Monday, July 27, 2009

Closer to Fini

I Went to the Doctor / I Went to the Mountains Kentucky
Because life is so much more interesting when there are plot twists, the entire crew decided to be sick over the weekend, and Jack's cutting a tooth or two. How mundane would having an enjoyable weekend have been? Exactly. It was better this way. H.M. and I sat our sickly butts in front of the enjoyable little flick, Elizabethtown. Orlando, Kirsten, a dead guy, that dude from MacGyver, and a truly memorable soundtrack... Me likey. Wifey likey too. Why am I talking like this? Me idiot. Anyway, I'm startled how Tom Petty's It'll All Work Out sounds in it. You don't care. You wanna hear about Jack. Got it.

I Looked to the Children
And saw him pushing a toppled barstool back and forth across the house. In Parisian society, they say, it once was common (probably still is) to sit at a café and just watch people go by for the sake of entertainment. And as you were destroying your crêpes au Grand Marnier and a half bottle of fizzy water, you'd wonder about whoever strolled by. What they were doing, where they were going, and why. I ponder that as Jack traffic jams the other barstool against the first one behind the couch. And while he makes these Herculean sounds, turning red, as he tries to lift one like a wheelbarrow.

I Drank from Played in the Fountains
As for the other chilrun, it was only going to be for an hour. We left the (daft) First Mate in the backyard, and returned to see the silliest English Setter in the galaxy, soaked, her speckled hide caked in mud. What's that one about not being able to come in from the rain? This dog makes the use of a thesaurus necessary to help describe her...*turning pages*... puerility. Yeah, puerility. For more detailed descriptions of my animal, see this.

There's More Than One Answer to These Questions
OK, we need help. No, not like that. OK, maybe like that, too... OK, focus, alright? Focus. We, the party of the first part (that's us), solicit you, (that's you) the party of the second part (you again), to help us with SLEEP.

How do you get your kiddos to sleep? Jack's sleep patterns are so erratic that he could be a member of The Ramones. Doesn't nap, naps at different times, won't go to sleep at night, wants to party with room service at 3-5am, you name it. It's killing Her Majesty, which transitively is killing me.

So let's have it. All the books say the same stuff. Fine. But I'm looking for non-expert practical advice that doesn't include Baby Benadryl and a lava lamp. LURKERS AWAKE! YOUR CAPTAIN ADJURES YOU. SERIOUSLY.

Oh, go check the new pic album out too, ye dogs.

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Gulf Shores Photo Essay

Y'know, I thought I'd do Gulf Shores an injustice in words. So I'll do it an injustice in a precious few pics. And video. Hallelujah in the Highest Heaven, Blogger accepts my arcane but ubersuperultra HD video format!

I love it when a plan comes together.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Shore Leave!

I remember those places you would stroll into at 2:20 in the afternoon that would have impromptu signs stuck up (with no one in sight) that said "Back at 1:00." This post pretty much serves that purpose.

Before you hassle the crew about not providing an entertaining, goofy anecdote this week, keep in mind that we have gone a'beaching in Alabama. You know, vacation. Holiday. Time off. Shore leave. Taking time away. R&R. Furlough. E.C. had plumb forgot about this concept. So some folks actually pack up lawn chairs, a cooler, the chilrun and all their polyester and head to see the Biggest Ball of Twine in Minnesota. For fun. Novel, huh?

So today we dragged our sleepy, not nearly caffeinated enough carcasses across yon southeastern US of A. My personal highlights today were the forest fire (Mississippi) and jamming to K-BON as we rolled thru (over, really) the Atchafalaya Swamp (uh CHAF lie uh). Oh, K-BON is so great. Half 'n half Accadian French / English commercials and DJs, and the squeeze box rich sounds of south Louisiana. And the occasional, oddly placed Randy Travis song. K-BON managed to do in 5 minutes what 1 hour of Beethoven and a singalong CD couldn't. Accordion-induced narcolepsy? Seriously?

So someone turned the knob to 'VACATION' and yanked the darn thing right off.

No, Mr. Uncle Blake, I don't have pictures. Or video. I'm even borrowing my current PC privileges, okay? Don't you have to go be a slouchy vagrant in some European city now?!

So in the words of Hollywood's serial girlfriend, Sheryl Crow, "Hello it's me, I'm not at home / If you'd like to reach me, leave me alone."

Monday, July 6, 2009

Wildlife is Delicious!

I ran off (R-U-N-N-O-F-T) this morning without a darn picture to post. My bad. Is this blog poorly run or what?! If you're surprised, you must be new around here.

Majesty had the very bright idea of taking the progeny over to the Aquarium this weekend. It was a bit too amusement parky for the pater familias, but the crew is taking what it can get these days.

We sauntered the very sleepy Jack around the 999.6 million gallon tanks and got some fine pictures. The ones that I forgot. Yeah. The odd thing about aquariums is that just about everything on display tastes great. Yellowfin tuna? Delicious. Shark? Great chargrilled. Sea turtles? Dunno, but most turtles make wicked awesome soup. Alligators, crawfish*, and snakes? All great fried, served with half a bottle of Tabasco. I'm also pretty sure the menacing, butt-ugly moray eel would be fantastic rolled in some sticky rice and blue grade nori.

The one thing I didn't expect to see at an aquarium was a WHITE TIGER. Two, in fact. I was under the impression that aquariums weren't included in thier natural habitat, but fact check me on that.

The tigers aside, next time around I'm bringing chopsticks and some hot sauce.
*Yes, there was a crawfish ("crayfish") exhibit. Pretty weak, in my opinion, but city kids have to be educated about Cajun food somehow.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

MIDWEEKER: Freedom of Peach

An average follower of this amateurish, know-nothing dad's blog will remember that our Mission Statement really frowns on sharing nightmarish descriptions of parenthood. People want the happy end results of parenting (whatever the heck those are - I'm thinking bankruptcy and pants with elastic waistbands). They don't need to be bothered with the gory, gory details in getting there.

Well anyway, I seem to have forgotten that when I submitted a short piece to the ship's Public Relations Office. Here's the little gem I got back:

A short one for you today. The crew is a big fan of the Walker County Rest Area on I-45 just north of Huntsville, TX. So on the way back from Fruitvale last week, we decided to throw out the old mooring lines over there and take advantage of the bazillions of tax dollars the Crown dumped into the middle of nowhere.

We had been, umm... smelling something disgusting the fresh East Texas air. For about 20 minutes, accusatory complimentary glances had been shot around towards the usual intra-car air pollution freshening suspects: El Comodoro, First Mate Belle, and *gasp* the Captain himself. After the crew played a few rounds of blame, denial and disbelief I-Spy, we pulled into the scorching enjoyable 103° heat of the rest stop.

El Capitan was smiling his little buns off when I went to unfasten his NASCAR harness... And I froze dead in my tracks smiled happily. The child was COVERED in poopy flowers. Nasty, stinky, peach poopy. Wonderful, fragrant, beautiful flowers. It was oozing from his diaper. Butterflies were floating through the air. It was on his hands. It was in his hair. It was on his carseat. It was on his 3-cornered hat. It was on his nose. It was on HMS Tahoe's rich, Corinthian leather. It was used to write nearby graffiti. It was on an original copy of the Declaration of Independence. Jack lived happily ever after.

The crew debated whether to dip him in Clorox on the spot, or just tough it out with half a box of babywipes and a short prayer. They optcd for the latter.

I guess censorship really can be a good thing.