Potpourri

For the first time, the sidekick fell asleep on my shoulder. This is a small victory. After many times where this did not happen and he collapsed into wails and flails, he conked out after a big feeding. My experience as a dad is a string of increased skill levels not unlike a video game. I try to find a pattern in his new behaviors and successfully placate him by reading his signs. This may be the encapsulation of parenthood. We're now draping his bassinet with a blanket as a canopy to reduce his distractions. It help. He sleeps quicker now.

Your Sister and I agreed to try a schedule that lets her go to the country club a few times a week while I'm home. On alternating days, I'll run, and she'll try body combat. The gym offers childcare so she doesn't have to wait for me to get home.

As we watched the first new episode of House this fall, I downed a pumpkin ale. It has 12.5% alcohol, and soon my neck was as useless as the deputy's.

I've begin jotting down ideas for the newest minicomics, both sequels to this year's batch. I plan to stick to the system of production, but I want to give myself more time to hammer them out.

Your Sister continues to be fascinated by my high-school yearbooks and the many tales lingering therein. The reunion FB page says less than 40 people have registered so far. This could be a quick party. I hope to invite folks to a brunch the following morning before we drive back up the mountain. Also, I very much want to host a 20-year reunion for my graduating class at the junior college. The deputy will just be hitting his terrible twos then. What could go wrong?

Picture of the Day
TV Man patrols the subways.

Bad Baby

Can any day be bad when it starts with a 2+ mile run and ends with a nicely mixed screwdriver? Let's say no, but barely.

Your Sister's 20th high-school reunion was Saturday, and the hours did not unspool as we hoped. It took much longer than we hoped to get out the door and on to the reunion picnic. The meal was listed in promotional emails as lasting from 12:30 to 2:30, and we had no intention of being there first. We wanted to avoid the crush as we are juggling this baby and all. We arrived at the school at 1:30 and smeared him up good with suntan lotion. By dead happenstance, we ran into people we knew just as they were leaving.

We tried to find the picnic (and that's a phrase that only implies dread) and asked for help at a table under an reunion banner. The woman manning this table was asked where to find the picnic and said she had no idea as she didn't attend the school. After schlepping the stroller down flights of stairs, we found the grand picnic location, and it was over. There was a small table of leftover aluminum pans with scraps. No plasticware, no cups to drink out of. They closed up shop 45 minutes early. Now we were angry and starving. We rambled back to the car, loaded everything back up, and found a bar in downtown Asheville.

Normally we can schedule a meal out around the deputy's eating and sleeping cycle, but this day, he chucked the schedule. As soon as we sat at the table, he started crying. Inconsolable. We fed and changed him in the parking garage, and that only left sleepiness. He no longer drifts easily into sleep. He fights it and cries and kicks, and this is what he did in the bar. We took turns walking him in our corner of the bar and then took turns wolfing down the meals before shoving him back to the car. He cried all the way. Cried when we buckled him in. Cried as we waited in line at the parking booth. And fell asleep as soon as we pulled into the road. He's not a charmer 24/7.

We went straight to Your Parents' house. Your Mom sponged the lotion off him as Your Sis and I cleaned up and changed. I had not seen them since they left for their vacation, but there was no catching up. We instead showed them the cache of baby gear and watched them coo over him. He woke up and stayed cranky again before finally falling into a deep sleep. We left their place about an hour before the reunion was to open in a desperate need to deflate our stress. To unclench, let's say. We parked downtown, walked into Mast General Store, and bought bottled pop. As we were dressed just this side of Wedding Quality, we caught a lot of looks. As we should have; we looked fantastic. We sat on a park bench and caught our breaths from the day and established a martial truce again. And inside the booked tavern we went.

The reunion went very well. She latched onto people she missed (including a biology teacher wearing a kilt) and was able to be something other than a nursing mother for an evening. We located her in an enlarged photo of the graduating class despite her uncertainty that the face I found was really hers. I know that nose. I know that smile. And others confirmed it. So there. She floated through the room and traded catch-up stories for hours.

It was a well-organized small party. There was a cash bar, a savory buffet table, and a dance floor. A slideshow offered pictures of attendees then and now and a memorial segment for those lost in the years between. The hostesses worked the room well, and I -- a plus-one -- felt welcomed by all. If there was anything I would suggest, it's that guest badges be a different color so alumnae wouldn't wonder why they don't remember you. I'm confident my reunion this weekend will not meet the standard set by this party, and I've warned Your Sister. We did agree to wear the same outfits to my reunion regardless of the party's dress code. It's "business casual," and I fear all the men will look like Best Buy employees. Not I, said the bespoke fly. I intend to look good. I have awkward 20-year-old memories to eclipse.

We reclaimed the boy from Your Eager Parents at a very late hour and drove home. He was no better Sunday, and I'm feeling the stress of the day as I type. Again, he doesn't want to sleep, and he was a beast in the Mexican restaurant. He was finally quieted with a hot bottle, and I wore him through the grocery store. Maybe this phase is a growth spurt that passes soon. Your Sister even considered that it was early teething.

I discovered one of my running shoes has a leak, and I need to break in a new pair before the race. Luckily I have a gift card to the local shoe store.

Picture of the Day
A helpful trick to underscore the Chilean miner situation.

Out. About.

I ran along the new sidewalk/bike path for the first time. It was recommended to me by the state trooper next door, and he noted it was a longer route than my usual uphill slog. It's also flatter. Off I went, huffing and puffing and cursing my out-of-shape shape. This new path runs along the back stretch of the downtown race route, so I know it pretty well. It's deceptively rolling and requires strict pacing lest I burn out before I reach the halfway point. It's rough enough to run at the end of a workday. My stretching and warm-up can only offset so much of hours and hours of sitting. Also, I had a heavy lunch. My excuses are all lined up.

The temporary Halloween stores have returned to town, and I need to find a costume for this year's race. I really have no preference what I dress as this year. I'd prefer not to wear pants, if possible. I see people run in long pants legs every year, and every year I think they are deranged. Dusk in late October isn't that cold, especially when you run for three miles. I've run at midnight on Halloween in shorts -- in the rain, even -- and I was fine. The pants philosophy is a dangerous threat to our running culture, and I won't stop until we have legislated against it and protected our children. I'm Snob Runner, and I approve this message.

Your Outgoing Sister took the deputy for a walk with a fellow teacher in a woodsy area. The mosquito netting was put to the test and passed. She said the bugs swarmed the netting, desperate to get to the fresh blood of the infant. The teacher and her husband affirmed the deputy is beautiful, and I again credit his mother. Your Dad, however, agrees with me that he has My Dad's nose.

I have a new strip online. I've been asked to do a guest strip for the website's main comic, and that will run in November.

Moving Picture of the Day
Lucasfilm if producing a series of these books, and the second comes out soon. The first book, on Star Wars, is a monster of minutiae, both technical and financial. I want to skim these books, but I'm not sure if I could read them.

Cooking With Villainy: Coq Au Vin

Doom beholds the approaching end of summer in these majestic Latverian mountains. Dotted as they are with five-story statues honoring Doom's unquestioned superiority, the mountains also regard Doom, and together we are bonded in gaze and stature. Here, finally, Doom begins to comprehend his own glory, and it is truly a wonder of this measly earth. Doom wants more than this speck of dirt, Doom admits. Doom deserves a greater world upon which to bestow his largess, a wider path upon which he shall march toward his unbounded destiny.

Even now, Doom weaves his designs into reality, drawing the immaterial into the raw clay through which Doom shall build his Olympus. And the world waits his next miracle, the heretofore unseen melding of element and genius. Through this, Doom will triumph. Doom will prevail. As ever. As is right.

Until then, Doom is peckish. Doom shall feast. Join him. Sit at Doom's table and glean what you may comprehend. Today, Doom requires more than the simple sustenance. Doom demands a meal worthy to nestle in his innards.

Coq Au Vin
3 pounds of chicken
15 pearl onions, peeled
1.5 cups Burgundy wine
quarter-cup chicken broth
1 cup whole mushrooms
1 cup sliced carrots
1 tablespoon parsley
2 cloves garlic, minced
half-teaspoon dried marjoram, crushed
half-teaspoon dried thyme, crushed
1 bay leaf
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons butter
2 slices bacon, crispy and drained
2 tablespoons cooking oil
salt and pepper
hot noodles

Doom commands you to brown the chicken in the cooking oil over medium heat in a skillet. You are then directed to drain the fat away and season chicken with salt and pepper.

Doom commands you to add onion, wine, broth, carrots, mushrooms, parsley, garlic, marjoram, thyme, and bay leaf to the chicken. You must bring to a boil and simmer. SIMMER, DAMN YOU! Cover and simmer for 35 minutes.

Domm commands you to remove chicken and vegetables and set aside. Remove the bay leaf. It is no doubt an unnatural machine constructed to poison your mind, cobbled together by Richards and intended to hobble your brains and make him appear all the smarter. Richards is low, and Richards is desperate. Believe not his lies.

Doom commands you to combine flour and butter in a bowl before stirring into the wine mixture. Cook this until it is thickened. Doom then requires you to cook for one minute more. Do not question Doom. Season with salt and pepper.

Now heed Doom as you have never before: You are not making a soup. This is not Coq au Swim Wings. You are to make a rich, savory sauce. The wine concoction will reduce and must reduce, and Doom shall not abide a watery slop besmirching his vittles! The evaporation will concentrate the bold taste. Doom does not lead you astray, not to false victories as Richards may. No, Doom beckons you to a brave realm of victory. Reduce the mixture as you reduce yourself rightfully in Doom's presence.

Doom commands you to pour this conquering creation upon the meat and serve with noodles.

Doom commands you to relish this hint of his constant satisfaction. Doom is assured you will be forever grateful.

Suspicious Packages

There was slight running around Saturday as she searched for scrapbook albums. We do have such a store in town, and she went there twice within hours for the perfect covers. A trip to the consignment shop was cut short when she couldn't stomach the racist babblings of an older customer. She said the poor clerk behind the counter was agreeing quietly in hopes the jerk would eventually leave. I spent the afternoon straightening the workshop in preparation for some small art projects coming up. I don't know when I'll put up the ceiling fan in there. I ran that morning and was caught in a shower.

The boy was back in the bowling ally Sunday. We were invited to a kids birthday party, and there he was again on a table near the chicken wraps while his parents be-bopped around in rented shoes. Your Mindful Sister mentioned that he's now only waking in the night for diaper changing, not for feedings.

Earlier in the day, she attended a local Anglican service with a newish congregation while I minded the sidekick. He and I spent much more time together than is usual, and his patterns were obvious by nightfall. He's easily overstimulated when he needs to sleep, and he must be wrestled into dozing. Most babies, I assume, use a pacifier to keep mum. We use his to distract him into sleeping.

Your Industrious Sister was up baking snacks for Monday's visit with Your Parents and Aunt. She's nervous about being in mom mode around them. I assure her that she's doing fine, and anyone3suggesting otherwise can find the door.

+ + +

As I mailed off some comics to Wisconsin, as one must from time to time, I experienced an aggressive assistance program in the Asheville post office. I intended to use one of the flat-rate boxes for my books and box up the books there. As I prepared to fold up such a box fresh from the shelf, a manager approached and asked if I needed help. She saw how much I was attempting to mail and suggested a smaller, variable rate package. I was baffled. The USPS has pushed these flat rate deals for a year now, and her desire to redirect me to another plan was suspect. It had to be a scam. She suggested I not pack the books before the clerk called me up to the counter, and that person would weigh my books and put them in the cheaper package. I argued that this would pack up the line behind me. She insisted. I consented, and indeed I saved $2. The manager was helping other folks in line in simialr ways, and I thanked her as I left.

This was a good thing, a genuinely helpful retail experience, and yet I still feel hornswaggled. It won't subside until the package arrives and appeases the Midwest comic phantasms who demand tribute.

Picture of the Day
Still considering Halloween race costumes.


One Last Thought
I've avoided news rants lately to avoid riling myself up over comments made by poopy heads, but I don't want to ignore good material. The president held a QnA with the media Friday and ended the conference by talking about the Islamic center in New York City. He was asked about it directly, and he replied in what I assume to be extemporaneous remarks, but I'm positive he at least outlined his thoughts beforehand. Look at this:

REPORTER: I wonder if I can get you to weigh in on the wisdom of building a mosque a couple of blocks from Ground Zero. We know that the organizers have the constitutional right. What would it say about this country if they were somehow talked out of doing that? And hasn’t the Florida minister’s threat to burn a couple hundred copies of the Koran, hasn’t the threat itself put American lives in danger, sir?

THE PRESIDENT: Well, on the second -- on your second question, there’s no doubt that when someone goes out of their way to be provocative in ways that we know can inflame the passions of over a billion Muslims around the world, at a time when we’ve got our troops in a lot of Muslim countries, that's a problem. And it has made life a lot more difficult for our men and women in uniform who already have a very difficult job.

With respect to the mosque in New York, I think I’ve been pretty clear on my position here, and that is, is that this country stands for the proposition that all men and women are created equal; that they have certain inalienable rights -- one of those inalienable rights is to practice their religion freely. And what that means is that if you could build a church on a site, you could build a synagogue on a site, if you could build a Hindu temple on a site, then you should be able to build a mosque on the site.

Now, I recognize the extraordinary sensitivities around 9/11. I’ve met with families of 9/11 victims in the past. I can only imagine the continuing pain and anguish and sense of loss that they may go through. And tomorrow we as Americans are going to be joining them in prayer and remembrance. But I go back to what I said earlier: We are not at war against Islam. We are at war against terrorist organizations that have distorted Islam or falsely used the banner of Islam to engage in their destructive acts.

And we’ve got to be clear about that. We’ve got to be clear about that because if we’re going to deal with the problems that Ed Henry was talking about, if we’re going to successfully reduce the terrorist threat, then we need all the allies we can get. The folks who are most interested in a war between the United States or the West and Islam are al Qaeda. That’s what they’ve been banking on.

And fortunately, the overwhelming majority of Muslims around the world are peace-loving, are interested in the same things that you and I are interested in: How do I make sure I can get a good job? How can I make sure that my kids get a decent education? How can I make sure I’m safe? How can I improve my lot in life? And so they have rejected this violent ideology for the most part -- overwhelmingly.

And so from a national security interest, we want to be clear about who the enemy is here. It’s a handful, a tiny minority of people who are engaging in horrific acts, and have killed Muslims more than anybody else.

The other reason it’s important for us to remember that is because we’ve got millions of Muslim Americans, our fellow citizens, in this country. They’re going to school with our kids. They’re our neighbors. They’re our friends. They’re our coworkers. And when we start acting as if their religion is somehow offensive, what are we saying to them?

I’ve got Muslims who are fighting in Afghanistan in the uniform of the United States armed services. They’re out there putting their lives on the line for us. And we’ve got to make sure that we are crystal-clear for our sakes and their sakes they are Americans and we honor their service. And part of honoring their service is making sure that they understand that we don’t differentiate between them and us. It’s just us.

And that is a principle that I think is going to be very important for us to sustain. And I think tomorrow is an excellent time for us to reflect on that.

If that's all spontaneous, he's a smarter cookie than I thought. It's as perfect a comment on the matter as I'm likely to encounter.

And of course, our local backwoods apocalypse radio preacher denounced the president for "praising the wisdom" of building a "ground zero" mosque. Because he is a carny huckster desperate to terrify his hillbilly congregation.

Settling Down

I now have a Starbucks card because of your shining (gold) example. I should have done this a couple of hundred dollars ago. Speaking of coffee, my tum-tum is mucho better now. I was worried my childhood ulcer had flared up, but I'm back to fried food with no distress.

The deck progress is slower now as the boys hopefully measure twice before cutting once. Our yard is under sawhorses and scrap, and that's a fine excuse for me to avoid cutting the lawn for another few days.

A week of medicine doesn't seem to have fixed up the boy yet. But I have noticed he sleeps quieter when he's flat on his back. He dozed off yesterday after I got home, and he snored not once. This morning, I checked him before I left, and no snores erupted from his crib as he lay flat as a plank. Maybe this problem of his is easily corrected. The only time I remember snoring -- and I mean "woke myself up by snoring" -- was when I napped in a tub ten years back. My head was in a similar position to his while in the bassinet. I'll test this over the weekend.

Your Motivated Sister took an impromptu walk with Kathy last night, and they discussed school matters. I intend to run this weekend and maybe shed a few pounds of water and dessert before the reunions.

Your Parents and Aunt are planning to visit the house Monday while I'm at work.

Your Scheming Sister and I have made our official preseason NFL bet:

Her Picks
AFC
Indianapolis Colts
Pittsburgh Steelers

NFC
Atlanta Falcons
Green Bay Packers

My Picks
AFC
New England Patriots
Baltimore Ravens

NFC
Carolina Panthers
Green Bay Packers

Picture of the Day
Not a ringing endorsement.

1,000 Posts

Yes, really.

We started this Feb. 12 of 2006, and since then I've typed approximately 48 words. Obviously, I've babbled about the daily doings at Chez Debacle, but I branched off into theatre journals, recipe gags, and now-rare news commentary. Also, Pictures of the Day most all the time.

The stack of fake lumber was waiting for me when I got home. The class should arrive today, weather permitting, to start the assembly.

We finally thawed some of the leftover garden produce to make spaghetti, and it was nice. We also gobbled half of Your Sister's homemade blueberry pie.

Because the sidekick hates the taste of the Vitamin D supplement in his milk, I tried dropping it directly into his mouth before a feeding. There was no reaction at all. I think the cold temperature hid the taste. Clearly this is the way to go.

We're still getting credit-card solicits for my ex, but the collection calls have stopped. Thankfully.

Picture of the Day
Can it last? Well, the do both hate fire.

A Revelation

I am suffering for the variety of eats I done et. My stomach is noisy and bloated. I think I drank too much of that Sunday coffee. I discovered that both our bottles of Pepto-Bismal were out of date, and I've swilled some Alka-Seltzer.

Your Sister took The Deputy to welcome Your Parents at the airport only to learn the plane arrived early, and they had already gone home. They didn't know she would be there.

We spent Monday watching the original trilogy, and I noticed something: The droids are on Tattooine to escape the empire. Ben and Luke are on the run from the stormtroopers and hoping to take the droids off-planet to Leia. In Mos Eisley, Luke and Ben avoid a trooper confrontation by using the force. They then go to the cantina to find a pilot. This cantina won't allow droids inside, so Luke -- a redneck idiot -- tells the droids to WAIT OUTSIDE. Where there are troopers looking for them. Troopers who could avoid the destruction of the Death Star simply by nabbing the droids.

Sure, Leia could still get rescued, but only if Ben decides to nudge Luke into fighting the empire (and his dad, but because Lucas hadn't written that yet, Ben doesn't know it). Otherwise, if they have no droids and no secret plans, why visit Leia? They don't know she's been captured yet. Threepio and R2 didn't seem to know that.

Picture of the Day
Sample costumes from Atlanta's DragonCon, held every Labor Day weekend. We plan to go next year.

Oh, Hi There

I ran into a sometime actor with the local theatre. She was in that courtroom play from Fall 2007. "Sometime" sounds dismissive, and I don't mean that. She took time off to be married and see her son off to college. She joined the show cuurently in rehearsals, the show I was twice asked to join and twice I declined so I could "help" raise the sidekick. She and I got along great after an initial adjustment period in the early courtroom rehearsals, and we caught up yesterday as she was getting coffee before rehearsal.

I had hopped into the store to buy cookies and ice cream (no, we're not pregnant again), and she was leaving, but we stopped to chat for a while. She's nervous about the show because of her commute and new family and the rehearsal schedule. She doesn't have her lines yet. Most of this show worked together before on a show prior to our courtroom show, and I assured her it's too good a gang to leave her hanging.

She'll be fine. She was also nervous about her work in our play. She was the widow of the rich man found flattened at the foot of a skyscraper, and she had her lines well before we had an audience, if I recall right. Anyway, she frets, but I contend that fretting can be productive if it drives you to work harder. Same thing with the seven deadly sins. As motivators, they can't be beat.

She asked about our new parenthood. I babbled for a while. And off she ran to rehearse, and off I strolled to the freezer aisle.

The deck is down to the joists. The kids are scheduled to clean the concrete foundation before the weekend, leaving only the assembly of the new lumber. The teacher objected to the original construction stairs, and he'll show the kids the right way to attach them to the deck.

We received the deputy's social security card. He's officially official.

Get over here and veg out on the couch.

Picture of the Day
Outta here.

Sudden Destruction

I arrived home to find the deck half disassembled. The carpentry teacher realized that his class needn't wait until the composite lumber arrived to remove the old stuff. The iron railing art was stacked, the wood rails are gone, and a third of the flooring is removed. The joists will remain, I'm told, as they are deemed healthy. They look discolored to me, but apparently, they are fine. I expect to go home today and find everything but the support skeleton removed. The new stuff arrives Tuesday, and the whole thing should be finished by next weekend. There will be no work done while you are visiting us, I'm positive.

Something I realized only recently is that the composite lumber should rebuff all the carpenter bees that burrowed into our old railings. I'll no longer have to fight them off with WD-40. Our new deck, happily, won't be a potential firebomb.

The attention for the cooking sub-blog has died down, but that short-lived basking was fun. The stats are impressive. Google added blog stats in June, so the blog records are few, but there was an obvious propulsion in numbers based on the Doom links.

Check this out. These are the top ten countries represented by blog visitors :

Those figures wallop the June and July numbers combined. Also? Asia is in the house.

Picture of the Day
Our child's feet. Not to scale.

Internet Famous

I intended to post last night's coq au vin recipe. I was to use it for Cooking With Villainy and employ the Doom voice. The whole schmear. But I ruined the dish, and I can't pass along to anyone the right way to cook it.

The autopsy of the meal suggests that I should have used a heavy iron skillet instead of a large sauce pan. The meat and veggies are to simmer in a thick glaze of wine, broth, mushrooms, carrots, and spices. My sauce was soup. I also overcooked the noodles and undercooked the bacon. The recipe is sound. My execution was lacking. I'll try again next month, and Doom will do it up right.

And here's irony: I ruined the dish for the latest entry right after I become internet famous. Cooking With Villainy was linked here, and the blog's stats went haywire.

UPDATE: The links have spread here. And here. And FINLAND.

Picture of the Day
Young Sigourney from Alien and the cat that failed to save anyone on the doomed salvage ship.

Saturday Night Fevers

As if we didn't already appreciate vaccines, the sidekick's constantly goopy eye cleared up completely. We cheer and breathe sighs of relief and sell our stocks in cotton-ball companies even as we agree that this could be a symptom of an energized immune system. The goop could return.

We thought he had a fever Saturday morning, and we responded with a Keystone Kops series of incompetent actions.

Here's some petroleum jelly for the rectal thermometer. The directions say we can't use that.
What do we use? Is there any Crisco?*
The reading says 98.9. What's the temperature supposed to be for babies? I don't know.
And how many books on babies have we read in the last year?

Meanwhile he's screaming loud enough that My Dad could hear him. We got him settled down and agreed he had no fever. I tried to put lotion on him to cool him down, and that annoyed him. Now he was screaming and slippery. He's become so averse to sleeping lately that we resort to wrestling him into oblivion with sleeper holds. Yes, we admit it: We use submission maneuvers on our baby. I have claimed his cruiserweight championship belt.

We took him to a teacher party Saturday night and took turns wearing him like Flavor Flav's clock. Your Dispensing Sister took a time-out to nurse him while I guarded the door against insistent preschoolers. In efforts to reclaim her normalcy, she followed up on wine recommendations from a magazine and bought two bottles of new flavors yesterday. We cracked one bottle open and enjoyed half of it, saving the rest for tonight. I don't think I've had muscadine wine before, and this was nice. Not too sweet, but very fruity. It goes great with spicy food.

I'm trying more elaborate recipes lately, and I'll add this week's efforts to the Cooking With Villainy entries. Your Sister made a great curry dish Friday with material you gave us from South Africa. That stuff doesn't diffuse.

She walked with a teacher buddy yesterday while I watched the deputy sleep finally, at last and unaware that he was no longer a champion. He stayed awake during the Sunday outing for lunch and groceries, and much cooing followed him everywhere.

We got an estimate for the new decking, and we agreed to it despite the hefty cost. If nothing else, we are increasing the house's value each year with out little projects. We see news reports on housing values and are amazed at the people who thought the aberrant high prices from the early half of the decade were the norm. One ABC News report showed a three-bedroom ranch in the Northeast going for less than $130,000, and the owner couldn't sell it. He based that price on the highest price from the housing bubble, not what he paid for it nor its current value. And he was shocked and dismayed he couldn't get a buyer. Your Savvy Sister and I just stared at each other, wondering if we were hearing right.

I made arrangements with My Mom to watch the former champion during my reunion next month. Your Parents might watch him during Your Sister's.

Her Cat was so inspired by the documentary on lions last night that he played fetch with a catnip mouse. I'm not sure it's safe for us to let him watch those on the big TV anymore. He might regress.

*No, not really.

Picture of the Day
Let us send our best and brightest and mane-iest to Mars.

Two Months Now

The deputy had his second-month check-up yesterday. He's now completely average in height and weight, but that right eye worries the doctor. Combined with the snoring (which surprised him even more once he heard the video on my camera of the boy sleeping), he thinks the eye goop could be a sign of sinus problems. He doesn't see any septum issues, but he did note "small nostrils." He's setting up an appointment with a ear-nose-and-throat specialist to see if anything is up.

The visit ended with three vaccination doses: one oral and two needles, and he didn't like those at all. He was doped to the gills for the remainder of the day and slept for seven hours. We woke him to check the diaper and feed him. His long nap gave us some rare downtime, and of course we spent most of it doing laundry. I played video games after folding basketfulls. Your Literate Sister read maritime fiction as she is wont to do.

The doc said new studies behoove us to abstain from giving him anything for a fever if the live-virus vaccinations make him ill. A fever suppressant like Children's Tylenol can hamper the immune system's development. We're fine with that. We'll feed the mancub some Slurpees. There's a teacher party this weekend, and I worry that he might make some kids sick if those viruses are still active.

Your Energized Sister worries that her caffeine intake is affecting the baby, but the doctor said she would have to throw back a lot of coffee to really bother the boy. But after four hours, anything she drinks should be processed through her system enough to leave her milk safe.

I noticed the he's smitten with Your Adoring Sister and lights up when he sees her. I have earned no such reaction.

Toyota announced a recall on 2006-2008 Matrixes, but the specific engine model will determine if we're affected. We await notification.

Picture of the Day
There's hope for us all.

Cooking With Villainy: Steak au Poivre

Once more, it falls to Doom to whip up grub for unexpected company.

Doom regrets extending a standing invitation to the Red Skull and his accursed family at the 2008 VillainCon. Doom was distracted by his stately reflection in the armor of his Doombot security cordon and lost track of how many Latveria Mountain Ales consumed by Doom during the VillainCon's annual awards banquet. Doom is a friendly drunk. Doom had just won his 58th consecutive Best Doom Award (sponsored by the kind chairmen of the Latveria University) , and, in his giddy largess, Doom offered to cook for that crimson-visaged buffoon and all his damnable brood.

By the Stones of Wundagore, is Skull attempting to sire the Fourth Reich by himself? Are these the Germanic Duggars? Doom pities the tortured Mrs. Skull for the horde of towheaded monsters she now watches over day and night while Red Skull slips out nightly tries to buy rounds of Weizenbock with Nazi gold.

But Doom's word is bond, and Doom shall feed that mob, and then Doom shall give them the Boot of Shoo to their collective Aryan asses. Doom's shows are on. Doom's feet demand attention from the manicurebots.

Tonight's Dish: Steak au poivre

For this delight, Doom commands you to prepare the following (recipe reduced for two people):

1 pound of top loin or beef tenderloin
1/2 cup of beef broth
1/2 cup heavy whipping cream
1 tablespoon cracked black pepper
2 teaspoons dijon mustard
2 tablespoons butter

Doom commands you to press the pepper into the steaks on both sides of each cut.

Doom commands you to melt the butter in a skillet over medium heat and apply the steaks. They must cook for 10-13 minutes depending on thickness. Turn them once in this timespan.

When the steaks are finished, Doom commands you to remove steaks from skillet. Keep the drippings in the skillet, filthy cur.

Doom commands you to add the broth to drippings and scrape up the crusty bits which are delicious. Then you shall add the cream and mustard. Under punishment of disintegration, you will bring to a boil and continue to gently boil for 5 minutes or until sauce has reduced by a 1/2 cup.

Doom permits you to choose the preferred side for the meal. Doom this day has chosen jasmati rice, and he drizzles the sauce upon the steak and rice as he deems proper. Doom also prepares a small loaf of bread with which to sop up the remaining sauce for it is as delectable as Doom's reflection.

Doom commands you to savor. And Doom commands Red Skull's personal herd to get to steppin'.

P.S. Fuck Richards.

Planning Ahead

We're looking at daycare options in both towns. Your Industrious Sister visited one prospect yesterday morning, and I met her to visit the second during my lunch break. That one is a church daycare, which isn't as big a deal for me as it could be. They seem to shy away from religious teaching and focus on manners and maturity. We got a quick walkthrough during their naptime. We saw the kitchen, the playground, the toddler room. The options seemed nice, and it's within two miles of Your Parents' house. That's certainly convenient for me and for them, if they had to fetch him.

In our rushed visit, I asked two questions: Who dispenses medicine (the teachers, according to parent instructions) and how do you punish (with redirection and removal from the specific trouble). This place seemed like a sure thing for us whenever we decide to enroll him. When I got home, Your Exacting Sister said the two other daycares she visited impressed her more. At least one of them is also in Asheville. I don't see that happening this year, but Your Anxious Sister may get the itch to do more school stuff before next fall.

I have mostly fond memories of my daycare days, but the distance from his house and his potential friends may be a problem. He couldn't attend many get-togethers on the weekends. But, as I think of it, I didn't see any of my daycare buddies after hours.

Your Crestfallen Sister is wrestling with the possibility that the mancub now demands more milk than she can produce in one feeding. We're not positive of this, however, and I try to reassure her. His unhappiness after nursing may be due to the new Vitamin D medicine or too much caffeine in her coffee. She took it personally but was buoyed by a handful of M&Ms.

One of the school's science teachers put out a call for lumber. We donated heaps of empty baby-gift boxes to him a few months back, and it seems both materials are going to school garden projects. If we give him the wood taken from our deck as it's remodeled, we could get a tax deduction.

I have reserved a table at next year's Fanaticon. I also have thrown in my hat for the collector card experiment. Convention artists are submitting art for cards that will be distributed throughout the town. I think it sounds cool. I'm excited to do it.

I ran for the first time in a long time. It was a cheat; I only did the military boot camp jog, but I did make it two miles.

Picture of the Day
This meal is getting butter all the time.

An Objective Look

We took advantage of a cooler summer evening to plop the mancub in his stroller and travel the new bike path. The relative quiet gave us a chance to unpack some tensions before a late supper. While Your Organized Sister has managed to keep pace with her teacher workshop material and steer a new AP teacher through the pre-semester jitters, she's still locked in a house with a sporadic eating machine. She gets frayed. And it cycles through me and back to her, and we need to clear the air sometimes. We got that last night. All is good.

She did admit as we collapsed into bed that she hasn't yet told the boy she loves him. She said this with some concern, and I assured her that he has yet to earn it. I was slightly joking. We, of course, still beleive in this experiment, and in many ways he is only a catalyst. We react to what he does, try to find a pattern, and establish schemes to turn off the crying alarm. She has a greater degree of exposure, and she develops the routines, and I maintain them as best I can.

Regardless of the traces of personality we see, he's still a cypher. He speaks a different language. He has no common experience to share. He is need manifest. We can only respond and placate. In other words, there's not a lot to love about this guy yet. We'll get there when he can bring more to the party. We serve parental duties, but I don't feel like a parent yet. A janitor, perhaps.

His gooey eye remains so, and I learned this weekend I had the exact same problem as a baby.

In other news, the school carpentry teacher came by the house. We asked him a few months back about using his students to rebuild our deck. He said it would be no problem. His kids need something to make between housing projects. They'd also like to build a new workshed if we're happy with the deck. Hopefully, this can be done before the annual jack o'lantern party.

Picture of the Day
See, I'm thinking only people who do have dinosaurs need a sign saying so.

On the Road

To celebrate the fifth anniversary of the public wedding, we met up with Travis and Kathy at one of the ice cream stands outside the national forest.

Quick sidebar: Lauren's bachelorette party was almost exactly five years after she helped us throw our wingding.

Bizarre combinations of creams were devoured. Their children were delighted, and we could tell that their parenting styles had loosened with the second daughter. The first child sat on the bench, eating from a cone without spilling a drop. Neat as a pin. The youngest, newest child sat on the table and plastered in chocolate ice cream. Our man-cub stayed in his baby seat atop the table and slept, much to our relief. We met some former students who cooed over him and caught us up on their college plans.

The next morning, we drove to Spartanburg so My Mom could show off the deputy. And she did. The neighbor lady rushed over and didn't even acknowledge me as she scooped him out of my arms. I was a conduit for old-lady glee. We took a bottle with us so Mom could feed him, and she observed my diapering skills. She showed off her new pool, but lingering rain kept us of it. I'm not sure the deputy could handle chlorinated water anyway. We drove home in the afternoon and stopped by the pub for dinner. The car seat does not breathe, and any ride leaves him sweaty and cranky. We soothe him the best we can. Wipes cool him down a bit. Before we got out of the parking garage, we were semi-swarmed by students eager to view the baby. Once inside, the wait staff swarmed to see the baby. Fellow teachers came by and took in the baby. He's quite the conversation piece. I again see why motherhood is an attractive notion to outcast teenage girls: Babies bring the people to you.

We carried him to the store the next day, and his growth was made clear. He's a totally different body in that front carrier now. It's comforting to him to get that proximity, where he usually fidgets and chirps when otherwise held. That contraption is soothing somehow. I talk to him in it constantly so he can feel my conversation through my ribs. I sound like a moron as I move through the store. Again, people set a low orbit around him. He slept as we ate brunch downtown. Even before we began trying for a baby, we agreed that we'd drag a crying child out of a public venue. We see -- and hear, oy -- too many kids allowed to bur themselves out in stores and restaurants, and we shan't have that. Twice he made noise this weekend at restaurants, and we thankfully calmed him down before we needed to remove him. We could finish our meals in peace. Sunday night, he sat on the table again under a tree canopy and dozed while we scarfed bar food. He loves watching outdoor movements. He's also noticing the TV, and who can blame him? It's five times as big as him, and its hi-def. I think our neighbors can watch our TV.

We gave him his first tag team bath that night. We first washed his head at the kitchen sink and then bathed him in a tub seat in her bathroom. He managed it fine until he was out of the water and getting cold. He got lots of parent face time this weekend, and we felt more like adoring parents and less like caretakers and nurses. I'm growing to love him more as he develops a personality. Your Concerned Sister is a mite fearful of his long-off days of riding schoolbuses and facing bullies. I assured her we'll raise him differently than I was; he'll be taught to punch back and shown where to hit when he cannot avoid a bully. If he must go down, he'll go down singing, and I'll gladly tell any tut-tutting principal that he'll do so if no teacher or bus driver can prevent the bullying.

Also Your Squeamish Sister continually asserts that I will talk to the boy about sex, and I contend that getting the female POV will do him good too. I certainly could have used it in my clueless teen years.

Lots of hypotheticals fly around in our house. We hope to prepare ourselves as much as him. But we know we'll get blindsided by something. We gird. We joke. I quietly continue to think I do too little.

Picture of the Day
Oh, hi, America. Welcome to PBS's new show, Freakish Delights of the Netherworld. I'm your host, Donovan Alleyskulker. I'm a wereshark.

Thinning and Weeding and Working

The boy has grown. As I put him on my lap for a feeding, he seemed much heavier and much longer. His proportions are completely off, as if he walked out of a mannerist painting. His torso is about twice as long, and his head seems tiny. His spurt is in full flower. He chirps so much now we call him a mouse droid. Soon, he will be a jawa.

I emailed the derby contact to see what's going on with the logo entry, and she said the logo would soon make the rounds with the team for feedback. I'm content with the confirmation that the logos made it through email.

New webcomics are up here.

Your Relieved Sister presented her workshop yesterday and spent many an hour talking to the teacher now manning her AP class. School starts next week, but the first home football game of the season is tonight. We may drop by the stadium to see the first band performance. She loves watching them. I wasn't in band when I was in school, but the majority of my friends were. I can appreciate watching the performances, but I don't have the same visceral thrill. She's also supporting her former/future students, and I'm for that. When the band held a car-washing fundraiser a few years back, the kids didn't pack any food. This was right outside a local grocery store, and I bought them lunch and snacks so the money they raised wouldn't be split for food costs. I like to think they saw it as indirect help from Your Supportive Sister. To celebrate making it to this side of the workshop, we're hoping to grab ice cream inside the forest. Yes, our trees ooze dairy instead of sap. Children gnaw on the branches like desperate vampires.

The garden is on its last legs. The larger tomatoes are cracking from the excessive rainfall, bu they aren't quite ripe enough to pick. The carrot plants yielded nothing despite my best efforts to keep them separate from the creeping grass. The squash vines withered. The pepper plants, however, may outlive us all, and the cherry tomatoes are turning red. I sincerely have to prevent myself from eating them straight off the vine. I save them for salads and pizza toppings.

Picture of the Day
"And now I shall perform Van Halen's Eruption. You may want to step back."

Right. Star Wars Stuff

Catch them before they're gone.

Here's the newly unveiled scene from Return of the Jedi. As of this morning, this link worked. It's possible the blog-embedding code was deactivated, so here's the direct link.

As promised, here are the Bigg scenes removed from Star Wars.

and

For those of us who bought the official Marvel Comics adaptation after seeing the movie, we knew about this scene.


It was in the comic. So was the Jabba scene with Han. Marvel apparently worked from a script and reference photos of the film prior to the final edit. Also, it seems the reference pictures were black and white. Look at how they colored this rebel trooper.

And Jabba's appearance was apparently made up in Marvel's office. None of the cantina aliens looks like this.


The comics were the only way we kids who lived across town from the movie theatre could relive the film with any degree of fidelity. Seeing a movie more than once in a theatre was, pardon the pun, an alien concept to me.

So we don't leave out Empire, here's a scene cut from that film.

I remember a scene from Return where Jabba made Leia drink from his mug on the barge. That scene was cut before the movie made it to cable and then the networks.

So, So Much.

The first piece of news from this weekend is from Lucasfilm: Star Wars will move to Blu-Ray. Lucas himself says the new format films will be the special editions released in the late '90s. The originals, he said, would cost too much to polish. But, the new versions will include scenes deleted from the theatrical releases, meaning there are bits in these Blu-Rays that we have never seen. Things like this from the beginning of Return:

An unusually brain-taxing day at work left me dead from the neck up, but we began the birthday celebrations with pizza and wings. There must have also been beer because I don't remember much else.

On Saturday, Your Sis arranged for two babysitters for our two planned events. That morning we fled to the Highway 25 to see the earliest showing of Scott Pilgrim. But, first, I had to salvage the garden from a massive thunderstorm. Vines and plants were askew and akimbo and a-fucked up. The ground is saturated to the point the stakes can't stay upright. The garden soil has gone full Dagobah. I fixed what I could before the first sitter arrived. She is a former student of Your Sister's; in fact, she arranged the Voldemort cake. We have the short training lecture down pat and were out the door in a flash.

Your Sis went berzonkers when she saw the Dunkin Donuts near the movie theatre. We hit a lot of them during our Boston trips, and they're coffee won me over to the dark-drink side. We bought our tickets at the theatre and went back to grab coffee and doughnuts. They were snuck in along with our regular movie food. It wasn't difficult at all. I'm not sure the employees cared. Let me establish this now and forever more: Dunkin Donuts is missing a GOLDMINE by not selling inside theatres. It really works with buttered popcorn. Truly, truly decadent. Also the movie was a blast. Your Sister -- who never laughs at comedies -- laughed out loud. See it on a big screen while you can; the box-office was poor. The film ends differently than the comics, but it's not a significant difference.

That evening we jaunted to the Music Center for a live performance of Prairie Home Companion. It was not broadcast, but we assume it was taped. We ordered our seats early to guarantee we would not get lawn seats. We lucked out with those at the last show we went to. Sure enough, as soon as we checked the weather on our superspy phones, the clouds opened up, and it poured for more than an hour. Those with lawn seats had nowhere to go, and many people had no rain provisions. Unlike the radio show, this performance was three hours long, a possibility we warned the second sitter about. We got home before midnight, and I drove her back home. Both sitters said our notes were fine and the baby is cute.

Your Sister felt dizzy Sunday and stayed indoors. I ran the errands and did laundry. I enjoyed the memory of the previous days' coffee and ordered a cuppa from Starbucks. It was not the same. Not even close. I found out that there was a Scott Pilgrim video game from the magical PlayStation 3 servers, and I bought it and played it. It's very fun, and it's designed to look like the late-80s arcade fight games Scott would have grown up playing. It's made for multiple players to play at one time, so we can save you a seat in front of the console when you next visit.

As I tried to hush the house for Your Sleeping Sister, we of course got a phone call. It was the theatre again asking me to join the show. They baited the offer well: I was told they had a one-scene part with a lot of laugh lines. And I was told the theatre knew that I had chosen to "help [Your Sister] to care for the baby." And that's when the sales pitch crashed and burned again. I understand it's a generational thing, but I'm not "helping her" care for the bay. It's our baby. I just as responsible for making sure he doesn't burst into flames. This isn't a hobby I'm encouraging her in. It;s our child-ling. It's my fucking son. So now, I shan't prance about at the legion hall while Your Sister loses more sleep and decent eating habits. I hope this will be the last call on this matter.

I restored the garden after the previous evening's storm. We sat down to watch the ultimate cut of Watchmen, and we gave up with about an hour to go. It's a long, long version, superior to the theatrical version, but when the boy goes to sleep at night, we do too. We get our sleep while we can.

This morning, I again had to fix the garden after another storm. We're supposed to be drenched all week.