It turns out I AM doing this weekly. At least once, anyway.
This edition of the Embarrassing Old Photo of the Week features a Rackers. And you can clearly tell that this photo is old. There’s a give away. Can you spot it?
That’s right. I haven’t work a wrist watch in, like, fifteen years.
On Momma’s pregnancy outtie: “Maybe it’s a tongue!”
On where her invisible friend/sister has to sit: “You have to sit on my lap because I’m the one who’s naked.”
On her plans for the cat: “Don’t eat Limbo until I come back.”
On what she’s going to dream: “I’m dreaming about an armadillo. A nice armadillo who eats rose bushes.”
On cartoons and suspension of disbelief: “How can that caterpillar be like that if he has clothes on?”
On how to tell the dog she can eat: “What do you say when it’s go time, Mama?”
On what it’s okay to call her: “Just don’t call me, like soup, okay?”
On when I should make turns while driving: “The sun is in my eyes again. Hurry!”
On how to answer the phone: “Hi. For the lizard?”
On why she’s rubbing that spoon on her arm: “I’m getting my old skin off and putting new skin on.”
The title of this post indicates that this might be a weekly feature. I admit that this is distantly possible. But anyone even slightly familiar with this blog will understand that I am unlikely to maintain a consistent rhythm to my postings.
That said, what I have hear is an ancient photo, pulled from the vaults and scanned. It features myself, at the age of seventeen or eighteen. As you can see I had already reached my current position of fashion icon. I also had clearly developed my legendary affinity for animals. It was taken at a fort or old building of some kind, a fact I have cleverly divined from the background and my vague recollection of this outing.
I submit it for your enjoyment.
Have you ever had one of those “hey, I stood in that line” moments?
Yeah, me neither. At least, until I saw this post on BoingBoing. It features video of the line to get into the new McDonalds in Moscow in 1990. And yes, I remember standing in that line. I only think it took a couple of hours by the time we got there. Maybe two and a half.
Here’s the video:
I was fifteen years old, with a student tour group of the Soviet Union. The People-to-People Friendship Caravan. We’d been in Russia for three weeks. Well, technically, we’d spent half that time in the Ukraine, since we were traveling around by bus, exciting the locals with our American-ness.
Seriously, we were rock stars. I remember watching a group of soldiers marching down the road break formation and start chasing our bus when they saw an American flag on the side. We were chased in a boat by people shouting, “I love Americans!” That may have been the only English they knew.
For the most part, it was a highly formative experience for me, involving being far from my family and under what can only be described as poor supervision.
But we did eat at that McDonalds. After weeks of Soviet mystery meat, we were ready for some good old-fashioned American mystery meat.
Actually the food was really good. I’m not sure if that was just my teenage longing for home talking or whether it was really a cut above, but we all really liked it. And the restaurant itself was a palace.
I scoured my old photos for one of me in that line, but I couldn’t find one. I did, however, find this:
Which is the actual wrapper from my actual Cheeseburger. I know it was a cheeseburger, because the second word literally reads as,”Cheezboorger.” The first word is, very roughly, something like, “Dvo-ee-no-ee.”
I’m guessing I had a double.
On flexibility: “Can I have a candy cane? Or a lollipop. Whatever.”
On whether more monkeys should jump on the bed: “No. I don’t like monkeys jumping on the bed.”
On when she should try on her new pants: “Let’s wait until I’m five years old.”
On the dangers of certain animals: “Oh no! A skunk is pooping on our window!”
On what to ask an imaginary friend, once you’ve got her name: “And what’s your cell phone number?”
On reading aloud from “Goodnight Moon”: “And then the babies went 1, 2, 3, 4, the three bears sat and chairs and then Kylie came to save them.”
On further readings from “Goodnight Moon”: “Then came the mouse king said squeak, squeak, squeak and they slept all night long.”
On “Goodnight Moon” having an expanded cast of characters: “Let’s see what happened to the coyote.”
On attaching a lego-like figure to a boat: “Plug her in. I want her bum plugged in.”
On what she’s going to put in my iced tea: “Bad leafs, but they’re going to be mixed in. Okay?”
Since this blog is suffering lately because I’m spending so much time working on my novel, I thought I’d share an older piece that I wrote. The Small Horse is an epic tale of triumph over adversity, which I wrote in – I’m guessing – the third grade.
As you can see, this is the bound edition, hand made and illustrated by the author. I’ve included subtitles for the bad-handwriting-reading impaired.
Once upon a time, a very small horse was born. It was about three inches tall and one inch across.
The little horse grew and grew until it was the size of a donkey.
Then the little horse thought he had stopped growing… but he had not, his growing only slowed down.
There was excitement in the air! In two days the festival of horses was going to come to town.
The next day he found himself at the horse festival. The prize was a golden cup.
What he had to do was beat the other horse around a race track five times.
He heard the starting gun. “Bang!” The horse ran as fast as he could. Before he knew it, he was in the lead.
Then after making it through four times, he won. Not only did he get a gold cup, but he got some growing pelets. The End
As you can see, I was destined for greatness from an early age.
On things you might say if Daddy’s acting and domestic duties collide: “Wipe my bottom, Big Bad Wolf.”
On how to play chess: “Brown on brown and vanilla on vanilla. It’s easy.”
On what she wants for breakfast: “Something spoony.”
On overhearing Daddy’s complicated joke on the use of the word “fresh” in the 80’s: “Why did you say, ‘I don’t need to smell her to see if she’s still good.”
On the cars on the side of the road that had a fender bender: “Does that mean they need to go on a timeout?”
On how the snail smells: “Like meat.”
On recent additions to the downstairs bathroom: “Oh, you have new soap, I see.”
On the eternal bread-related questions: “Why is this toast?”
On why it’s okay that she refusing to nap: “It’s okay if you don’t have a rest. You can still be happy.”
On what to shout to the stranger across the street: “My name’s Abigail and I have a dress on!”
On realizing she didn’t have a dress on: “I’ll wear a dress next time! Fancy, fancy!”
On birth: “Ah, ah, ah. Another baby popped out of my belly.”
On what she’s just made out of her bathwater: “It has liquid mice in it and it’s called … Jell-O.”
On whether I can have a hug: “You absolutely can!”
On Momma’s plan: “That was SO clever what Momma did.”
On appearances, now that Daddy has covered his face with shaving cream: “Now you look like a queen and I look like a hard boiled egg!”
On why girls don’t shave their faces: “Because girls only have a little bit of fur on their faces.”
On my Lactaid milk and its relationship to the human life cycle: “Maybe when I turn into a boy, I can drink that milk, too.”
On her doll: “She’s a little bit feisty.”
On why she’s hacking at Strawberry Shortcake with a comb: “I’m cooking some strawberries.”
On why her bottom is sore: “Cause that means my eyes are a little nervous right now.”
On proper eye protection: “Can you close your eyes, Mommy? So you don’t get poop in your eyes.”
On the song, Jammin’: “Daddy, this is a song for girl’s to sing.”
I’ve noticed a new trend in Abigail behavior lately. It was pretty easy to notice; I’m not a noticing expert or anything. It was frankly hard to miss.
Before we get started with this brief photographic journey, I’d like to stress that I didn’t see her do any of these things. I simply walked into the room and there they were. It’s possible aliens did it, but I suspect Abigail.
It started with this first image, which seemed to need no further explanation. It was worthy of photographing and sharing with others and I thought that would be the end of it.
As you can see, the area belonging to baby Kylie has been clearly demarcated. There are really no questions as to whether you should step into Kylie’s space or not. The cones are obviously there to protect both the baby and the baby observer from having any unnecessary interactions.
Plus, the baby probably wanted to sleep.
I thought nothing of it and moved on. However, later in that same day, I came across this:
Kylie was now in a similar arrangement, but in another room. You’ll note that her space is not nearly as well defined as in the earlier instance, but we can pretty well see where the baby and the baby observer should be. You might accidentally tread on her toes, but in the end, that’s okay; she’s actually made of plastic.
This could have easily been the end of it, but, as I’m sure you’re guessing, it is not. Several days later, I walked into my bedroom to find the following items arranged as you see below:
While I’m sure we can all agree that this is the most awesome of the three images, by several orders of magnitude, it also offers up several questions. Am I to stay only on one side of the cones? Which side? Is it simply that Limbo is concerned about being assaulted from behind? Which area is hers and which belongs to the cat observer?
It is possible that more cone arrangements will spontaneously appear in the future. If they do, they may answer these very questions. You will be the first to know.
If you’re the first to read the post, anyway. Otherwise you’ll be second, third, or wherever you end up in the reading order. It’s unlikely you’ll be more than the 25th or so to know, though, based on my standard readership.
On new games, involving jumping on blankets: “Let’s play Nüch Nüch.”
On more advanced versions: “Do you want me to show you how to play Nüch Fairy?”
On scientific discovery: “For some reason the cold air starts coming out when I open the fridge.”
On what you might overhear her say while she plays with her dolls: “Awww. I know it hurts to have a dinosaur bite.”
On what she’s trying to push up my nose: “Here’s your update!”
On who Daddy is: “You’re the Grand Duke of York.”
On the educational process: “When I start kindergarten, I’m going to be a doctor for babies.”
On interspecies communication: “What do aliens say when they meet each other?”
On the new slang: “Saffron hurt my feelings. She said, ‘Lobster, get out of town!'”
On demonstrating proper magic wanding to Daddy: “No, no, no. You were going like this, swishing it around, and I need it like this.”
Nonsensicles 