voards

There comes a time in every man's life when he asks himself, "What did I eat that made my poo blue?"

Wow, so we just wrapped up our first Halloween at the new house. It was fantastic. We had a grip of trick-or-treaters (and didn't run out of candy). Cyrus even went trick-or-treating up and down our own block. Our neighborhood is apparently well-known, because we got several drive-ins (you know, people who drive to other blocks because there's no candy on their block.)

Anyway, now Cyrus is nearly asleep, and I'm going to spend most of the rest of the night watching Treehouse of Horrors 1-10.

Men who avoid baths and opt only for showers just don't know what they're missing. My new master bathroom has a shower and a separate wide, deep tub. Last night, after six days of moving, I poured a piping hot bath, complete with bath salts and scented candles - lights out.

I melted. It was sooooooooo nice.

What, too strong? I disagree. In all my years I can tell you it's more likely that someone's plump, plushy nipples would sprout defecating penises than what I'm about to reveal could ever occur.

I am now a home owner.

See? Told you.



Anyway, this calls for drinking. And food. And of course, good friends.

Imagine a the workweek of voice actor Tress MacNeille.
Monday: Record lines such as "Looks like it's time for a Mouseketool!" for Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.
Tuesday: Record lines such as, "Stick a bastard in it, you crap!" for Futurama.

A voice actor's life is truly miscellaneous. By her own admissions via episode commentary, Tress loves lines like she does for "Mom" on Futurama.

Speaking of miscellaneous, 大ニュース pretty soon, folks.

So, it's my late day and Cyrus and I are playing around for a couple hours before I take him to daycare and head off to work. he's rummaging through the left side of my dresser drawer, which is reserved for certain occasionally-only toys and noise makers. He grabs one of the four (or are there only three?) kazoos and starts belting away.

At this point, without really thinking, I said, "Don't you think it's too early for kazoos?"

...Wait, what? Did I just say that? When did this happen? When did I become someone who would utter a phrase such as, "too early for kazoos"?

Shame on me.

So...I was discussing with a one of the front counter staff how this Summer has sucked complete balls at work. It was a particularly bad day of a bad week of a bad month, and the guy commented that he was looking forward to getting home to his cranberry vodka.

Not that he was particularly wild about cranberry vodka, he said, but that was all he had.

I felt bad for him, so I quickly rattled off what I have at home: Gin, vodka, citron vodka, triple Sec, white rum, coconut rum, tequila, silver tequila, whiskey, two kinds of shochu, midori, and grand marnier.

Then I felt really bad for him, because he was jealous.

I made sure to think good thoughts for him when I made myself a Long-Island Iced Tea later that night.

Hoo boy. I just made the best on-the-rocks margarita I think I've ever made. Part of it probably has to do with the fact that I stopped buying store brand alcohol a few months ago. The other part has to do with the fact that I finally came across the right mixture of tequila, triple sec, grand marnier, club soda, sweet & sour mix and sweetened lime juice.

It's going great with the carne asada and Voards' signature cheese enchiladas I decided to have for lunch.

Part of me thinks a meal and drink this good should be shared. But in the last three weeks I've earned this solitude. That's another story in itself.

Anyway, back to my meal.

1) Happy B-Day Nikolai Tesla. If it weren't for you, every Spencer's gifts would be woefully less interesting.

2) I wish Tesla had been born two days earlier. Then I would have been able to also make a big deal out of it being 07/08/09 on the anniversary of his b-day.

3) To be honest, I hate the fact that there just isn't enough live-action demon/maid porn. In fact, I don't know of any. Dammit.

4) Did you know? We're shopping for a house. Got an offer accepted on a nice house, but it's a short sale so it takes weeks to get the final decision. The good news, it's in the final hands (which is actually the longest step).

5) I will be 39 in a few months. Technically, my mid-life crisis is a couple years overdue. However, due to the amount of fish and soy products I eat, combined with the fact that I live a moderately less sedentary lifestyle than average, I can probably add 10-12 years to the average American white male life expectancy. So I guess I've got 3-4 years yet.

6) I love my family. I think this amazes no one more than me. Seriously, sometimes I take a step back and think how improbable it is that a guy who dislikes spending extended periods of time with other people is actually married. Furthermore, this same guy doesn't like children, but he has a child.

7) Despite how much I love my family, I think I need to make a withdrawal from the selfish bank. I'm quite in the black as far as dedication to my wife and child are concerned, and it's my goddamn turn. I need to get away, even for a little while, see some of the old chaps, away from their wives. Eat some food. Maybe watch a mindless movie. Tip back a drink or two. I miss you guys. You know who you are. I just need to stop being an idiot and use a fucking phone.

8) Istanbul was Constantinople. Now it's Istanbul, not Constantinople. Been a long time gone, Constantinople, now it's Turkish delight on a moonlight night.

Yep.

Anyway, damn you LOST for making me like you again. I was really comfortable hating you. Then this season happened, and it was good. And got better and better.

So I'm ready. I've got a few light snacks and plenty of beverage. I'm ready to see if I'm right.

I've been anxious for the last few days. Not "I can't wait to see it" anxious. More like "this is going to disappoint me, isn't it?" anxious.

To explain, when I heard Ron Moore say, "Who cares about the plot?" and "It's the characters, stupid." I was reminded of a great Optimus Prime quote: "Oh, here comes that sinking feeling."

Yes, from day one this show had been a character-driven drama. However, the writers have improvised and sometimes retconned the story to a point where many of us want some answers and closure.

But I feel that part of the show is going to be robbed. I feel a non-ending coming.

There is a certain kind of hurt that only a philly cheesesteak sandwich can heal.

And speaking of food...You ever notice how kids are raised to think animals are cute, friendly and have personalities? Then they grow up and realize they've been eating some of these animals? You ever wonder what effect that will have on the child?

I wondered that after Cyrus was born. When he was really young and didn't understand most of what I was saying, I would sometimes refer to a cute cow picture or stuffed animal as "one of my favorite foods", and would call the cute pig "a magical food that gives us bacon and sausage and pork chops and ham."

And still, I suppose it's a matter of personality how a child adjusts to the fact that food animals enjoy celebrity outside of their roles as sustenance. With Cyrus, it went like this:

He's eaten fish ever since we started him on solid foods. When he was about, oh, maybe a year old he saw part of Finding Nemo in the doctor's office waiting room. He seemed to like it, so I bought it for him a few months later. He didn't really start to request to watch it until a few months ago, but that's beside the point. He's watched 20-30 minute snippets of the movie three or four times – enough so that he associates all fish with the name Nemo. His bath toy fish: Nemo. The fish on my shower curtain: Nemo. The Shubunkin (a type of goldfish) I bought a couple months back: Nemo.

Cut to about two weeks ago, he's eating fish sticks. Or a breaded fish fillet. Either way, it was fish and he knew it was fish. He will often comment on particular meal items as "Yummy" or, if he does not like it, simply, "No." His comment for the fish: "Fish yummy. Nemo yummy."

True story.

I don't really have the motivation to write about the important things currently going on in my life.

But I did want to point out the cover for Season 3 of the Venture Bros. It's designed to mimic the art style of old Atari 2600 games.

I mean, how cool is that? (As for contents, it's extremely rare that a TV show will appeal to me to the point where I refuse to watch any episodes of a season, opting to wait for the DVD release and pre-order it as soon as available.)

So that feeling better at the first of the month was just a false alarm. I spiraled back into serious health problems (though mostly temporary). I came down with bronchitis; the nose goblins were brown and the throat butter was green. And to top it off, it was recommended I cut out stress and get rest or it might become pneumonia.

Well, good luck with that, Dave. My work and marriage (if you can still call it that) are nothing but stress, and my chances for rest are few and far between.

Thankfully I was prescribed some nuclear antibiotics and now for real I'm mostly well. Well enough to reunite me with my precious alcohol (which is coming in handy to deal with my recent bout with depression.)

All in all, I have two gigantically positive things in my life. I have a job that - when I'm not bombarded with students - gives me a great deal of personal satisfaction (plus it pays pretty well, has nice health benefits and a very good retirement package.) Second would be Cyrus, who is just awesome.

Anyway, there you have it.

As I prepare an onslaught of snacks to add to my giggly girth and ignore the nonsense leading to kickoff, I can't help have the same feeling I have every time I hear a singer wound the national anthem: Why the hell do people think it's stylish or the least bit interesting to sing off-tempo? It's like lens flare in video games - I'm so sick of it. I really feel for the musicians as they attempt to compensate for a singer who can't bother to sing the song as it was written.

My attitude would be this: You're not the conductor and I get paid whether or not you sound like crap. I'm playing the notes as written.

AH! To be feeling well again. Six to seven long weeks of colds and the flu. Setting aside my beloved alcohol for almost that entire span was not fun at all. Now that I'm feeling well again, I've returned to my regular exercise routine, made all the better by my new apartment property's fitness room. On one hand it's nice to have medium-tech exercise machinery to use for once. On the other hand, it's can produce unsettling realization. Dripping with sweat and with sore limbs from my first workout in two months, I discovered to my dismay that after a fifteen minute workout on a stair stepping machine I only burned 150 calories. I'll be back to 30 minutes soon.

So...A question to those who, like me, are sporting more padding then they probably should.

Think about those late nights, when you know you aren't that hungry but the craving is gnawing at the back of your brain and the surface of your tongue and you succumb to a furtive and frantic snacking session. This happen all too often, don't they?

But have you ever wondered this? Could it not just be the snack we are addicted to? Could it not be more than the brain mistaking thirst for hunger? What if part of it is the shame?

What if - while wolfing down that sugary or salty or fatty snack - we are subconsciously doing it because we know we are going to feel ashamed afterward? Because...because we want the shame. We ache for it. We're feeding on it like a drug.

The appetite for shame is sometimes insatiable, isn't it?

I think I said that out loud about twelve times over the last 45 minutes. Nearly seven months to the day, and the wait was worth it. Sure just about everything was already speculated on and alluded to, and of course the rapid erosion of morale was no surprise as it is a natural progression of emotions in that situation. But to finally see it all happen was spectacular.

Frack Earth.

...but still...

I loved living so close to work. What was it, eight years? In that time there was usually no more than twenty minutes from when I walked out my apartment door to when I would arrive in my office and vice versa. Only about ten of that was actual driving. Now it takes about an hour each way.

Not all of it is commute, however:
(Times approximate)
5 min: Getting to car and getting on the road
10 min: Drive to day care
10 min: Check-in at daycare, reassure a bawling Cyrus that I will return later to pick him up
30 min: Drive from daycare to work
5 min: walk from parking lot to office.

The traffic is more manageable in the morning than the afternoon, so the 30 minute work-to-daycare commute often becomes 40.

*Whew*

I hear of people who are driving one or two hours a day and I just can't imagine it.

And while I'm at it, happy new year.

Yes, I'm sure it won't take much to make 2009 better than 2008. I'm particularly looking forwards to inauguration day, and hoping some pile of crap doesn't shoot Obama.

Oh, and how was my Winter break? I've had people make a fuss over the fact that I'm in the process of a paid holiday that began on 12/24 and won't end until 1/4. Well, all of your ire manifested itself in the form of illness. The cold I already had when the break began lasted longer than it should have, and right as that was ending I caught the flu. Not a good thing when I am having to move on the 24th, 26th, 27th and 28th.

Okay then. My phone is off (as it should be at this point) but the internet is still on.