juliloquy

utterly tu-tu

When you're an editor, others love to find mistakes in your writing. So let me be the first to correct my last post. Christo and Jeanne Claude did not do an installation in my office building. Although the alternative would have been much more interesting, it was the bottle of milk that was disguised in a brown paper bag, not the company fridge. Thank you.

And here's a bonus, overheard at the Jean Madeline Beauty School Institute on 40th and Chestnut, just after 1:00 this afternoon:

" . . . So was it, like, a fancy tutu?"

Which made me wonder, of course, about the prevalence of unimaginative, pedestrian tutus.

Aren't you glad I'm posting again?

Having a Lucille Ball

I had just pumped and was leaving my office to put the milk into the company fridge (disguised in a brown paper bag, of course) when the phone rang. I dashed back to answer it, placing the bag on the edge of my desk. Of course the bag wasn't balanced well and fell off the edge of the desk. Of course the lid popped off. Of course in the tangle of phone cord I didn't get to the bottle before 8 oz had spilled out. (I rescued 2 oz, however.)

Of course it was a sales call.

It's not the end of the world. I have lots more milk stored in the freezer, and anyone who has seen da Roo recently knows that she's in no danger of starving.

The chair mat caught most of it, so I didn't have to sponge too much of it off the carpet.

Still, my office is sure to smell like gjetost tomorrow.

How many stickers do I earn for this?

As a sleep-deprived parent, I've made my share of mistakes. Lapses in judgment. Delayed responses due to fuzzy-headedness. But once in a while, I manage some proud moments of on-the-spot thinking. Two recent examples:

I was trying to introduce Shmooie to the idea of buttoning his own clothes. Shmoo is not a do-it-himself kind of guy and he was resisting. So I made up a story that the buttons were little mice who wanted to run into their holes. (We've been reading The Dark at the Top of the Stairs at least daily - so mice are a current fascination for da Shmoo.) The mouse storyline intrigued him and he made several attempts.

Another brilliant moment was when I was encouraging Shmooie to use the potty before we left daycare. Someone had just cleaned the toilets, so the water was blue. Shmoo hesitated (unfamiliar situation = scary), until I said "Hey Shmoo - the water is blue and your pee is yellow, so what color will it become when you go potty?"  Oh the joy of a science experiment involving the bathroom! He knew the answer, and made it so.

Yesss!

I guess what this tells me is that the trick to parenting is finding successful ways to manipulate your children. I'd love to hear yours.

I'm no professional photographer, but . . .

I'm no professional photographer, but . . ., originally uploaded by juliloquy.

The kids' daycare set this up. They got good shots of them individually, but I don't know what was up here.

Second post in March, wh-WHOO!

New rules! I'm going to try to post more than twice a month. This can only mean a drop to an all-time low in standards. Bulleted lists galore. A blog version of Twitter. Here we go.

Today

It is 45 degrees out, yet the ice cream truck has thrice driven by our house. The song it plays is "La Cucaracha." Not exactly what I want to hear in relation to ice cream.

Smart boy

The other day we were sitting around the table after dinner. Out of the blue, Shmooie said "Daddy, you're sirty-sree." We affirmed that Daddy is, indeed, 33. Then I said "How old am I, Shmoo?" He thought about it and said "you're twenty-six."

Book review

I finished What Is the What several weeks ago. My six-word review: "Please read this book. It's amazing." Got to go to the One Book, One Philadelphia finale last week. The entire crowd beamed when Valentino Achak Deng entered the room. Podcast is here.

How sleep-deprived parents amuse themselves

Part of Shmooie's lunch for tomorrow, customized by HPR.

HPR bought the thermometer below a couple of years ago, but we started to use an ear thermometer on Shmooie instead. Long story short, I busted out Bob L'Eponge* recently to take Roo's temperature. To take a baby's temperature. If you get my drift. Bob's expression was a bit disturbing to me considering the task at hand.

*Spongebob en français.

Thus saith da Shmoo

Woe unto them that serve me breaded morsels of fowl which hath been marred in appearance. The very peppercorns that adorn them shall be plucked asunder and cast into the fire.

Verily I say unto you: Let not the morsel of fowl in any manner touch the nectar of ketchup before the time at which I shall appoint. Saith the scripture: "And the flesh that toucheth any unclean thing shall not be eaten; it shall be burnt with fire. . . . Moreover the soul that shall touch any unclean thing, as the uncleanness of man, or any unclean beast, or any abominable unclean thing, and eat of the flesh of the sacrifice of peace offerings, which pertain unto the LORD, even that soul shall be cut off from his people" (Lev. 7:19-20).

Manservant and maidservant, present not unto me cereal bars fissured in nature, neither shalt thou bestow unto me crackers nor pretzel sticks unwhole or otherwise impure. Saith the scripture: "whatsoever hath a blemish, that shall ye not offer: for it shall not be acceptable for you" (Lev. 22:20). For my wrath shall be kindled against you and I shall smite you with great plagues.

"Ye shall keep my statutes. . . . thou shalt not sow thy field with mingled seed" (Lev. 19:19). Neither shall nourishment mingled of more than two ingredients come into me.

Herein ye have done foolishly: therefore from henceforth shall ye provoke my fury.

"To me belongeth vengeance, and recompence. . . . for the day of their calamity is at hand, and the things that shall come upon them make haste. For [da Shmoo] shall judge his people, and repent himself for his servants, when he seeth that their power is gone, and there is none shut up, or left" (Deut. 32: 35-36).

did not come from armless legless jokes

A friend pointed out how fitting the name Shelly is for Shmooie's imaginary mermaid friend, what with the marine-issue (har) shell bikini top. This opens up ample opportunity for other well-named friends.

Reed the bassoonist
Wade the clam-digger
Woody the lumberjack
Sue the lawyer
Mary the pastor
Jimmy the handy-man
Rock the sculptor
Drew the calligrapher
A team of botanists: Fern, Daisy, Rose . . .
A team of geologists: Opal, Jade . . .

Your turn.

gusti gori

I nearly shared a message at Quaker Meeting this past Sunday. It didn't make the cut because I wasn't convinced it was divinely inspired. Also, I wasn't sure whether I should say "ass" (the best translation) at Meeting or go with a more benign term. A blog seems to be the perfect medium for messages that don't quite make the cut on Sunday. And saying the word "ass." So here it is:

HPR told me a joke in Bulgarian. It's a play on words, so I'll have to do some explaining. First, the joke.

Novelist Ivan Vasov and painter Nenko Balkanski are hiking. They reach a scenic spot with views of mountains, forests, and a lake. Vasov looks around, inhales deeply, and says "Gusti gori, Balkanski!" Immediately Balkanski jumps in the lake.

Here's the explanation. Whereas Vasov said "A tangle of woods, the mountains!" the same words, spoken, can mean "Your ass is on fire, Balkanski!"

It's a silly joke, but as I thought about it, it occurred to me that it's a nice yin and yang for environmental activism, and beyond that, how we might conduct our everyday lives. Appreciate your surroundings and get your butt in gear - take action. Action without focus can be futile busywork, and appreciation of beauty without action gets nothing done.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Too bad I can't submit this to "overheard in the office"

Just outside my office door is the building's main photocopier/scanner. As a result, the copy machine and I have developed a mind meld. Where others are befuddled, I step in, clear the jam, reset, dust my hands. I don't mind so much. It's not part of my job description, but it's kind of fun to be the expert.

Anyway, I've seen a lot of bizarre copy mishaps. I've heard a lot of cursing and slamming. But what really kills me is how ditsy the academics can be. People with PhDs. People who have successfully headed up major non-profits for decades, whose office walls hold framed pictures of the famous and influential people they've met over the years.

T: Julie, when I scan it's asking me whether I want two-sided TT or TB. Do you know what that means?
[This is a new one to me, but I quickly determine . . .] J: It must be top-to-top or top-to-bottom.
T: OK, I want to scan it two-sided, but, oops, the first page is one-sided. Let's see, I'll just photocopy it to two-sided first . . .
[I walk him through it.]
T: OK, so now it's ready for two-sided scanning.
[I walk him through it.]
T: Now this other one, though, unfortunately is one-sided.
J: Then you can just do it as a separate scan, one-sided.
T: But I don't want to waste all that paper.
J: But there's no paper involved in a scan.
T: Yeah, but then when I print it out, it will be wasteful.
J: [blank stare] . . . [where do I start?] . . . um.
T does his scan and returns to his office.