay!

"You've got meth!"