Creative Children are Delightful . . . and Creative Play is Very Messy

This weekend brought a lot of snow, a lot of playing in the snow, and a lot of shivering under blankets after becoming drenched in the snow. I suppose that’s why I thought it would be a good idea to introduce the kids to a Looney Tunes cartoon.

We try to avoid gun-related entertainment in our house, so they’ve only seen two such cartoons—“Baton Bunny,” in which Bugs Bunny is a conductor and things go haywire, and “One Froggy Evening,” in which a singing frog torments its finder. This weekend, it was time to go for “Rabbit of Saville.” In that cartoon, Bugs is chased by Elmer J. Fudd, the Hunter, and they stumble on the set for the opera Barber of Saville, and hilarity ensues.

We watched it three times—always with the proviso that we should recognize that we would never shoot a gun at another sentient being.

And what do our dear children decided to do after the viewing is over? Shave each other? Cut each other’s hair? Nope.

In one scene, Bugs suddenly dons a green turban, plays a recorder (or clarinet) and, like a snake charmer, urges an electric razor to rise from a basket and chase the irate Elmer all over the set.

That’s what they wanted to do. They found a piece of plastic . . . well, they badgered me until I found them an appropriate piece of plastic . . . that looked, roughly, like an electric razor; they tied a long series of strings (mostly shoelaces) together; they found a basket and a recorder-like instrument, and spent many hours charming it out of its basket and getting it to chase the other children over the house.

It was a riot.

I don’t even begrudge them the time it took me to track down my shoelaces and to re-lace my shoes this morning!

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Horrible, Horrible . . . oh, Most Horrible! Flu!

The Evil Death Flu struck me down this past week. This is a bad one. I was in bed with a fever around and over 102 for three days! Hence, no posts. That's all!

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The Most Romantic Moive of the Year . . .

. . . said the reviewer for The New York Times. Humph.

About which film, you ask? Well, Three Times, directed by Hsiao-hsien Hou (q.v.).

Whatever else the film may be, it's a certain downer for Valentine's Day. The three stories are sort of about love, but only the first one carrries any deep romantic feeling--and that is almost entirely nostalgic.

The playlist, on the other hand, was a great success! After getting the preliminary Dylan, Clapton, and Beatles out of the way, Amanda started gasping, "Oh, I love this song!" and dancing around the kitchen as we prepared our magnificent meal. Because our attempt with the film took some time (we had already watched the first story, and we thought stories two and three might turn out better), we didn't get through the entire playlist, but that was all right.

Next up, planning for Amanda's birthday . . . one week from today!

Wish me luck . . . and mop those floors, fellas! I'm tellin' ya!

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What's on your Valentine's Day Plate?

The key to a successful Valentine's Day, said the sage, is knowing what women want. Chaucer had one idea (cf. Wife of Bath), Shakespeare had several others (cf. everything he ever wrote), and Dorothy Parker had quite a different one. Two difficulties are uppermost in their declarations:

1. They're all men. Well, Dorothy Parker wasn't, but . . . . All right--scrap number one.

2. They didn't know Amanada.

High on the list of things that inspire love and affection in our marrage is . . .

a clean house!

Honestly, men. Take note. It's not just Amanda, either. Women, can I get an amen?

Amen!

Thanks, women.

Accordingly, I got up extremely early (and, as I usually get up between 4:30 and 5:00 a.m., I mean extremely early) and, as quietly as possible (beacause another essential ingredient is happily-sleeping children), I cleaned the entire downstairs from top to bottom, including mopping the floors. It all sparkled--from the cabinets (which we'll never be able to afford to replace but which aren't that bad) to the countertop (which seems to get uglier every year, but which we'll never be able to replace either).

Back in college, I used to make mix tapes for all my romantic interests (which were many and copius and were seldom returned . . . neither the love nor the tapes, I mean), but I havn't done that for years. The last mix CD I made was for a very close friend who was dying of cancer--he said it's one thing everyone does when they learn you're fighting cancer . . . the mix CDs came by the hundreds!

The mix tape has, over time, changed to the mix CD. Now, it's the mix iPod playlist. Since my post about a sensual (and alphabetical) string of songs, I've been putting together a lovely list for us. Penelope is going to a friend's house for dinner, and Powell and Van are off to their long-time babysitter's apartment for what we're calling a dinner party. They're very excited.

So are Amanda and I! We get four or five hours to ourselves in our own home cooking what we most want to eat and listening to lovely music. Ah, the transports of delight brought on by a house in which every noise is one you make yourself!

I've inserted a photo of the playlist in question above. If you click on it, it will enlarge to legible proportions, letting you see the variety in genre, length, group, and age (but with some notable repeats). Below, I intend to add some commentary on the songs (after a brief meeting that starts in three minutes).

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“I Want You” by Bob Dylan

I’m a big Dylan fan, though Amanda is not. Because of her diffidence, I’ve created a “Dylan” genre on the iPod so that we can have Folk (but not Dylan), Folk Rock (without Dylan), and Rock (sans Dylan). Because Amanda isn’t thrilled by Bob, I’m putting this song first. Again, it’s a light number—one that sets the tone for the rest of the playlist.

“I’ll Make Love To You Anytime” by Eric Clapton

Clapton and Knopfler are two of the very best Rock ‘n’ Roll guitarists working today. Clapton has speed; Knopfler has tone. Clapton is best in a blues genre; Knopfler can play just about anything. It’s hard for me to listen to a Clapton song that I don’t like; I don’t like some of Knopfler’s songs (“Sailing to Philadelpha” is a particularly egregious example), but I’ll listen to anything he plays in just to hear the tone of his guitar.

“I Want To Tell You” by The Beatles

Another fairly light, poppy love song. Because it is the Beatles, though, even a song like this has unimaginable style.

“Stay” by Alison Krauss

Amanda loves Alison. Her voice is extraordinary. I’ll even listen to her sing “Ghost in this House”—an otherwise maudlin number—because of that voice!

“Très Très Chic” by Mocean Worker

This is a late addition. I liked the minimal sound here, as well as the nice beat. And I happen to think Amanda is très, très, très chic!

“Via Con Me” by Paolo Conte

If you haven’t watched the movie Mostly Martha, go watch it now. Go. Watch. It. Now.

Here’s a quick link to the movie information.

One of the most delightful films we’ve seen. Do not see this film on an empty stomach. Plan to eat good food after watching it. Don’t (I’m pretty sure) wait for the Hollywood remake (tentatively entitled No Reservations!).

All that seems irrelevant until you realize that this song is from the film, and it’s a lovely number.

More comments to come—I need to head home to help out!

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Why you should Never Leave your Gym Bag in the Car Overnight when the Low Temperature is Colder than Minus Ten

1. Your shampoo will freeze solid. If you're lucky, you'll have a small bottle with a tiny bit left in it, which you can then thaw by adding a bit of hot water. It will still be cold, but, at least, it will come out of the bottle.

2. If your towel was just the slightest bit wet, it will freeze into a solid board. If you're lucky, you'll be able to thaw it by putting it on the hand / hair dryer provided by your gym.

3. The soap will be very, very cold. In fact, it will be rather like an ice cube. Fortunately, it will warm up pretty quickly in the shower.

3. Deodorant. Erk. You can't run hot water over it . . . it will melt if you put it on the hair dryer . . . it will become mushy if you take it in the shower. You'll just have to bear it, which is not--in any way--pleasant. B.r.r.r.r.r.r.

4. You'll have to wait to brush your teeth until later. Frozen toothpaste simply will not come out of the tube.

I'm sure there are additional reasons, but I'm too cold to consider them at present.

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Blogtrophy

Blogtrophy. n. 1. What happens when a Blog is zipping along nicely, slows down, and stops. 2. An award for the best blog. Uses: I posted every day for a week, but blogtrophy set in. I'll never win a Blogtrophy at this rate. [N.B. In the fashion of "Oscar," Blogtrophy (sense 2) is always capitalized.

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The Tie in Question

I'm not sure anyone would find that tasteful. Except the people who gave it to me. I suppose I'm going out on a limb with this--I'm hoping they're not reading this or that they don't recognize or remember the tie.

In any case, thank goodness for sweaters, eh?

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Fever

Our family is flashing back to this summer--to the few days after the boys had their tonsils removed. Oi, that was a terrible time. They both had fevers galore, they were both in terrible pain, they both refused to drink (though Van is much better than Powell on that score), and they had a very difficult time taking their medicine. Oh, and we were up every night just about hourly with one, the other, both, or all three kids.

Last week, Powell had a high fever for a few days. Other than increased whineyness and an intense desire to watch Larryboy and the Bad Apple ad naseum, it wasn't so bad. This week, Van caught it, and he's been really sick. He's had a higher fever for longer--the doctor says we should just wait it out, making sure he drinks enough not be dehydrated. But it's been hard.

This morning, Van woke up with the fever. I thought he had given it to Powell, but it appears that something new (and worse) has struck our house.

I hope for two things to be different from the last time the two were so sick.

1. Last time, the temperature was over one hundred degrees, and our air conditioner simply stopped.

2. Last time, Amanda had to go to the emergency room in the middle
of the night because of a terrifyingly painful kidney stone. Yes, that was a picnic. All three kids screaming, mommy doubled over in pain, no AC in 100+ temperatures. Whew.

Well, today, the high is expected to be -2, so the AC won't be an issue. Murphy, of course, says that the furnace will go out. We'll just have to trust and pray that he's wrong!

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Separated at Birth: David Smalls (Bassist of Spinaltap) and Our Snowman

It didn't start out that way, but it ended up there! Alas, the snowman is no more, having been attacked by some neighborhood kids with a part of our gutter--they were, apparently, learning to joust in the middle of the night. I didn't save any pictures of the carnage.

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Far too Sensual

The latest set of songs is not to be listened to with a weak will. It's simply far too sensual! We start out, innocuously enough, with an old Beatles song: “I Want to Tell You.” We’re then brought a notch further along with a Dylan song—“I Want You.” That song is a nice, light one—lots of references we don’t get (who is the guilty undertaker?), but the overall feeling is one of joyous desire.

A darker side develops with the Costello number—intense jealousy combined with past experiences drive that lengthy, thrilling number.

One song (at least) was left off Bob Dylan’s 30th Anniversary Concert Celebration—Sophie B. Hawkins’ “I Want You.” Perhaps she had already released it on her own album and didn’t want competition . . . perhaps the lawyers got their hooks into it in some way. Whatever the case, Hawkins’ cover is pretty good—even though it is transparently designed to manipulate our sexual emotions. The concert itself is mostly people playing guitars in a decidedly-unflashy fashion. Sophie B. Hawkins is the exception. She wanders about, gradually taking off a trench coat and a hat and so on. I like it because it seems so clumsy and naïve, not because it is particularly sexy. In any case, it’s a sensual song (even if we see through its intentions).

Coming back to the Beatles, we hit the last song on Side A of Abbey Road. Lyrically speaking, minimal, the song is astonishing. The stormy ending is remarkable. The song has the storminess of the emotions it’s attempting to capture. I always expect a pause (while turning over the album)—and then “Here Comes the Sun.” A welcome relief from the wonderfully-loud turmoil of the end of “I Want You.”

Instead, we get an old Jazz number—Louis Jordan’s “I Want You to be my Baby” followed by Over the Rhine’s “I Want You to be my Love.”

The next song keeps us in the mood—Nat King Cole singing “I was a Little too Lonely (and you were a Little too Late)” is a fine revenge song.

We jump out of the mood with the last number . . . but it has the benefit of being the only Rock song I know to employ the phrase “laissez-faire”:

“In the first bar, things were ‘stop and stare’;
In this bar, things were ‘laissez-faire.’”

All in all, a very nice alphabetical experience!

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p.s. I should affix a warning—this will stir you up. I was listening to it while walking around the gym at five o’clock in the morning—among others who look like me: unattractive people sweating in a not-particularly-pleasing way. Yet everyone started to look much more desirable midway through this playlist.

One (of many) iPod Thoughts

The iPod’s importance in our household . . . well, my life . . . cannot be overstated. Without it, life would be like spending a fortnight with Nietzsche in pajamas. Whose PJs? Either one—it doesn’t matter.

In college, I used to listen to my roommate’s cassette tapes (does that let you know when I when to college?) once a year—in alphabetical order. He religiously kept them in alphabetical order, and it was partly to mock that that I did so. But it was also a test of manhood . . . particularly when one had to go straight from Kenny G to Keith Green.

{Shudder}

The iPod makes such an endeavor much easier—and it makes otherwise incomprehensible and inconceivable things possible. For example, stress has prevented me from wanting to listen to anything in particular—I don’t want to make any decisions that complicated! I’ve been listening—in alphabetical order—to my big list of most of my music (later, I’ll reveal what genres are left out of the list). I’ve been skipping a great deal—anything I don’t feel like at that time is axed—but I’ve been staying to the alphabet.

As a result, I ran across this nifty little set of songs . . . they worked really well together. Take a look (and, if you have these songs, have a listen).

“Honey Don't” by The Beatles
“Honey Now” by Gillian Welch
“Honey Pie” by The Beatles
“Honey, Are You Straight or Are You Blind?” by Elvis Costello
“Honey, Just Allow Me One More Chance” by Bob Dylan
“Honeysuckle Blue” by Drivin 'N' Cryin
“Honeysuckle Rose” by Canadian Brass
“Honeysuckle Rose” by Django Reinhardt
“Honeysuckle Rose (A Jam Session At Victor)” by Fats Waller
“Honeysuckle Rose (A La Bach-Beethoven-Brahms-Waller) (Piano Solo)” by Fats Waller
“Honeysuckle Rose (Take #1)” by Fats Waller
“Honeysuckle Rose (Take #2)” by Fats Waller
“Honga Encore” by Itzhak Perlman


All right. By the third “Honeysuckle Rose,” I was ready to move on—but the rest mixed incredible nicely!

Ah, the iPod! Ah.