Geography: A One Act

A few weeks ago Bob made the move to the Big Boy Bed. At bedtime, Jeff sits with him as Bob falls asleep so that they can enjoy quality father/son time and to ensure that our tiny, sleepy, angel does not escape the bed and run through the house pulling his clothes off while yelling, “Damn it! I am a naughty bunny! You are a pee-head! Damn! I am so crazy!” Not that this has ever happened more than 6 times.

During their heart to hearts, the guys cover the big issues.

GEOGRAPHY

(BOB is tucked in bed. JEFF sits, folded into the small space at the foot of the tiny Big Boy Bed.)

JEFF

Uncle Matt and Aunt Tina and Baby Ruby are coming on an airplane to see you tomorrow.

BOB

Where Uncle Matt and Aunt Tina live?


JEFF

They live in Chicago.

BOB

Who's from Chicago?


JEFF

Uncle Matt and Aunt Tina and Baby Ruby.


BOB

Who else from Chicago?


JEFF

Well... Cousin Rachel’s from Chicago. Barack Obama's from Chicago.

BOB

Barack Obama's coming on the airplane?


JEFF

No.



BOB

Where is Barack Obama?

JEFF

He’s probably in Washington DC. Or this week Martha’s Vinyard, I think.


BOB

No, no. He's in Brace-el-y.


JEFF

Brace-el-y? I don’t know what that is.



BOB

Brace-el-y is in Los Angeles.


JEFF

Is that right?


BOB

Yes, it's next to Star Wars. Darth Vader lives in Star Wars.


JEFF

OK.


BOB

Yes and that's also next to GI Joe.


JEFF

OK, good night, Buddy.


END SCENE

Smacksy Sunday Post: That Amazing Sand Thing

Odds are, you’ve already seen this crazy, amazing clip of the smoldering-super-model-dramatic-sand-painter Kseniya Simonova from Ukraine’s Got Talent. Her series of sand paintings set to music about the occupation of the Ukraine in WW2 has had three-jillion hits on YouTube. If one of those hits wasn’t you, you can watch it here. Also a classical version of a Metallica song is involved. So if you weren’t sold before…

Ukraine obviously does have talent. And we in America have Boy Shakira.

Smacksy Saturday Photo: Sleeping Baby

People who say they sleep like a baby usually don't have one.
- Leo J. Burke

Theology: A One Act

THEOLOGY

(BOB and I are sitting at the dining room table. BOB is painting with a watercolor set while I am in front of the computer, blocking spam "followers" off of my Twitter account.)

BOB

Who made me?

ME

Wow. Already? I don’t have a prepared statement for this yet.

BOB

No, who made me?

ME


Um, God did with me and Daddy.

BOB

God? Where is he?

ME

Everywhere.

BOB

Can I see him?

ME

Yes. If you know where to look.

BOB

He likes me?

ME

More than anything.

BOB

All the time?

ME

Yes.

BOB

God is the Easter Bunny?

ME

No.

BOB

I really, really like candy.

END SCENE

Sweetest

We had dinner the other night at a BBQ restaurant that, like all good BBQ restaurants, had sweet tea on the menu. I drank a ladylike gallon or so. You southern folks are spoiled and can get this elixir of the gods everywhere – and by “everywhere” I mean including McDonald’s. This hardly seems fair but then again, you people (ya’ll) invented it. Around here, no one knows what it is and I’m on my own.

I love sweet tea. Love it. Love it so much. For real, don’t get between me and a glass of that beverage or you will be mowed down. My family is not from the south but I guess the panhandle of Texas is close enough (and close enough to a Furr's Cafeteria) to explain my early history with The Tea. But this is not just about me. This is about you, and how you should be making your own sweet tea with the easiest recipe in the world.

It’s not healthy or fancy but it has caffeine and sugar and that’s why it’s good. Especially right now, at the hot end of summer.

Sweet Tea

8 cups of water
7 Lipton tea bags
Don't try to get all "interesting" with the tea flavor or it won't be right. No green tea allowed.
1 cup granulated sugar

Boil 2 cups of water in a kettle. Place tea bags in a large measuring cup. Pour hot water over the tea bags and let steep for about an hour.

Remove the tea bags and pour the tea concentrate into a pitcher. Add the sugar and stir to dissolve. Add cold water to fill the pitcher, about 6 cups. Serve over ice.

You can get all Georgia-extra-points about it and garnish it with mint and lemon wedges if you’d like to.

Makes about 2 quarts of now-you-know-what-to-make-when-I-come-over.

You’re Welcome

Earlier this week I posted my 100th blog post. (Cue: confetti/balloons/marching band/pageant wave.) My friend Ted asked, “So do you like, take a day off when you don’t have anything to write about?” My answer was of course, “No” because I never let a little thing like lack of worthwhile content stop me. Posts with topics like that horrible thing my dog ate, my kid’s favorite sweat pants, and that cat litter I am so fond of are proof that my subject matter filter has large holes.

There are however some posts that I have written that have not seen the light of day, vetoed mostly due to their absolute stultifying dullness, and for that friends, you can thank me.

Eight things you will (probably) not be reading about except as the following list:

• Crap I have bought on eBay

• Crap I have sold on eBay

• How much time I have wasted (in hours and minutes) combing the internet for evidence of So You Think You Can Dance contestant love hook ups

• All the ways coffee kicks green tea’s ass

• The time I thought I re-tore my rotator cuff but it was really just a sore muscle from holding my book at a weird angle while I was on the Precor machine at the YMCA

• When I lost my car at the Us Festival

• Why I love TIVO

• People who have screwed me over on eBay that I have not given negative feedback to for fear of negative feedback retaliation and how I am somewhat conflicted about it

(I can feel your gratitude.)

Privates

On our trip to the pediatrician for Bob’s three-year check up, the lovely Dr. Bess explained that the time had come to start talking to Bob about the concept of private parts and who is and is not allowed to touch his.

We have had the conversation a number of times since then, and Bob gets the “approved guest list” to Privates Land that we have mandated but he seems most interested in who else has private parts. The answer “everyone” seems to be unacceptable to him. He would like specifics.

“Mama has private parts?”

“Yes.”

“And Daddy?”

“And Daddy.”

“And Bajan and Pops and MeeMee and Daisy?”

“Yes, everyone has private parts.”

“Who else?”

As we stood in line at the grocery store, the shoppers on aisle seven were treated to this delightful discourse:

“That lady has private parts?”

“Yes, Bob I’m sure she does. Let’s use a quiet voice.”

“What about that man? He has private parts?”

“Yeah. Would you like a juice box? How about a banana? Want to look at this book?”

“What about that guy?” Bob points to a photo on the cover of Star magazine.

“Yes. Brad Pitt has private parts. How about a new topic?”

“What about the lady”

“Mrs. Pitt also has privates. Now, shhh.”

“And her too?” he asks, pointing to a photo of Britney Spears.

“For awhile her parts weren’t so private but now I think they are again."

"What?"

"Let's just get to the car please." Tough crowd.