The Second Side

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When you stop believing in coincidence, paranoia is only a heartbeat away.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

The Birds

  • A family of birds have a nest over our outdoor garage light. Their little chicks have hatched, and the adults are extremely protective. This morning, one of them dive-bombed me so close I had to duck. Another one came in right behind and I could feel its wings graze my hair. Thoroughly pissed, when the next one came for a swipe, I swung my arm like Barry Bonds and swatted that bastard high into the air. I waited for him to crash to the pavement, but he righted himself and made another pass at me. This is war.
  • While out running errands, I passed one of those fund-raising car washes with sixteen-year-old girls in skimpy bikinis trying to lure customers in. I was tempted (to get the car wash), but did not have the time. Further up the road, stopped at a red light, an overweight teenaged boy tried desperately to get me into his car wash. I was too nice to tell him that if a half-naked teenage girl couldn't entice me, he didn't have a prayer. Ah, summer.
  • As I've mentioned previously, one of the joys of parenting is rediscovering the joys of childhood, such as cartoons and Disney movies. Another childhood pleasure our children and I have discovered together is that fart noises are funny. It's like we're in a neverending scene from Blazing Saddles.
  • An interesting column by an Arab writer begins with this paragraph: "Yes, world, there is a silent Arab majority that believes that seventh-century Islam is not fit for 21st-century challenges. That women do not have to look like walking black tents. That men do not have to wear beards and robes, act like lunatics, and run around blowing themselves up in order to enjoy 72 virgins in paradise. And that secular laws, not Islamic Shariah, should rule our day-to-day lives." It gets better.
  • Our kids have several toys that say letters of the alphabet when you press the corresponding buttons. None of them, however, will let me spell a dirty word. It will say "F-U-C-" but will giggle or make some other noise instead of speaking the last letter. I managed to outsmart it and spell "F-O-R-N-I-C-A-T-I-O-N." So there.
  • My 2-year-old daughter came up to me and asked, "Daddy, where's your tummy?" "How can you miss it?" I asked. She lifted up my shirt, patted my belly and said, "Is there a baby in there?" They ought to put 2-year-olds in charge of international diplomacy. They can level anyone.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have some sit-ups to do.


Blogger Davis said...

They boys are all about armpit farts now, and Taryn thinks it's hilarious.

I think it's funny. Mom thinks it's gross.

Although, I can see where she's coming from. They would do it at my funeral, just because it's funny.

Now that I think about it, I would do it at my funeral too.......

('cuz it's funny....)

12:26 AM  
Blogger Davis said...

If I could.

12:27 AM  
Blogger Fletcher said...

My daughter Morgan would try to head-butt me when we used to play. Thank the gods she was tall and hit me in the stomach. I used to stick my stomach out (not that it isn't out there already) and tighten the muscles (they are there, underneath. Honest) and say in my radio voice: "You cannot defeat my tummy powers! I am Tummy Man!" She would laugh and try to head-butt me and bouce off.

She was such a considerate child that before she would attack, she would warn me and say "Do your tummy powers, papa."

Off to drink myself stupid now.
I feel the need to post such things because even though it rips out my guts, I don't want these small glimpses of my fatherhood to fade away.

So, anyway...


3:16 AM  
Blogger Jimmy said...

Davis: It will be my honor to join with your children in making fart noises at your funeral.

Fletcher: I can only imagine what it's like.

But someday, as she gets older, she'll think about Tummy Man and what a fun and decent guy he was, and she might want to get to know him again. I won't bullshit you and make any promises, but it's possible, and where there's possibility, there's hope.

6:31 PM  
Blogger Defiantly Damned said...

Now, now, Jimmy... those poor birds are simply trying to defend their little ones, just as you would do if faced with a similar situation. :)

Fart noises are grand! Burps are just as funny sometimes. Be careful of milk spewing forth from the nose during the riotous laughter, however.

Oh... I like your belly. ;)

12:23 AM  
Blogger Tricia said...

I will join you in making fart noises at Davis' funeral. Not something I make a habit of, but hey-- it's funny.

Poor Fletcher, you hang onto every one of those moments, they are absolutely precious. I love your tummy powers. That's so awesome. I'll bring a helmet.

Jimmy, didn't you ever see the Birds? Don't come crying to me when you get your ass kicked. Or worse, when your car becomes the neighborhood bird toilet.

12:45 PM  
Blogger Jimmy said...

DD: Yes, I know they are only protecting their young. It would be nice if their intelligence would evolve to the point that they realize that if I were really a threat, they would have been served for dinner by now.

Tricia: Ol' Hitchcock has come to mind more than once, ha. It would be a grand way to go, though, being pecked to death by swallows.

10:26 AM  

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