Melting, Melting.

The twin influences of home ownership dignity and property values demanded that I mow the lawn this weekend despite temperatures ranging into the millions. It was murder. I know I lost weight by the gallon. I had to take the weed-eater to the garden again, and, had the plants been further apart, I would have used the lawnmower. I hope to yank up potatoes today and ready the soil for planting more squash. The first batch of vines was pretty much a failure.

Instead of taking, say, a 13-year-old neighbor to see Captain America, I took Your Sister. We loved it. Loved it. It's a fun adventure film with great one-liners. I wrote about it in the new Bossk Office. It made me want to see Thor immediately. Next year looks to be huge for comic movies. Our babysitter is the sister to my movie-buddy, and I let her know I could take him within a few weeks if he needed a ride.

I stopped in at the local comic store and talked to the store owner about our newspaper page. He's gotten some business out of it and sold some of my books.

I've started shopping for PS3 mics and figuring out how to activate the chat option. I think it's done through the PS Home feature. It seems to be a mild version of Second Life. You can find me as heygregory on the PS servers. Currently I play around 11 pm as Your Sister begins her mysterious nighttime rituals. I'm probably 2 hours away from finishing Infamous2. I'm playing as a hero, and I'll immediately restart it as a villain so I can target street performers.

Picture of the Day
A photo from this weekend's Comicon.

Star Wars Blu-Ray Preview

We'll get the first three films for sure, probably not the prequels.

System Addendum

I popped into Gamestop during lunch and spotted this, a Wii controller designed like the XBox/PS3 versions:

I suppose this means you needn't disqualify Wii as an option. However, this contraption looks flimsy, and I can't vouch for the number of games it might work with. I'd still look to the other systems.

A used PS3 starts at $249; a used XBox runs $149. Depending on what comparable video services you get through your laptop, the PS3 price may be worth it.

Busted

"Oh, just traipse down to Blockbuster and rent a game system."

Or maybe you live in a town, as I do, that just lost its Blockbuster. I'm saddened. I relied on the Buster of Blocks weekly in my high-school days (for movies my parents would/will never approve), and it served me well through my 20s and even after I married into your family. We hadn't stepped foot in our local store in maybe two years as we took advantage of the satellite dish's recorder and on-demand movie service, but still, it was a comforting presence. If the internets collapsed, we could always rent a DVD. No longer.

Just last week, I bought my first DVD in a year. Barnes & Noble had a Criterion DVD sale, and I got a copy of Naked Lunch for $20. I talked it up back in January. I specifically got it for the director/actor commentary, and it may be months before I can crack it open. It'll play in the background as I work on the next comic.

And on my lunch break, I noticed the Tunnel Road Blockbuster is also closed.

Hey, if there's a GameStop in town, you might be able to buy a used system for a song. They can also hook you up with all the equipment you might need.

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Here's Entertainment Weekly's first look at the new Spider-Man and Gwen Stacy. They look the part, gotta say. Not sure we need another origin retelling for Spidey though.

Let's Talk Game Systems

If you're looking for a game system to build eye-hand coordination, X-Box or PlayStation are your options. The Nintendo Wii is a motion controller with some buttons. It's a wand. Both X-Box and PlayStation offer body-motion control systems, but they also have the multi-button controllers too.

There are 12 buttons and two control sticks on their current controllers. You can swivel the sticks with your thumbs, and they also depress as a control option. There are wireless versions that provide vibrating feedback which parallels game action. The controllers recharge via USB connections to the systems. Here, the systems are equal.

So let's say you buy the system I have, the PS3. In addition to the eye-hand development, the system will connect online to allow Internet browsing and Netflix streaming. The PS3 is designed to be an all-in-one, providing photo, audio, and video playback on your TV. You can jack your laptop to it and stream your files. It's swank.

But to take advantage of the eye/hand development, you'll need to pick the big games, the biggest franchises in a variety of genres: sports, first-person shootes, role-playing, etc.

I recommend three games right now: Red Dead Redemption (a cowboy game), Uncharted 2 (an Indiana Jones adventure type, and I recommend this one for the humor and variety) and InFamous2 (a superhero game). These games make you use as many as four buttons at one time, meaning your thumbs and index fingers will be in play in various combinations within seconds of each other. This builds up your skills the most.

Almost any game offers a control tutorial to get you started so you could walk into any game with no previous controller experience and be fine. You'll go from random button-mashing to specific finger combinations within minutes, and you won't even look at your hands within half an hour. We had fun with Katamari Damacy, and that game also offers multi-button control but not on the split-second control change like the three games I mentioned above. You can download free demos through the PS3 and rent games from local outlets including, probably, the closest grocery store.

So, you gots options. Let's start from here.

+  +  +

The boy is back at daycare, and his extended time away did him no favors. He was quiet and nervous as we walked in the door and a crying wreck before I left. It's not easy, but I think I honestly can weather this better than Your Sister. She's still new at leaving him, and she hasn't dropped him off at daycare. She's at work today for a full-day school meeting.

Picture of the Day
My Buddy.
My Buddy.
My Buddy and me!

We Said No. No, We Said.

The boy has taken a decidedly obstinate turn, and we're playing the heavies. As a symptom of his daycare experience, he know think everything of interest can be grabbed and clutched. Getting a valuable item back from him is like yanking it from a lion's jaw, and he melts down when it's taken away. We try to distract him by pointing out the half-dozen geegaws he can play with, but the shrieking continues. This is pouting, and I'll only tolerate the silent version. Shrieking is verboten. Your Sister administered her first spanking last night when he stood up in the tub. I think I spanked him some months back to shock him out of a crying fit.

I missed the bath smack as I was watching Transformers 3, a film that exists for one technically astounding siege of Chicago that lasts one hour. Unfortunately, you have to sit through almost 90 minutes of inexcusable mugging and mindless plots to get there. The kid liked it, and I might have a movie date for Captain America. There's a cool revision of the Apollo moon missions involving talking robots, and I wondered what the Apollo astronauts might think of this. About an hour later, onto the screen walks Buzz Aldrin, the second moon walker. Good for him for getting a movie paycheck and a shout-out from Optimus Prime. That may have done more for NASA's cool factor than the last three shuttle launches.

Your Sis took the sidekick back to the doctor to confirm the hallelujah rash is just that. And he did. This means she can go back to daycare. Also, he isn't going to keel over at any moment, which is also good.

My eyes feel better, not so tender at the periphery. My stomach is a ruin after two consecutive nights of event food.

Picture of the Day
We're Facebook famous in a unidentified, regional, sport-specific manner. I mentioned derby to the movie buddy, and he said he was dying to go. I want to encourage his interest, but I don't want to expand our partnership much farther. I can be his friend, but I can't be his best friend.

This Post Ends With a Picture of a Fake Horse

Thanks to Groupon, I have a fat bargain for an Asheville t-shirt shop. This shop has a good variety of graphics and shirt styles but -- but -- they have a strong deal for custom jobs. I can give them a graphic I made and get it professionally screened for a good price after the coupon is applied. I'm thinking of making a SCRAP League shirt.

I dropped off the boy at daycare, and he didn't seem at all rattled until I started to leave. I tried the toy-distraction trick and almost made it out of the room, but he spied me and fell apart. I had to take my leave as he was scooped up by an attendant and comforted. I was assured he'd be fine before I got back to the car. Still. It will be a relief when he gets past this.

The reporter contacted me to send him graphics for the article, and I now wonder how big this "sidebar" is gonna be. This might be a below-the-fold article on the front of the second section.

Your Sister and I watched an episode of the old Batman TV show which for many legal stupidities may never get on DVD. It was a Newmar Catwoman episode, and it was awfully awful. The best joke fell as Batman and Robin were tied to giant outdoor grills and smothered in oil

Robin: Holy oleo!
Catwoman: I didn't know you could yodel.

We probably won't watch the second show we recorded.

Picture of the Day
This is your mission should you choose to accept it.

The Good Guys Win

The Brazil-USA soccer game may be the most astounding bit of sports I've ever seen. If you get a chance to watch it, do. Listen to the crowd become rabidly pro-US as Brazil stoops to blatant clock-killing theatrics. One gets the feeling that even if the US loses the semifinal game Wednesday, this victory is so dramatic, so good, that the team can be satisfied with this World Cup experience.

I don't know why it rattles me to see Hope Solo wearing so much make-up to play. I like to think it's warpaint.Otherwise, I feel like a scolding prude to tsk-tsk. I'm too young to start wagging a finger, and the majority of my brain doesn't understand where that annoyance springs from.

The sidekick has learned to stand by himself, and we of course assume he gleaned it at daycare. He also has become very clingy to me, and I'll bet money it's because I'm the one to "rescue" him from daycare. He now associates me with comfort. I'm OK with it. I scoop him up. He bounces in my arms. I ask him where a certain toy is, and he points to it and wants to play. Down he goes, and he's content for ten minutes or so. As he's aging, he's becoming much more self-sufficient for playtime.

The Saturday paper interview went very well, and the only way I can look badly upon it is if the interview makes me look like a schmo. We talked comics and papers for a few hours. The reporter used to read comics, and he has boxes of toys tucked away somewhere, waiting for a proper display place. He took photos of me inking a page from the eMMA comic and mentioned he might call to follow-up on quotes and questions we didn't get around to. We both arrived at the same conclusion: If you have the Internet and a way to put your work online, you are a comic publisher. I, who sell my books online and in stores, am a comic publisher. Any kid in Brevard can do this. You no longer need a print shop or the "proper" equipment. Draw it, scan it, link it = You're publishing.

The only hiccup for the interview was my failure to get a haircut beforehand. I went to the barbershop just after they opened, and it was already packed with tourists/camp workers. Also, one of the barbers went on vacation. After an hour, I had to go back home to wait for the reporter. I currently sport a pelt on my head, and I am not happy. I also had a bad experience at the grocery store with a rude shopper. Either he's an out-of-towner who thinks the townies are idiots, or he's a fellow townie who assumes anyone in his way is a tourist. Judging by the larger crowds everywhere, this weekend marks the arrival of the new folks. Suddenly, there's nowhere to park, and the lines are longer.

+  +  +

My tomatoes are finally coming in, and I picked a few cherry tomatoes. Hokey smoke are they tomato-ey. They taste like four tomatoes in one skin. Your Sister requested I make more mashed potatoes from our garden pluckings, and I'm all for that.

Picture of the Day
Saturn is suddenly sporting a storm so big that it wraps around the upper hemisphere. I'm sure it's a forest fire set by illegals.

Media Exposure

I'm going to be in the local paper again.

A reporter contacted about my unofficial station as the local comic artist. It's a sidebar for an article on the new comic store. The reporter found out about me via the minicomics on sale there, and I wouldn't be surprised if the store owner mentioned me by name. He's good like that. We set up an appointment for Saturday morning in my workshop. I told him about the article I wrote about myself for the Asheville convention; that should give him a strong base for our chat. I'll need to take down the nude fashion photos from the bulletin board lest they appear in the background of my portrait. That would make the average reader catch the vapors.

+  +  + 

The sidekick stays home today, and it appears he was losing the novelty of daycare. He lost composure as I dropped him off and picked him up yesterday, and we had to pull over as we left Asheville so he could collect himself enough to sleep. Your Sis hopes to wear him out enough today that he sleeps through the night again.

+  +  + 

The plentiful rain has inspired the pumpkin seeds to sprout already. They were put in the ground just under a week ago. The pea vines -- if they are pea vines and not an alien maneater with a flair for Motown -- are standing by themselves.

Picture of the Day
The last shuttle mission may begin today, weather permitting. The crew is limited to four people as that's how many can fit in a Syouz capsule docked at the space station if the shuttle is damaged in liftoff. I remember the shuttles debuts and, of course, the loss of two over the years. I think we'll have to rely on private enterprise to have a regular space program again, and that presents some interesting questions about ownership of extra-planetary territories when Richard Branson's ships land on the moon. Or Mars.
 

A Rough Adjustment

Your Sister remains an emotional shambles.

The sidekick, by all accounts, did just fine yesterday. I heard nothing from the daycare, suggesting all was well. She called me about an hour after I dropped him off, and I walked her through the morning. I arrived there again after work and turned a corner to find him in the large communal room connecting the classrooms. I saw him before he saw me, and he was playing with a ball. He seemed fine. I called his name, and we caught eyes, and his face slowly fell into an exhausted cry. I scooped him up, and he hugged me back (a new trick of his), and he was bouncing and laughing within seconds. One of the minders equated his reaction to the emotional release of seeing someone after their plane lands.

We got him home and fed him and bathed him, and she tucked him in, and he was out by eight. But she was wobbly. She had called the daycare around 4 to get the skinny, unable to wait until I got home to hear how he did. She broke down a few times during the evening in what can only be called despair.

I feel responsible for this. Whatever the truth is, I think I talked her into having a child in hopes that he would provide the kind of love that I can't. I am too separated -- filtered maybe -- from the world, and that makes me seem aloof. Even dickish. I was sure that a child we raised would be directed away from that kind of reflex, and so far it's worked. But I should have realized that I also introduced her to someone who could break her heart. That's what's happening. Her heart is breaking as he goes off, hereafter interacting with her in a much smaller daily window. I felt this months ago when I realized that I also would only be with him for maybe 90 minutes a day. But again, this is what's good for him. He has to go out into the world and learn how it works so he can conquer it when he's ready. If we wanted to coop up an object of love, we should have bought a bird. I think she'll be OK in a few weeks.

He awoke around 10:30 in a hellacious fit. He was wired, he was screaming, he was inconsolable. We suspect it was gas. I was able to calm him down by letting him play in the crib, and he was out cold a half hour later. I suppose he was processing the day in addition to his upset stomach. It was the closest to colic that he's experienced in months.

This morning, I again dropped him off with little fuss. I noticed that he was playing with a Sesame Street toy there last week. It plays a snippet of Cookie Monster's 'C is for Cookie' song. This morning over breakfast, I sang him that same snippet. He looked at me with a mix of surprise and confusion; maybe he holds the home and daycare worlds that distinctly. When we got there this morning, he hovered close to me until I walked him to that toy and played him that snippet. He was engrossed in it as I left, and I felt relief that it had gone well. I have to believe the drop-off will only get easier over time. He'll go again tomorrow and stay home Friday. I hope Your Sister is comforted by his ability to handle that new place and its social packs. He's learning. That's what we want for him.

Oh, hey, guess what happens the weekend you visit? MUTHAFUCKIN' ROLLER DERBY! You're welcome to come along. We might have a small gang meeting up.

Picture of the Day
See you in a few hours, sidekick.

Off He Goes

The boy is now at daycare for his first full day. Your Sister was a wreck last night. She knew this was coming, and we visited the daycare a few times to prepare him and us. But they've been a binary pair for a year now, and she put her career on hold to raise him. He gave her a new identity, and that's changing as of today.

I tried to assure her. I reminded her this was our plan all along, that we chose this daycare above the others, that we are lucky to have a child that has the development that allows daycare to be an option, that he isn't going to camp or war. It's a daytime teaching center, and we're advocates of public education. This is good for him. This is the best program we can give him. I'm a daycare baby, and if I can grow up to find a gal like Your Sister momentarily addled enough to marry me, then maybe daycare ain't so bad.

Then again, I've been leaving him behind every work day for a year now. This is her first shot at it. Yeah, she left him with family as she ran errands or attended workshops. But now he's just down the road from me, and, emotionally for her, he might as well be in Swaziland. She's visiting with a college buddy today, and that will distract her.

She called me about an hour after I got to work to hear how his arrival went. He seemed mostly OK. It's been almost a whole week of new people and places, and he's processing it all. He had bad dreams the last few nights, but a drink of water and a cuddle puts him right out in a few minutes. Turns out a drink of water in the middle of the night really does work for kids. Also he has a new truck toy to obsess over, and he's already making engine noises with his mouth. That seems like the play of an older kid.

Our Sister-In-Law was shocked and dismayed that we didn't prepare a small cake for the sidekick to demolish on his first birthday. I'd even say she was horrified. She explained to the other party folks that you're supposed to make such a cake and videotape the cake violence so you can watch it over and over. But we don't do that. As you saw at his birth, we'd rather experience the moment instead of stepping back to document it. That's our parental style. But we do appreicate her taking so many pictures during the party. We took none. We were busying hosting or baby chasing.

And now, of course, he's baptized and officially dedicated to a Christian life, and this was her hope and choice. I wasn't consulted. I don't object; it's for her benefit, and I'm for making her happy. You can't expect a baby to commit to anything other than mashed bananas, I'd argue, and as long as he isn't subjected to the spiritual browbeating and mental discouragement that I grew up with in a church, I have no problem with this. But the first time I hear he has to convince himself he's no good and inherently damaged, I'm yanking him out of there.

In other news, I yanked up some potatoes Saturday morning. We got 20 from five plants, and two were chucked for suspect bug holes. I planted pumpkin where some potato stalks stood. I think we're gonna get a heap of tomatoes ripening at one time.  

Picture of the Day
I need to relax. I'll unwind with some caffeine.

Further Exposure

The second visit I made with the sidekick to the daycare was good and bad. 'Good' in that the awful nose gunk had vanished from the other kids. 'Bad' in that the boy got upset, and we could only remain hidden, allowing the sitters to settle him down. He was doing well for a time; he continues to sit with a book or toy and entertain himself. I'm fine with that. He's an only child. He has limited social time, and we've steered him toward solitary amusements.

I think this is healthy. I think it fosters independence. I learned it when I was young, and it makes me compatible with Your Sister. Not only can we occupy ourselves while sharing a room, but it means we can make use of personal downtime with a variety of options. We don't get bored. We don't demand to be entertained or attended to.

They were able to distract him from his tears, settling him with a toy or song. That's the real secret to comforting a baby: distraction. It also works for saying 'no.' If he wants to play with some restricted item, saying 'no' and changing the subject keeps him from fighting the instruction. We set him down and stayed out of eyesight while we chatted with the sitters (attendants? baby monitors?). He's the new kid in the group, and he has to learn the pack rules. There's a kid who commandeers toys at will, causing tears and wailing. I don't like him. There's also a girl who's fighting to be the alpha of the bunch. We hope we've taught him to be resilient as the relationships sort themselves out.We left after about half an hour. On Tuesday, I'll take him for a full day, and he'll go three days consecutively each week until Your Sister goes back to school in August. I still remember my pre-kindergarten days. I loved the daycare I was in. I hope he grows to enjoy this place.

+  +  +

We found a zucchini in the garden, suddenly full and ripe, and Your Sister deemed it ready to eat. She plucked it while offering a new schedule for grabbing the gourds. I disagreed, and she persisted, so I decreed she would now be responsible for squash harvesting. I'll mind the 'maters and taters.

+  +  +

The usual juggling of notions has begun as family comes into the area for the weekend. We might entertain the nieces Saturday but going to Asheville for a group supper is almost impossible given the sidekick's bedtime. Your Sister feels the pinch of clashing schedules. I'm on the periphery of this. I go where she points. We'll recover Monday with a mutual holiday.

Picture of the Day
Sean Connery will not sell your wares.

Gooey

The sidekick again visited the daycare, and this was the first time I was with him. My God. All those kids have noses running with various colored goo. I want to boil myself. The boy seemed just fine. We sat him down in the common area for his age group, and he started playing with this toy and that toy. The other kids were squabbling over their toys, and our guy looked ten times smarter for avoiding the pack. I want him eventually to be social with them, and he might be once we're not hovering over him. He can ease his way into the group. That's fine.

I was invited to sit among the kids, and I found a chair in the corner. The kids eyed me up for a few minutes, and some went back to their toys. I saw some books on the floor and showed them to Parker, asking silently if he wanted one. He decided to play instead with the toy vacuum. Another kid, the lone girl, picked up a book, walked up to me, and held up her arms in the universal "pick me up" gesture. I heaved her up and sat her on my leg and read her a book. She would stare at my face and then back at the book. We finished the book, and she walked off to get another one and came back to return to her roost. We went through about four, and her patience shortened with each book. Eventually she walked off. The novelty was over. Another kid started to walk over, but he had some foul gunk coming out of his nose, and I shuffled away to the other side of the room.

The attendants seemed in control and patient, but I felt those pangs that plague Your Sister: We should keep him home. We should never let him out into the world. I squashed those quickly. He can't conquer the world from our cocoon.She again mentioned her hesitance to send him to daycare full time, and I asked what kind of public-education advocated we'd be if we kept our kid at home.

But those icky noses gave me the creeps.I think I caught the bug he had last Friday. I'm flooding my system with Vitamin C and Ricola. Yesterday's vaccinations don't seem to have affected him.

Picture of the Day 
Ah, I see.

Check Up

The sidekick had his one-year checkup, complete with five vaccinations in preparation for daycare. He's completely normal if a little under the curve in weight. Your Sis is afraid we're underfeeding him, but he knows how to ask for food and doesn't get desperate for snacks. I think he's eating fine. We gave him a little more to help him sleep. The doctor says he's just perfect. He visited the daycare and attended a swim class, so, yes, he slept through the night. He slept like the dead. He even slept though a diaper change.

It's a horrible feeling to go to bed anxious that he'll wake up, screaming and inconsolable. Every movement and noise he makes jolt me awake. Your Sister dives straight into sleep while she can. I never picked up that talent. Before we married, I would go to sleep listening to the radio. Your Sister can't sleep that way, and I acquiesced, and I still occasionally get distracted by branches on the siding and the house settling. The boy doesn't share this problem. He doesn't seem to associate our walking noises with our proximity, if he hears them at all, nor does he get rattled by weather noises or the house settling. He is his mother's son.

Another fucking hailstorm gave my potato plants the business, and I had to bolster a few with stakes and string. I think I'll have to yank up the taters this weekend before the big baptism party. That will give me space to plant some late-season stuff, like pumpkin.

Picture of the Day
Seacrest out.

Things Was Did

The deputy visited his daycare-to-be Friday and immediately picked up whatever nose-flood bug the kids had. He was cranky with the babysitter that night and has slept poorly this weekend. Lovely. We knew daycare would expose him to everything in hopes it would strengthen his immune system. I had hoped, though, that the exposure would be more gentle and less goo-inducing.

We hired a sitter to attend an anniversary party for Travis and Kathy. It was at a German restaurant, and I of course ate American food. They had a deal on steak. and I pounced on it. We haven't had red meat in the house for almost a month as part of our communal diet. It's worked; Your Sister's pre-pregnancy clothes wear baggy on her now. During appetizers, we ordered at the bar, and I had my first Manhattan. I blamed the order on reading Esquire all these years. It's a nice drink; I see why it's a classic.

I sat with an acquaintance I met through Travis -- a guy we see maybe once every two years -- and we discovered that I had seen him in a production of Little Shop of Horrors while I was at my first college. He acted alongside my girlfriend at the time, the woman who became my first wife, and we exchanged notes on her stagecraft. We both remembered that particular performance because, at her request despite his reservations, he slapped the crap out of her onstage. I jumped in my seat. He was apologetic about the moment during our meal, and I assured him I knew she would request that, and I myself was likewise clobbered onstage around the same time in a Look Homeward Angel scene with another actress. We debated ways the local theatre group could reverse its fortunes, and how we'd run a theatre. We also talked genre shows and Def Leppard. A fine time, as you can imagine.

On Saturday, Your Sister shopped for baby stuff with Your Mom while I tended to the garden and ran. That afternoon, I took a friend's son to see Green Lantern (a solid C+ production; bad pacing, odd story movement, and a hanging subplot that demanded closure in such a boys film). He was wild about the trailer for the new Transformers movie, and I offered to take him to that if he couldn't get a movie date otherwise. I was worried about how we'd relate. We may have said ten words to each other prior to this. But we talked the whole drive home about the film we just saw and the ones he wants to see, including Captain America. He was jazzed after seeing GL; it was exactly what he wanted.

This might become a regular thing during the summer if not longer. We seem to be bonding over video games and comics, and movies, proving that Your Sister married a sorry manchild. He and his sister were done dirty by their fucktard father, and their mom is worried about his continuing response to an ugly divorce. She jumped at the chance to get him out of the house with what can only charitably be called a good role model.

It may be the cold, but the deputy is wolfing down more food than normal. He practically ate all her rice at the Mexican restaurant yesterday. He's only run into one food he didn't like, and those green beans may have been cooked wrong. He got a rocking horse and a new bear for his birthday, but the cold seems to have sapped his curiosity for either.

Because of Murphy's Law, my garden is a fantastic grass orchard and a middling veggie plot.  I had to use a weedeater to cut the grass back so I could merely see the squash plants. I also forgot a pen in my jeans pocket and ruined a load of laundry. Virtually all the affected clothes were mine.

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Protect me, Mister Lion Action Pants!

Retelling Retailing

I wonder sometimes if I'm ignored by so many store associates because they consider me too old to shop there. I hovered in American Eagle for about ten minutes, scouring the shelves for a shirt I saw on a mannequin. Finding only the one of those shirts in XXL (which I could use as a bedspread), I scanned the barcode with my scifi-future-magic phone and took pictures of the sales tag to track it down on the store's website. I can't believe none of the three associates who I spied failed to notice me.

When I worked retail, and granted this was literally decades ago, I preferred to help this kind of shopper -- someone who was actively, if not aggressively, looking. They were engaged. They knew what they wanted. They were the highlight of my dreary day, and the nightmare was type of shopper who walks into my department and stops dead still, staring blankly at the back wall of the store as if God will use the Force to levitate what they want through the very air and at their feet. That guy only knows what he doesn't want and can in no way articulate what they came to buy. That guy will devour hours of your time and complain the whole time.

I bought a similar shirt in a different color when I remembered I already had a blue striped shirt from AE. And much to my surprise I bought it a size smaller than I expected. I tried on a medium and a small, and the small is the better fit. Men's clothes used to be reliably consistent. Now I gotta treat every item of clothing like jeans.

Still, I got a shirt that looks decent during my lunch break. I think I shopped well.

  +   +   +

My Mom watched the sidekick yesterday, and today he is visiting the daycare for a few hours. He failed to sleep through the night, and he was oddly difficult to put down after supper. Maybe his system's still frizzed from cold medication.

  +   +   +

Your Sister and a coworker volunteered me to take her son to see Green Lantern this weekend. He's apparently dying to see it. I asked this morning if it's OK to catch a 2D viewing, and he said he wouldn't care. Good. I can't see the 3D stuff. To me, it looks like the last ten minutes of 2001.

  +   +   +

Your Sister is dismayed to learn that the transfer of power at the school is a muddle. She was asked to coordinate schedules for next year by the outgoing principal. Not only can't schedules be made until the school hires replacement teachers, she's not the person who should be doing this; the current department chair is. And the outgoing principal will have no oversight on whatever schedule is made. We suspect he asked Your Sister because she happened to be at the school yesterday, and making the request allowed him to check an item off his out-the-door to-do list. She's meeting Sunday with some teachers to straighten this mess out.

Moving Picture of the Day
The new trailer for the Captain America movie. It continues to look a little flat -- as in "those sets look like backlots" -- but the low-budget retro style harkens back to Rocketeer and Raiders of the Lost Ark. Hopefully it won't be as middling as The Shadow and Phantom. Those films couldn't elevate themselves beyond the stifling doldrums of b-movie cliches. I think Marvel will be happy if it makes $70 million, just as long as it properly prepares audiences for next year's giant Avengers film.

Evolving Plans

He slept through the night. We're too exhausted to jump for joy. I suspect he tried to milk our willingness to attend to him in the night. We ran to the crib during his cold, but we slowly pulled back from that so he'd relearn to put himself back to sleep. It seems to have taken.

Your Sister decided to introduce him to daycare at a slower pace. Starting in a few weeks, he'll go three days a week instead of the five we agreed upon. She says he wants to enjoy the time with him before she goes back to work. He has been her primary (and secondary and tertiary and, um, fourth-erary) concern for a year now, and it's gotta be a hard habit to break. From a pragmatic POV, this affects me not. I'm at the office whether he's at home or in daycare. I have no reason to object to her schedule alterations. Also, come on, Your Sister makes about nine schedules and then changes them all before the big event, whatever it is. I think she proposed four snack options last night in a ten-minute period. I just answer "OK" and wait for the next change. This may be the secret of husbandry: Be a flow-goer.

The grandmothers are watching him on consecutive days to allow Your Sis to get some yardwork done. Although I dunno how much she can do during all this rain. I worry that the nationwide bee disease has hit our garden; the squash plants have not turned from blossoms to gourds yet. Although the tomatoes flowers have changed to cheery sprouts.

Picture of the Day
I usually never notice grafitti, but this is nice.

New Digs

The new Heygregory.com is active.

I adore GoDaddy's tech support (a top-quality service in no way mentioned in the cheesecake ads), but the very limited web-building software made updating my site a chore. A big chore. A chorezilla. So it's gone.

Hopefully the new site will spur more sketching. I've noticed a number of comic people have gone this route for their sites, and it makes all kinds of sense. Your Sister noted how bizarre it is to now live in a world where websites -- distinct from blogs -- are considered obsolete. GoDaddy is probably great for big businesses, but for me and my modest product field, it doesn't make financial or practical sense to invest in a giant web presence like they offer. Also, because of GoDaddy's weak folder and shop systems, I was driven to Flickr and PayPal for the crucial elements of my website.

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Again, the sidekick didn't make it through the night. He clearly has the all-or-nothing sleep cycle of a sick kid. I got him at midnight, and he was oddly quiet, with eyes wide open and body still, before shutting down completely within minutes. He switched off. Powered down. Out out out.

He's gotten so cocky about walking that he's pushing himself into running, and he's falling. He busted his gums yesterday on a faceplant. He bled and cried for ten minutes and then ran off, forgetting that anything happened. 

Picture of the Day

Helen Mirren in a championship belt. Wowsers. It's eMMA in 40 years.

Reaping What Was Sown

The fever broke, and the boy seems to have avoided hand-and-mouth. He has a sore throat made obvious by coughing and some difficulty eating, and we continue with Tylenol and ice water. He didn't sleep through the night, but it was a much better block of hours than Sunday night. I like to think he fought off a worse infection due to his homebrewed diet, but I don't know what the other kids are eating. Maybe I just want some credit for his immune system, ironic considering I was convinced last year that my inherited immune system would practically cripple him.

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I made a simple support fence for the pea vines (a term my inner fourth-grader continues to laugh at). It's made of six-foot tomato stakes and string running horizontally and vertically. It's not pretty, but I can bolster the fencing if the vines need a sturdier scaffold. The squash plants have not yet sprouted gourds, and I suspect the continuing nationwide bee disease has affected our garden.The tomato plants look OK, so I dunno. There's still time to plant more squash plants before fall's frost is a factor.

Picture of the Day

My grandfather's work was doo-doo!

A Wobbly Weekend

The boy may have picked up the hand and foot and mouth virus. A playmate was diagnosed with it last week only after they had rendezvoused. He hasn't developed the tell-tale hand and mouth blisters yet, so he may have only a cold. Or the signs may emerge within the next few days. Either way, he has a moderate fever (101-104), and he didn't sleep last night, and we are the walking dead. We gave him baby Tylenol and called the local nurse hotline. We were told to continue what we were doing and take him into a doctor only if he didn't develop new symptoms. When I cuddled him at 3 am, he didn't fell like the ball of fire he had on Sunday, so I'm thinking the fever is gone. I took some Vitamin C when my throat got scratchy, but that may have been psychosomatic.

We didn't know he was developing a cold/virus earlier in the weekend. He got a babysitter Friday night while we met up with some English teacherfolk, and we drove to a nearby-ish celebrity-animal zoo Saturday. He took it mostly in stride, panicking slightly when some animals got a bit close (a goat licked his foot). He seemed most taken with the occasional truck that zoomed by. The heat and travel zapped him, and we left before trying the safari bus ride. Just as well, I think; a mob of screaming kids in a hot bus surrounded by water buffalo might have been a disaster. He'll get more out of the zoo as he gets older. I didn't see any elephants, but we did hear the lion roar.

We got home just in time to meet the local crew pressure wash the house. I've felt crummy for not keeping the siding clean, and Your Sister hired them as an early Father's Day present.

My first Father's Day was low key as we watched the boy and stayed indoors. I've started a daily sketch exercise, and I'll use those scans to fuel a new version of the website. I'm going to move it to a blog on this service, as I've seen other artists do, and that will encourage me to make with the scratchings and more easily maintain online updates and art stuff. I'll link to the new site when it's active.

Picture of the Day
Brush brush brush.