footprintsontheceiling

Archive for May, 2007|Monthly archive page

Come As You Are.

In silly on May 25, 2007 at 4:41 pm

hermes_black.gif

This weekend is the masturbate-a-thon in San Francisco. Back when I was going to college, I called that Tuesday. And Wednesday. And Thursday. And Friday.  And Saturday.  And Sunday.  And, yes, Monday.

Advertisements

Fair Warning

In mijos on May 18, 2007 at 9:31 am

The kids and I were listening to “Houses of the Holy” this morning before school – mostly because I needed some solid rock to get me to the weekend – and G and I had the following conversation:

Me: What kind of music is this, G?
G: Rock and roll, Daddy.
Me: Do you know that this band is called “Led Zeppelin?”
G: Why?
Me: That’s just what they call it. When you have a band, you can name it anything you want. When you have a band, what will you call it?
G: Hmm(thinks about it for a while). I’ll call it “Shortie Short.”
Me: And what would the name of your CD be?
G: “Clown.”

Later, we were walking back from dropping off M (my 6 year old son) at school, and I asked G about his band again.

G: Daddy, in my band, I’ll be named “Short.” And you can be named “Flat.”

Look for Shortie Short’s first album, “Clown,” featuring Flat, on Daddy Records. Coming soon.

Tonight!

In Shows on May 16, 2007 at 9:44 am

5-07-copy.jpg

Born to be Stupid.

In idiots rule on May 12, 2007 at 2:46 pm

monster-truck.jpg

Hey you.

Yeah, you. There in the Chevy Behemoth or whatever the hell it’s called. With the V-8 engine and the 800 pounds of carbon dioxide you’d be putting into the air every minute if the Behemoth were running.

You, with the cell phone glued to your ear.

Yeah, you. In the Target parking lot.

See me? Yeah, me. With the two little boys in tow, having just gone through Target to pick out a small prize for each of them for doing so well with their swimming lessons this morning. Yeah, me. Parked right next to you.

Obviously I have to get back into my Jeep, right? With my two little boys? Right. Of course I do. So I approach my Jeep and I open the door and I put Boy #1 in.

And then you start the Behemoth.

So I close the door and take Boy #2 and we move over so you can get the Behemoth out of your parking space and you can go on your merry little environmentally friendly way.

And then you do this: You roll down your window and you say, “Go ahead. I’m not going to leave until I finish this conversation.”

Um, so let me get this straight. You’re going to run your Behemoth in the Target parking lot, spewing tons of CO2 into the atmosphere, while you FINISH YOUR CONVERSATION? ARE YOU SERIOUS?

Who the hell are you talking to that you need your V-8 Bucket of Bolts running while you have the conversation? It better be your mechanic. And he better be diagnosing some problem you’re having with your vehicle, or else you’re just an idiot who apparently has such a sense of entitlement that you think it’s your God given American right to sit in the parking lot of a big box sweatshop market with your V-8 engine running while you give yourself ear cancer AND talk to whoever.

No, no – I take that back. You ARE an idiot. Remember my two kids? Yeah. You started that small tank up while I was in the middle of my “Putting Two Kids In The Jeep” procedure, which, as any parent knows, is as highly involved as any NASA procedure, guaranteed. There are kids to corral, butts to put in seats, clasps to clasp…it’s almost rocket science. And when our vehicles are parked 2 feet from each other and you start yours up while I’m in the exact middle of my PTKITJ procedure, I have to take a pause and move out of the way because I’m certain that anybody who would start their vehicle next to mine while I’m in the middle of my PTKITJ procedure has to be an idiot and, as such, is certain to pull said vehicle out of the space within a few short seconds, at which time Boy #2 might have wandered into the Behemoth’s way, thusly getting run down by a truck so big and so heavy that certainly there must be room for more than just you in it (Feel free to mix in a carpool once in a while). So I move. And you declare that you’re going to sit there and pollute all the air around the Target with your Chevy Spew (now there’s a name for a truck!) while you talk on the phone. When, really, had you been paying attention instead of talking to whoever, you would have known that I was in the middle of my PTKITJ procedure and you could have waited until I had completed it to start your Truckzilla so that I wouldn’t have to move out of your way under false pretenses. Had you waited, maybe you would have also been done with your conversation and you could have saved a few small bits of the ozone layer as well.

All this makes you an idiot. Enjoy your idiocy. I certainly have.

You Be Illin’

In silly on May 11, 2007 at 11:52 am

Sick Boy

The G-Man goes to preschool down at the Auraria campus, and whenever there’s an outbreak of something in one of the rooms, they post it on the door for the benefit of the parents. You know, so when our kid comes down with shingles next week, we know we got it from little Billy last week and we can go have a little chat with little Billy’s parents about how it would be prudent to keep sick kids home from school. Seriously, people! Exercise empathy and keep that sick kid home so the rest of the world doesn’t get it! Or I’ll bring my kid in with leprosy!

Anyway, yesterday I was walking G to his room and we passed by one of the other rooms and it had on the door, and I’m not making this up, the following signs:

“We have been exposed to strep throat.”

“We have been exposed to pink eye.”

“We have been exposed to chicken pox.”

Wow. First of all, I hope that’s not one kid that’s doing all that exposing (like when I used to run around elementary school naked), and second of all, if you ever want to test whether or not your immune system’s working, go hang out at a preschool.

The Worst Breath In the World.

In mojo mondays on May 7, 2007 at 2:44 pm

bad_brth1.jpg

Today I went to a meeting.

I sat

in a conference room

which was warm

and next to me

to my right, specifically

sat the Worst Breath In The World.

Yes.

It was that bad.

Not bad like,

“I just ate six cloves of garlic

and washed it down with a

can of Guinness” bad,

but bad like,

“I just stuck my entire being

soul and all

in a gigantic vat of baby poop.”

Do I make myself clear?

Baby poop.

Anyway,

every time the man who owned

The Worst Breath In The World

spoke to me about this

that

this

that

I thought I might gag.

His face was a mere 6 inches

from my own

you see.

Or maybe I might regurgitate my lunch

which means that I’d enjoy my pizza

twice.

Once is enough when considering the enjoyment of pizza.