Alabama, Arkansas, I Do Love My Ma And Pa.

So, I had a moment towards the end of my workday when I looked around at my co-workers, and realized that the majority of people who were there all had something in common, something that kind of bonded us in this weird way briefly, so I had to be an asshole and say out loud: "Is it just me, or is everyone here having the shittiest life possible at this moment?" See, I was surrounded by dour angry faces, and everyone's voices were sharp and full of expletives, and there seemed to be a lot of throwing things and slow shakes of the head and mutterings under the breath, and for the first time in a while, IT WASN'T JUST ME.

And it felt good; not that I wanted my friends to be feeling this way, but for a moment, we were all unhappy together, and I had to kinda laugh at it, and there's tonnes of cliches that could fit this moment (misery loves company, a trouble shared is a trouble halved, etc.), but none could really do it justice, and it sounds screwy, but it just makes me wanna say that if, right now, you yourself are feeling like everything is upside down and unsafe and just generally bad: so am I. So are a lot of people. Hopefully knowing this helps. Hopefully you'll have one of those moments like at the end of I Heart Huckabees where whatsisname finally sees that in whosits moment of suffering that the two characters are exactly alike, and hopefully you can gain some sort of footing to help you on your way. I mean, you still might have to go into a back room once and a while and punch the wall until you see straight again, but maybe not so often.

Of course, one of them had to go and ruin my moment by saying, "Actually, I'm doing pretty good right now.", at which point I replied, "Fuck you, Jeffrey Storey."

No, not really; I'd never say that to Jeffrey Storey. Jeff's a handsome man with a great head of hair who is one of the most honest and kind men I've ever met, and to say something like that to him would be to call down the thunder onto one's self, and I'm not THAT self-destructive.

A few more things:

1. One of the creepiest games I've ever played, and it's an internet flash game.

2. One day I will go to ALL of these places. I will take my daughter, and we will make postcards for everyone we love that say, "Wish you were here at Hell's Half Acre At Wyoming!" Until then, I will look at this website and drool.

3. What It's Like To Really Work In A Music Store.

Can I start doing this at MY job?

And while I'm out here saying stupid shit and wearing my heart on my sleeve, here's this: this goes out to that person I'm having the most issues with. Despite the weird awkwardness and confusion and hurt and anger and resentment and sadness and eventual depression and christ-on-a-fucking-crutch bullshit that we're bound to put each other through for the rest of our lives, this has everything I want to say to you, and it took a bunch of fucking hippies to make me see it. So fuck it: here you are.

And now I'm gonna hit the 'publish post' button before I think better of this and chicken out, and then go make sure the Little Miss's breakfast is ready for the morning. Be good to each other, or I'll smack you upside the head, jerks.

All The Noodles Taste The Same, Little Lady, I Assure You.

Currently, my offspring is face-down on the living room carpet, beside herself with rage due to the fact that I've made the wrong type of noodles for dinner tonight, so while she expresses herself in the manner she knows best, I'm gonna take a few moments to chat.

Things:

1. Jane McGonigal on how gamers can save the world. Long story short: gamers are awesome in game worlds, think that they can't achieve much in the real world. Give them games that help solve real-world problems, gamers will carry those skills from the virtual world to the real world. It's paraphrasing, really, but damn, you really should hear this woman out.

2. Gangs of women roam rural India weilding bamboo sticks and striking fear into the hearts of abusive husbands.

Man, there is NOTHING wrong with that statement whatsoever, y'know? It's like Batman hosting a Take Back The Night rally.

...and now the Little Miss is sitting under the computer table, playing with tomato seeds and still refusing to eat, so let's continue:

3. Actual colour photographs of life during the Great Depression.

4. And then, y'know, after hearing in the news over and over again about all the many different ways people have come up with to be just generally shitty to each other, something like this comes along and warms my heart. Or tries to, at least, because my heart is a cold black lump of coal which dwells in the deepest darkest reaches of space and is used once a year by Santa as he comes by and chips off tiny pieces to give to all the naughty children at Christmas, so technically it cannot be warmed as it is a FORCE OF NATURE UNTO ITSELF THAT EVEN FIGMENT OF YOUR IMAGINATION MUST BOW TO, and now I'm being silly and taking away from the article which is actually quite pleasant.

And now, the Little Miss is in the bathroom, wanting me to put a Spider-Man band-aid on her mosquito bite while she takes a poop. This is my life. At least she ate the raspberries in the salad.

Oh, wait, what? New Lauryn Hill? What?

Walking With Hazel: Screw All This Kinda-Not-Sure-If-It's-Gonna-Rain Business.

So, it's been an okay weekend so far. Yesterday we picked raspberries, and Hazel ate most of them before Dad could get them into the freezer, but they're only starting to bloom, so there'll be a lot more; of course, we DID have to explain to a couple of hobos that while they were more than welcome to have some, they should make sure they were picking only the ripe ones, and also that they weren't allowed to have them ALL, and also to please stop just ripping entire bunches off of the raspberry stalks. They were actually kinda nice about it, which was cool, because it's never a good idea to have angry hobos in your alley.

Then we went swimming. For about ten minutes, before the rain chased us out of the pool, which was outdoors, so we quickly got changed and rode back home, because swimming in the rain is okay if you're a drunk teenager, or just drunk, and it'd be a bad idea if Dad was drunk around Hazel, or if Hazel was drunk, so we just went home and coloured some pictures, and no one got drunk.

After our nap, we had dinner, wherein Hazel showed Dad how to eat orange juice with a fork, and then we decided to go for a bike ride in spite of the gathering rain clouds, so we went to Beano where Josh served us a scoop of ice cream and Shanley told Hazel that her head was too big. In a nice way, though. You can't expect much from Shanley, y'see, because she listens to Cyndi Lauper.

Then we rode home, but we made sure to ride by Jeff & Maggi's place, where we waved at all the people on the porch. Then it was popcorn and bedtime.

THEN... well, we were s'posed to go to the zoo with Christina and her bundle of terror, but it was gross and cold and rainy out, so we told Christina that we didn't want anything to do with her stinky ol' baby, and we went to splash in the puddles instead.

And then Hazel fell into one of the big puddles, and she was fine, but we decided it was best to come home, so she warmed her hands up inside Dad's sweater while we walked home and now we're eating carrot-sticks and grapes and being quite lazy. So, there.

Well, you can't get what you want, but you can get me. It's Noodle with a machine gun, shooting down fighter planes, which is full of The Awesome.

This Is Probably NSFW & Probably A Little Creepy.

Before anyone goes and accuses me of going soft and girly and becoming the next spokesperson for Moms With Issues & The Men Who Love Them, or NAMBLA, or whatever wacky organization you ladies got cooked up, I'd like to point out that, like any man, the moment you dames start talking to me about anything, I start imagining what you look like naked.

No, really. At any given moment during the day, one of you is naked in my head. Don't worry, though, it's tasteful. There's, like, music, and, y'know, lighting, and stuff.

But I just thought y'all should know.

I know I've told y'all 'bout this one before, but, really: it's Goblin Cock. Everyone should be listening to this all the time EVER.

A Quick Note, As A Parent.

Okay, so, before I dig into this wonderful salad that I made all by myself with some vegetables that I picked from the garden AGAIN ALL BY MYSELF (although I didn't grow them, because, y'know, I'm ME), I got something to say, and it ain't a Misfits song.

I know some of y'all don't have kids. I know. Shocking, but true. This is the world we have to live in. Let's move on.

I know that some of y'all whut don't got kids are aware that I DO gots a kid. I know this because y'all keep asking me questions that begin with the phrase, "So, as a parent, what's your take on...", as though being a parent is equivalent to being, say, a communist, or, I dunno, a Canucks fan, which is kinda insulting in a vague way, seeing how being a parent really doesn't change your views on much, unless it was something you were completely ignorant towards in the first place, like, say, ritualistic gential mutilation, or whatever. But, you learn to cope, because who has time to get upset when your kid's eating the finger paint or explaining why it was necessary that the poop took a nap in your bed?

Anyway. Do me favour. Before you ask me: "So, as a parent, what's your take on this? I was in Costco, and there was a lady with her child strapped to her chest who I kept running into in different aisles, and I noticed that people were staring at her as they passed, and then I realized that she was breastfeeding while she was doing her shopping! I gotta ask, is that considered acceptable (insert finger quotes here)?".

Ask yourself: what exactly is going on here?

And the only possible conclusion that you should arrive at is: a mother is feeding her child.

Before you say, "But-", let me repeat that: a MOTHER is FEEDING her CHILD.

Don't get me wrong. I have a license for being a Grumpy Old Man. I'm all for modesty. I want a world where men only speak in grunts and harrumphs and women would stop showing off their ankles. I like taking my clothes off for one person, and one person only, and even then she's gotta be closing her eyes. I'm a prude.

But if you're seriously gonna tell me that you see something wrong or inappropriate about a child being fed in public, well, dude, really: that is fucked up, with big bold capital letters. FUCKED. UP. I say that not as a parent, but as a human being.

Also: don't tell me you want to 'get in on that action'. Really. In fact, don't tell anyone that.

Now I must eat salad and go watch a show about a boy and his dog. This is a track called Stealing Fat, from the soundtrack to a wonderful movie, but you should ignore the video that accompanies it and just listen to the music at a very loud volume.

This Is No Reflection On My Own Life At The Moment Whatsoever. Nope. None.

So, by now you've probably all seen that the universe is working against me, because there's gonna be another Gathering of the Juggalos this year (it's the 11th, guys! Now, I forget, is that the paper, silk, or green Faygo anniversary?); this depresses me, because as much as everyone claims to hate juggalos and ICP and this entire nation of aborted brain tissue, it strikes me that it won't be long before we start seeing ironic juggalos, and then we'll have to differentiate between 'real' juggalos and 'fake' juggalos, despite the fact that both camps will probably need to be pacified with tasers over and over again until the white noise starts to fade from my brain.

Don't get me wrong; despite my grumpy conservative leanings, I tend to think that everyone's a human being who's deserving of love and respect and all those hippyish things. I do. Even though I threaten to throw things at most of the human beings I encounter. I'm happy that these people who define themselves as juggalos seem to have found a community where they can all feel comfortable, safe, or just not as alienated as they'd normally be anywhere else.

The problem is stagnancy. It's great to get together and celebrate what you have in common, but when what you have in common is simply getting fucked up and obliterating as many brain cells as possible before the morning comes, and then waking up and doing it again, all the while listening to the most mediocre music in creation made by people who only encourage more of this infantile behaviour? You're not moving forward, and that's a problem, because in essence, you're simply wasting my air, and I'd like it back, please. Evolve or die. I don't think that's too much to ask.

(Granted, this message is probably for more than just the juggalos, as the majority of people who despise them act in similar self-destructive patterns, they just don't wear silly make-up while they do it.)

I guess what I'm saying here is this: I don't think I can make fun of them any more. My ridicule would only add to their collective sense of alienation, and would seem to give them a reason to continue in acting like complete mongoloids (not that I'm dumb enough to think that the juggalo nation heeds my opinion, but you know what I mean). Maybe if I just held off and stopped treating them like assholes, a few of them might stop acting like assholes.

Besides: how many of you had to look up magnetism on wikipedia after you heard that 'Miracles' song, just to make sure you knew how they 'effing' worked? Yeah, that's what I thought.

Oh, wait, I haven't had coffee yet today.

Walking With Hazel: Saturday July 24/10

Holy COW was today just jam-packed fulla stuff.

First, we played in our swimming pool in the backyard while Mom showed Dad where everything was in the garden (because Dad is forgetful about these things), and then we had to get Dad to come over because there were a couple of bumblebees floating in the water, so he had to fish them out before we could play in there again. Then we sprayed Dad with the garden hose, but we ended up falling over because the pressure from the hose was a bit to much for us.

Then Brandon came by with Cleo and Mikhail, and we all went swimming at a big pool! We played with giant foam noodles, and beach balls, and rafts, and there were slides and ropes to swing on and a big rock wall that you could climb up, but mostly we just held on tightly to Dad, because we're still new at this sort of thing, but it was still fun. Except for the part when the lifeguard came over to tell us that we couldn't just sit on the steps to the slide, and that's when Dad said to her that we were only two, we don't really comprehend what she was saying to us, and maybe if she had a problem with the two-year-old then maybe she should talk to the two-year-old's father who was sitting right next to her instead of frightening the two-year-old so much that she didn't want to swim anymore. We're pretty sure Dad was mad, but he didn't yell, which was probably a good thing.

After that, dad gave us a hug and we went back to swimming.

Then we went home, and we decided the best thing to do would be to march around the kitchen in time to some music while Dad did some laundry, and then we figures out how to use Dad's camera, and we took a picture of his foot!

Then we had a nap.

When we woke up, we decide it was best of Dad gave us a muffin; then we decided it was best if he gave us SEVEN MUFFINS! He gave us one muffin and a few slices of watermelon, so we thought it was a good compromise.

Then we went for a bike ride, and we stopped at the store and spent about half an hour looking for popcorn kernels because they were hidden way at the back, and then we continued on our bike ride, and then we came home, and decided it was best if we just kept our helmets on and headbutted each other.

Don't tell Mom about that one.

Then we had dinner, where Dad pulled off an AWESOME STIRFRY, and then we had popcorn, which is the best way to end any day.