Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Motivational Items

We have found a new way to motivate our youngest son, Jonah. He has become enamored, enflamed and engulfed by an obsession for bakugan. They are toys! It’s a game! It’s a TV show!

Bakugan! Are! Life!

Duh.

Of course, what bakugan really are, is pretty clever marketing and product scheme. In the grand tradition of trading cards and Pokemon, they are never ending. You can never have enough bakugan toys and cards. You keep buying and collecting the little doo-dads and trading with your friends, until you or your parents run out of money. Or you have a giant fight with your friends because of unfair, disproportionate trading practices. It’s annoying and genius at the same time; genius, because the bakugan folks have to be making bank on this junk and annoying because you didn’t think of it first.

Anyway, the boy loves them.

Loves. Them.

Naturally, as parents we are using this to our advantage. I went to Wal-Mart and bought a few of them (they are actually quite expensive, in my opinion, given what you are buying, essentially a playing card and a plastic toy; about $7 apiece, totally outrageous) and have been doling them out to him, based on an arcane reward system that only I really understand.

Do all your homework for a week or so and turn it in? You can look at the unopened package of bakugan.

Put the clean dishes in the dishwasher away in the cupboards? You may hold an unopened package.

Change the oil in the Jetta? Get a bakugan.

Name all the U.S. states and their capitals? Whoops that wasn’t on the list, sorry, but now you know the capital of Kansas! Cool, huh?

Brush your teeth every night and morning? Maybe. Keep brushing, we’ll see after your next dentist appointment.

The best thing about bakugan, though? Cartoon Network airs the program at 7:30 every weekday morning. So Jonah gets up early and gets himself ready, so he can watch his show, unencumbered by parental pestering to “get out of bed, already!” It’s astonishing how motivated he is, really. And since I have the joy of getting the two smaller children up and out the door, I’ve been the unexpected recipient of this boon.

Reha: So, bakugan. Wow.

Me: I know! Crazy. Love the bakugan! W00t!

Reha: Bakugan have to be the best thing ever to come into your life, huh?

Me: Of course not. You are the best thing to ever land in my life.

Reha: Close second, though?

Me: Nipping at your heels, babe.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Partners

“You OK? You look tense. Are you ready for this?”

“OK. I can do this. I am ready. I’m prepared. Why am I so nervous, though? I’ve done this before. Gah! But I think I’m going to die. My chest feels tight. I can’t breathe. Oh man, I’m dizzy all of a sudden. I need to sit down for a minute.”

“That just means the medicine is working!”

“What?”

“It means the medicine is starting to work.”

“Medicine? What medicine? I haven’t taken anything!”

“I slipped a little something into your beverage there. You should feel tranquil and mellow and ready for anything. Any minute now. And if you start seeing floaters or tracers or the lamps get all wiggly, I put in the wrong stuff, but I’m pretty sure I gave you the relax-y stuff.”

“What?! Why did you do that? This is possibly the most important presentation of my life! Our lives. We need them to sign the contracts! You drugged me? No wonder I can’t stand up.”

“‘I drugged you.’ Jeez. You make it sound like I’ve poisoned you. Lighten up. It was just one pill. You are such a drama mama sometimes. I know how nervous you get for these things. I just wanted to help you get a little more calm.”

“By doping me into insensibility?”

“No! Of course not. Though you may feel a bit light headed. And try to walk sideways. And think dogs can talk. For a little while. No big deal. That part will wear off by the time we get to the meeting. Probably. How much do you weigh? You know what? Never mind. You’ll be feeling great when we get over there. Primed and loose and ready to close the deal! You’re the MAN!”

“My lips are going numb.”

“Hm. I seriously doubt that.”

“Dey ar num, I’b delling dew! I can’b feeb my dongue eider!”

“You have got to relax. Take a deep breath. There is no way your face is going numb. There. You felt that slap, didn’t you? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Ow! Your hands are in your pockets.”

“See! You’re fine. Totally fine.”

“What did you put in my drink?”

“Nothing.”

“You didn’t drug me?”

“No, of course not. That would be unethical. And considering what I have in my medicine cabinet, highly illegal.”

“So there wasn’t anything in my Diet Coke?”

“Nope. Just all the normal chemicals that are usually in a Diet Coke. But don’t you feel better now? Relieved? Maybe, dare I say it… more relaxed?”

“Do I look relaxed now?”

“No, not at all. You look like at any second like you might split open and bats will start flying out of you.”

“Right.”

“Giant bats. Hairy flying rats, cascading out of your torso. Dripping a filthy mixture of blood and saliva from their deadly sharp fangs.”

“Thanks for that.”

“You know, I think you need a special permit to keep exotic pets like bats within the city limits. You don’t have a permit, do you? You could get arrested for that. Unlicensed bat keeping and because in about 10 minutes you are going to be stoned to the gills. You may also think you have gills.”

“You did put something in my drink, didn’t you?”

“Maybe. Let’s just say that half the fun of this meeting is going to be watching you try not to swallow your chin. Come on. They are already sold. This thing is just a formality. It’s going to be a cakewalk. Let’s go.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

Monday, November 10, 2008

Metal

Metal from Jon Deal on Vimeo.

Proving that the clarinet is the most metal of all the instruments.

Duh. Doesn’t everyone know this?

Friday, November 07, 2008

Correspondence

Dear Rob—

I think you may have mistakenly grabbed one of my pens. The black one. Would you please return it to me here in my office as soon as possible? I know it’s just a pen, but it has enormous sentimental value to me.

I have a meeting in an hour and need to take notes.

Thanks!
Jim


Jim

A meeting! Good for you! Get back up on the horse, man!

Sadly, I don’t have your pen. I only write using blue ink pens. Black ink is far too harsh for me. Have you looked all over your office? Perhaps underneath one of those stacks of books?

Good luck!
Rob


Rob,
I’ve had that pen for years. Last time I saw it, you had asked to borrow it to write yourself a note to pick up one of your anti-psychotic meds at the pharmacy. You were standing in my doorway, while we discussed your shrewd plan to “monetize” your back catalog of Frankenberry cereal boxes.

Maybe you put it in your sweater vest pocket by accident?

No harm, no foul! But I’d like it back as quickly as you can roll yourself down here.

Thanks.
Jim


Jim,
Ah, yes, that fateful conversation where you slyly chided and aloofly criticized my boyhood collecting proclivities. You know, you really should come up to the house sometime and see all the improvements my “psychotic need to hoard” has achieved after my numerous and insanely successful ebay sales. You could stay for the weekend in the new east wing of the main house.

As to your pen. My only guess is that it may be hiding under one of those teetering towers of paper, books and clutter on your desk.

“Look to thine own house.”

Rob


Rob—
“Look to thine own house”?
Um…
What?
Is that scripture you are trying to quote? I’m sorry, it’s quite difficult to type as I’m laughing so hard at the notion of you over there in your office, scouring sacred and religious texts for an applicable quote. It occurs to me that only you would be so crass and bold as to try and cover your tracks with a divinely inspired quote. Especially since that “incident” with the collection plate at First Presbyterian all those years ago.

Thanks for the comedy, Rob. You crack me up. I needed that.

But if you could simply take a moment to look in your desk drawers for my beloved pen. It’s engraved with my name on the barrel in bold letters and the line “Thanks for all your hard work! —Bill Clinton”. Maybe it slipped down into the drawer where you keep your not-so-secret stash of Stolichnaya?
Jim


J.
As I have explained to you (and the authorities) many times, my hand accidentally jarred the collection plate, knocking it over. It was a simple mistake. Any monies that incidentally landed in the folds of my coat were promptly returned to the rectory. Your clumsy attempt at repartee leaves me feeling even more sorry for you. I had not previously thought that possible.

You are quite welcome for the giggles. I’m sure levity must be in short supply in your life these days, since Rita left the state with her yoga instructor last April. We got a card from her the other day, by the way. She and Haji seem to be doing quite well. She’s pregnant now, had you heard? I guess it wasn’t she who was the infertile one as you had always posited.

I can absolutely understand your continuing reluctance to search your office for your woe begotten pen. The smell alone from the southeast corner is enough to gag even the hardiest of souls. Maybe you should call the Health Department and ask them to send over a team to evacuate the more fetid crevices before you begin a search in earnest?

Ah yes, my “secret stash.” How funny you should bring that up, given all the rumors I’ve heard of late about how your last “sabbatical” wasn’t spent over at the Sorbonne doing “research,” but was at the Promises Rehab facility. I hear they do good work. Shame it didn’t take in your case.

R.


Rob.

I am tired of these games.

You have my pen. I saw you using it as one half of a set of chopsticks in the company cafeteria, while you gluttonously slurped down your Thai noodles last Tuesday.

And my heavens man, they have napkins there! You should look into using those instead of your left sleeve after you shovel food into that gaping maw of yours.

I am sorry it has come to this, but have my pen back to me by the top of the hour, or I’m calling Security. I wonder if they also might be interested in your extra-curricular accounting practices?

Jim


J.

Well, congratulations, James, you have sunk to a new low. I hadn’t thought that possible in this liftime. But you have stretched your wings far and wide in order to glide down to this abysmal low. Petty blackmail threats for what amounts to a useless trinket from a womanizing amoral adulterer.

Did you know that everyone who gave even $5 to the re-election campaign got one of those trinkets you are currently obsessing over?

And, as I recall during my ever so brief encounter with your obscenely treasured pen, it didn’t write smoothly at all. I can’t for the life of me see why you hold it in such esteem. My normal flowing script was reduced to a shaky line that resembled an epileptic’s EEG or perhaps your scrawl after one of your late night benders.

R.


Robert:

FOR THE LAST TIME, DO NOT CALL ME “JAMES.”

That represents my father and I think of it as my “slave” name.

I expect my pen to back in my hands at the end of the day.

Security is on speed dial.

J.


James.

Your “slave” name. Now I’m having trouble typing again as the waves of laughter cascade over me.

You do remember that you are as white as a lily and born and bred of old WASP-y New England money, don’t you? Surely, your personal delusions haven’t carried you that far down the road to madness, have they?

Rob


Rob.

You should be hearing the bootfalls of Security outside your office door any moment now.

I hope the mace they use on you doesn’t stain your clothes. Though obviously your dry cleaner is a miracle worker, given your horrid grooming habits and poor hand-eye coordination at meal times.

Jim


James:

Good News!

I believe I have found your pen!

It was in the possession of a local transient named “Gilly.” Gilly, though I’m loathe to judge another human being harshly, doesn’t appear to be the most wholesome creature walking the streets these days. It also seems that he’s wiped the pen off as best he could with good old fashioned “spit and polish.” Au natural as it were. And, notwithstanding the difficultly in understanding his rambling mutterings, it’s also possible he believes himself to be a medical professional of some sort and was convinced your pen was a rectal thermometer. You’ll have to check to be sure on that score, though; I think he’s quite mad. Also, don’t be alarmed, he’s kept the pen quite safe and tucked into the folds of his mountainous flaps of sweaty skin.

He should be delivering it in person to your office post-haste.

Good luck at your meeting!

Rob

Wednesday, November 05, 2008

Happy Obama Day! Free Puppies for Everyone!

I love this map:

(screen grab from msnbc)

I have many thoughts. But I’m struck by a couple things.

• The Republicans had a BAD hand this election cycle. Nothing went their way. The economy. The war(s). George W. Bush. Sarah Palin. Bad mojo all around in their camp as they scrambled to find a “voice.”
• My youngest children will grow up with an African-American as President. And that won’t be anything unusual for them. I love that.

Seriously.

Think about this for a second. A couple hundred years ago, African-American men and women were brought to this country in chains.

Fifty or so years ago, they could barely vote.

Yesterday we elected a black man as President (mixed race, even!) (and he has a simply terrible middle name!)

THAT is a helluva thing. (Mostly because his race didn’t seem to matter to most people voting for him)

Finally, go read/watch the speeches the candidates gave last night. McCain was gracious, genial and a gentleman. Finally. (Though if you watch the video, you’ll note that his supporters in the audience are decidedly NOT any of those things). I tend to think the McCain from last night is the “real” McCain. Why he didn’t talk like that during the actual campaign is a ginourmous mystery. Obama’s speech made me weep. Of course. With gladness and joy and determination.

Welcome to the future, America.

Favorite Entries

If you are new around here, the following entries have been reasonably well received. You might want to peruse these.

• Partners
• Correspondence
• Help Wanted
• From the Office of Mis-directed Email
• A Word from the Small Person in the House
• RNT Product Review: Chocolate Mix Skittles Left Me Sterile!
• Jon’s Report Card circa… A Long Time Ago
• Dear Gratuitously Naked Conversationalist at the Gym:
• A Peek Inside the Writer’s Guild and Producers’ Negotiations
• We Regret the Error
• Letters from a Homeowner to His General Contractor
• What I Did There
• Hermaphrodite Administrative Assistants and Receptionists Need Not Apply
• Giving Me an IM Account Was Obviously a Huge Mistake
• Official Ransom Note Typography Vista vs. Mac OS X Shootout
• I Need a Real Hobby
• Beat Down
• Big Fat Lies
• True Love
• Now MY Ovaries Hurt
• Don’t Get Her Started
• Disturbing Trend
• Had to do it
• Mooshy stuff
• Ransom Note Typography End User License Agreement “EULA”
• Diva-licious!
• Just so we’re clear
• PETA may have a point

Holy Crap! Look at all this STUFF down here. It's awesome!

 

Really, I'm glad you made it down here. Almost no one ever comes down here. I'm like in a freaking dungeon down here. I get lonely. But not you. YOU made it all the way to the end of the page. For this I think I've a little crush on you. I don't know, is "love" to strong a word to use in this situation? Well, if it's not "love," then it's very strong "like." I'm totally in like with you for coming down here. You are awesome. Please love me back! I know, I know, I shouldn't be all needy, it's not attractive at all, but you don't know how it is to be stuck down here. Who scrolls all the way to the end of a page anymore these days? Anyway, thanks for shedding some light down here in the depths. I appreciate it. Shoot me an email and I'll send you a dollar, OK?

©2005-2009 Jon B. Deal All Rights Reserved. I'm not kidding around here, I know people who know other people who would be willing to beat you up or similarly infringe on your rights, should you happen to infringe on my rights.