TwoBusy

Slow roast

Have a nice weekend, everyone. We'll be roasting in 90+ degree brutal humidity —without benefit of our long-awaited central A/C system, which apparently will not be completed until next week.

(Fortunately, not everyone hates summer as much as I do.)

Love of the Masses

As my beloved Commonwealth prepares for its newest edition of sports-induced euphoria - and to be clear, we're talking about the entirely legal kind - I'd like to take a moment to express my gratitude for the following things:

* Danny Ainge, who last summer transcended years of fantastic drafting coupled with terrible trades and free agent signings (Brian Scalabrine? Sebastian Telfair for Brandon Roy? Raef LaFrentz? The list goes on... and it's just fucking horrifying.) to have a championship-caliber team fall into his lap. Good job!

* Kevin McHale, for apparently still being a Celtic at heart. (I'll add that I hope he's making the most of his annual early start to the summer.)

* David Stern, for scheduling every game in the 2008 NBA Finals to maximize west coast ad revenues — thereby ensuring that no game will end before midnight on the eastern seaboard. Oh, wait... that actually sucks. Never mind.

* The fact that even as I type - and look forward to Boston's first 90-degree day of the year, which should arrive on Saturday - the miracle of central air conditioning is being installed in my home. I can't even being to imagine how much this is going to transform my quality of life in the summertime... although I'm really looking forward to finding out.

* The fact that in three weeks, TheFamily and I will be taking our first official, week-long, family-style vacation in four years. Five of us will go up... only time and fate can determine how many of us will return.

Memorial Day Weekend: A Recap

SATURDAY 

Alright, kids: time to go on a trip! And we're heading to the happiest place on Earth: the Jersey Shore! Which means: looooong drive with 3 children. Andiamo!   

So. We're off. Everyone excited. Less than 1/2 hour later: screaming begins. God bless the in-vehicle DVD system! 20 minutes of peace, then screaming devolves to active fighting. "TheHurricane pushed me!" "I need to go potty!" "Is it snack time?" "I want to go home!" "I need to go potty again!" States roll by. Tolls are paid electronically. (God bless FastLane, too.) Eventually: New Jersey arrives. (Excitement? Is anyone ever really excited to enter New Jersey?) Onward. Tolls. White H2s on the Garden State Parkway. 4.5 hours later: we arrive Chez Nikolai. Awaiting is La Famiglia Nikolai, incl. my sister's intimidating mother-in-law -- who we quickly decide has the same spiky white hair and generally evil demeanor of Ursula, the Sea Witch from The Little Mermaid. Bad BBQ ensues. Hooray, frozen bulk patties thrown straight from the freezer onto the grill! Play w/nephew while meat burns: he looks like a tiny drunken Irishman. (I mean that in a fond and positive way.) Hours pass, then: time for hotel. TheHurricane: "The Ho and Tell! I want to go to the Ho and Tell!" Faaaaantastic.

Hooray! They have an indoor pool! Ooooh... it's full of Staten Islanders on a long weekend vacation. How wonderfully colorful. Later: the twins' first night in a bed/bedroom other than their own. I am locked in w/them; TheWife is locked in a separate room w/TheHurricane. Result: end of the world as we know it. "I want my bed!/to go home!/Mommy!/etc! Aaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!" Eventually, they pass out. Sleep is fitful, and punctuated by several abrupt returns to consciousness and screaming. Surprisingly, all survive to see dawn. 

SUNDAY 

Beach! Brown slime in the water... "Welcome to New Jersey!" Chunky New Jersey/Staten Island chicks trying to carry off Princess Leia bikinis... and not really coming close to succeeding. Lots of Neanderthal guys in wifebeater Ts and Gotti hair. Rabbit repeatedly diving face-first into the sand. Cooooooold water. Joyful/screaming kids. Sunburns for everyone. Then: La Famiglia Nikolai taking us to fried food hell for lunch, replete with giant evil grinning clown on restaurant sign. "Do you have anything that isn't deep-fried?" "We have prepackaged salads." "In that case, I'll pass on lunch and head straight for the coronary." Then back to Chez Nikolai for a few low-key hours relaxing in their nicely restored Arts & Crafts home, watching Nikolai alllllmost crawl while the rest of us relax to a little The Iron Giant, and finally back to the Ho and Tell for another long night of fits and screaming. Death cannot come quickly enough. 

MONDAY

“All right, kids! We’re heading home!” Expectation: relief, joy, happy children at last. Reality: “Noooooooooo!!!!!” Screaming ensues; does not cease for approximately 5 hours. 

And then, we got home and died. The End.

Love hurts

This morning, like most weekday mornings, I took my kids to school. My girls are in the same daycare class, and so this morning - like most mornings - I walked them in, took off their coats, and hung them in their cubbies next to their lunchboxes and backpacks. Several of their little friends were already there, playing some 3-year old game about a dozen feet away, and called my girls over to play. But this morning, like many mornings, they decided to hang on to me for a last fleeting moment or two before the school day began. They clamored for my attention as I hung their items with care. They clung to my legs as I crossed the room and signed them in for the day.

And then, like many weekday mornings, they demanded a hug and a kiss from me before I departed for work. So first I picked up Rabbit - sweet, rascally little Rabbit - who made a face at me as I picked her up... and so, I rewarded her with not only a hug but a huge and energetic raspberry to the side of the neck. She squealed and howled with glee, and then demanded that I do the same to the other side of her neck. I obliged.

As I set her down, Butterfly - gentle, brilliant Butterfly - demanded her two minutes of attention. "Daddy, Daddy! My turn! Do me!" And so, dutiful and caring father that I am, I picked her up and prepared to launch a raspberry of epic propotions onto her waiting, rosy cheeks. As I approached, she began squealing with glee, thrashing her head back and forth as if trying to escape some horrible, wonderful fate... and then, she suddenly kicked out and smashed me full in the nuts with her shiny little pink sneaker.

It seemed to happen almost in slow motion. In a heartbeat, my world turned white and I began gasping for breath, struggling not to drop Butterfly from where I'd held her elevated above the floor. I almost crumpled as I lowered her down, a low, awful moan escaping from my lips as eight three-year old kids looked on in wild-eyed wonder... and no less than three daycare teachers watched silently, afraid to make a sound or issue a comment at this moment of infinite parental vulnerability.

When Butterfly's feet met the floor, she reached up and gave my forehead - by now, I'm sure it was something close to purple - a full, gentle hug, and then kissed my hair as she said, "Bye bye, Daddy. See you tonight!" Then she grabbed Rabbit's hand and together they walked over to their friends.

A minute later, I left. I did not make eye contact with the daycare staff; they did not make eye contact with me.

Such are the sacrifices we make for love.

A Chilly Night in May

Any time you get a chance to see a game at Fenway, you jump on the opportunity -- even if it's a Monday night game against Kansas City on a chilly May evening.

To be honest, as TheCEO and I wandered up Beacon Street toward the park last night with the wind howling and the temperature dropping like a rock, I was thinking that the insanely strong mararitas we'd just downed would be the high point of the evening.

Fortunately, I was mistaken.

Se7en: Pam edition

In which I gently navigate my way though the thoughtful inquisition of the friendly but mysterious Pam:

1. What do you think of South Carolina?
To be honest, the only time I've ever been to South Carolina was when I drove to/from Florida during Spring Break my senior year in college -- meaning that my impressions of the state are basically limited to 1) hazy memories of South of the Border; and 2) a less hazy memory of stopping for gas somewhere off the highway down near the Georgia border. We'd been driving south for about 16 hours at that point, so we took advantage of the stop to step out and stretch our legs a bit... after I gassed up, the three of us walked into the little gas station to pay and pick up a couple of sodas. An old white dude stood behind the counter, took a long look at my friend Demoncrat (who has the jet black hair and prominent nose that basically scream, "Hi, I'm Jewish!"), my friend DT (a tall Indian dude from Minnesota) and me (scruffy looking white dude in dirty jeans and a plaid shirt)... then took a very clear and prominent glance back at the shotgun hanging on the wall behind him... and then turned back to us and said in what I can only swear to you is not a lie, "You boys ain't from around here, are you?"

(Our response: "No, sir. Uh... we'll be going now.")

2. When did you last tell a lie?
What's remarkable is that it's now 9:16am and I don't think I've told a single lie yet today. Which, when you have hordes of young kids constantly making demands on you, is kind of remarkable. That being said, I think the last lie I told was to my kids at around 6pm last night: "If you're good, maybe we can have ice cream for dessert." I never had any intention of delivering on that offer.

3. Amy Winehouse or Courtney Love? Why?
Courtney Love all the way. Yeah, she's a train wreck of epic proportions, but Live Through This is an emotional powerhouse of an album that completely blows out of the water anything Amy Winehouse has done (or, realistically, will probably ever do). "Doll Parts" alone earns her immortality.

4. What did you want to be when you grew up?
I would have told you that I wanted to be an oceanographer, but that was because I didn't understand what an oceanographer was... what I really meant was marine biologist. I had a serious shark/whale fixation thing going on when I was a kid. Unfortunately, I quickly discovered that I suck at science and math -- and thus, the world was robbed of my sea-going genius.

(Runner-up: LF for the Boston Red Sox)

5. What's your favorite medical specialty?
Trepanation. Gotta let the evil spirits out somehow.

6. How would you spend a day alone?
If I had a complete day to myself with no obligations to anyone else whatsoever? I can't even imagine. But I guess I'm obligated to try:

8am: Awaken to the gentle sounds of happy birds and light traffic outside, refreshed from a long night's sleep uninterrupted by youthful screams of distress.

8:50am: After a long and luxurious hot shower uninterrupted by youthful screams of distress, I sit down at my dining room table with a fresh cinnamon raisin bagel, veggie cream cheese, and the Boston Globe sports section. I eat leisurely and peacefully. The sun is shining.

9:30am: I hop into my car, pull out of my driveway, and make my way to the Mass Pike. There is virtually no traffic. I head into the city, and pull onto Newbury Street. I find an open spot with a broken meter, and park effortlessly.

10am-12:30pm: I browse through used bookstores (miraculously, both Spenser's Mystery Bookshop and Avenue Victor Hugo have re-opened) and used CD shops. I locate all kinds of wonderful things at remarkable discounts.

12:30-1:30pm: Lunch at Sonsie, where I enjoy a couple of beers and some good eats while I soak up the sunshine and watch the students, suits and Eurotrash wander by.

2:15pm: I arrive back at my house, check on my Yahoo! MLB fantasy team - which has miraculously risen to first place overnight - and then head outside for some yard work. I mow, I mulch, I rake and then just as I finish laying down some seed and fertilizer... it begins to rain.

4:15pm: I walk back inside, take off my shoes, and enjoy another long, hot shower uninterrupted by youthful screams of distress.

4:50pm-5:45pm: I lie on my bed and read. During the day. Without interruption.

6pm: I wander downstairs and rustle up some dinner. It's just me, so nothing fancy -- a frozen pizza will be fine. Then I wander into my living room, fire up my reason for living... and vegetate for nearly 2 hours.

8pm: I head back upstairs, fill my whirlpool tub with hot water, and boil myself like a lobster for a full hour uninterrupted by youthful screams of distress. I read as I do so, and manage not to drop my book into the water.

9pm: Back downstairs to the warm, friendly glow of my plasma, which welcomes me with the opening credits of some movie I've been dying to see for years but never think to put on my Netflix queue... I settle down for two solid hours of mindless entertainment.

11pm: I head upstairs and fall asleep. In the middle of the bed.

7. Whom would you most like to cook for?
All of you, of course.

Se7en: Mr. Big Dubya edition

In which I lob back witty rejoinders to the inquiries of the man, the myth, the legend... Mr. Big Dubya:

1. What do you think of the designated hitter?
I grew up in Boston during the DH era - and I worship at the altar of Big Papi - so you know I've gotta be pro-DH. I understand and, from a philosophical standpoint, sympathize with those who say that the DH is an affront to the purity of the game. However... with the exception of Micah Owings, pitchers suck at hitting. Having pitchers come to the plate is by and large the same thing as an automatic out -- which removes drama and possibility from the game. The DH (in theory, at least) is the antithesis of this, and I can't imagine being opposed to anything that makes the game more exciting.

2. When did you last shoot a man in Reno just to watch him die?
August, 1999. Don't remember the exact date.

3. Batman or Superman? Why?
Well, this is easy: you've gotta go with Batman. Nothing against Superman, who can be a fascinating figure, especially when you take into account the whole "last survivor of a dead race" thing - trash 'em if you must, but the Crash Test Dummies captured some of the pathos of the character in their wonderful Superman's Song - but the mythology of the Batman character is tough to beat. A child raised in privilege who witnessed the cold-blooded murder of his parents... tormented by his inability to save them, he is driven by guilt and vengeance to hone his mind and body to unprecedented levels and adopt another identity - a different, darker self - who can erupt from the shadows to protect the innocent and violently punish those who would do wrong.

4. What did you do on your 21st birthday?
I wrote about it here.

5. What’s your favorite breakfast cereal?
Golden Grahams. It's a pleasure I deny myself most of the time, but on those occasions when I indulge... mercy.

6. How would you explain "string theory" to a child?
"Daddy was an English major. Let's go wiki that."

7. Whom would you most like to see jailed for making bad movies?
That's an interesting question, and one I think you have to answer in terms of who is most guilty of betraying their talent -- and who torments us most relentlessly with hollow, awful parodies of what was once a brilliant, shining presence on the screen. There are a lot of candidates, but no one comes to mind more forcefully than Eddie Murphy. When he's on - take Trading Places, or Coming To America, or his brilliant dual performances in the mostly-forgotten Bowfinger - he's just mesmerizing. But a quick review of his resume on IMDB is just painful: Beverly Hills Cop III... Metro... Norbit... Pluto Nash... Showtime... Daddy Day Care...

Guilty. Throw away the key.

Se7en: Jonniker edition

In which I attempt to dodge the slings and arrows of Jonniker:

1. What do you think of pork belly?
As in the trading commodity or the foodstuff? Honestly, I'm indifferent to the trading commodity - the numbers in my investment portfolio are about as impressive as, say, Julio Lugo's - and as a guy who's lived virtually his entire life in New England and/or San Francisco, I can honestly say that I've never encountered (never mind actually consumed) pork belly on a plate.

I hope that answered your question. Unless you meant "pork belly" as some kind of metaphor, and I'm just missing the point. As I usually do.

2. When did you last do a shot of tequila?
To the best of my knowledge, that would be at my company's Secret Santa party last December. It was Patron Silver... and it was delicious. (Just to clarify: this is by no means the last time I've consumed tequila... just the last time I've had it in a non-margarita format.)

3. Charmin or Scott? Why?
Charmin all the way. Scott is uncomfortable and largely non-functional. I'll put it this way: TheWife and I both work full-time, and have done so for many long years now. We work hard, we do our best to raise our awful children, we try to be good citizens... and, in return, we have certain expectations from society. And comfortable bathroom tissue is one of them. It's a fundamental part of the social contract we have with the world, and it is non-negotiable.

4. What did you wear today?
A thong and a smile.

Alright, now that you've got that scarifying image burned into your forebrain, the real answer: a ratty old Timberland sweatshirt (dark blue) over a blue Gritty McDuff's t-shirt, dirty blue jeans with a newly-discovered small hole in the knee, blue boxers with friendly, smiling white snowmen on them, white tube socks, and my spiffy new pair of gray ASICs sneaks.

And yes, that pretty well approximates what I wear to work most days.

5. What’s your favorite beer?
As I'm sure you guessed while asking this, this is actually not an easy question for me to answer. I've been a microbrew snob for a loooooong time now, and I've visited a lot of brewpubs and tried a lot of beers. That being said... crimony. I don't know. It's hard to go wrong with Dogfish Head's Raison D'Etre Ale and I deeply and profoundly enjoyed the Sea Dog Blueberry Ale I had with lunch while sitting on a patio in the sun one day last week... but if I have to choose one, then I'm going to have to go with the Ommegang Abbey Ale. Bliss in a glass.

6. How would you feel if your daughters started dating at 15?
Violent.

7. Whom would you most like to get tattooed on your arm, assuming you are forced at gunpoint?
I'll go with the Iron Giant. Can't feel bad about that.

Se7en: Something Sarcastic edition

In which I respond to the relentless interrogation of Claire from Something Sarcastic:

1. What do you think of rainbows?
They're definitely one of my favorite expressions of the refraction of sunlight through water vapor in the atmosphere. Easily Top 5, maybe even Top 3.

2. When did you last realize that you're NOT, in fact, King of the World?
In a story at least one of you isn't hearing for the first time, that would be on Friday night -- when I was awakened at 1am by the moans of my son TheHurricane. I went into his room to check on him... at which point he sat up, looked at me, and abruptly drenched me in something like two gallons of Thai Beef Dynasty, Siam Rolls and chocolate milk. As TheWife has noted on more than one occasion, I am a vomit magnet.

3. Flying monkeys or vampire rabbits? Why?
Oh, vampire rabbits all the way. Not even close. Flying monkeys are for losers.

4. What did you do to that guy that said that thing?
Gutted him like a fish. Wait... are we talking about the same guy?

5. What's your favorite kind of cheese?
Excellent question. I'm tempted by many members of the cheese family (and the cheez family, for that matter... I have a deep-set weakness for Port Wine Cheddar spread), and while I'd be hard-pressed to say no to an extra-sharp Vermont cheddar or a wedge of Gloucester... if I had to choose one it'd be a nice Italian Fontina. Mmm. And now I'm drooling on my keyboard.

6. How would you get red wine out of the carpet?
I find that the salt from my tears at having spilled some velvety red is often enough to remove some of the stain -- emotional, if not physical.

7. Whom would you most like to see publicly flogged?
Right now, I'd have to go with Arlen Specter. Jackass.

Se7en: Verbatim edition

In response to the queries of Karen from Verbatim:

1. What do you think of sushi?
I've mentioned this before, but I'm not a seafood guy. That being said, I think that sushi - or bait, as it's known in English - is a valuable tool for catching other fish.

2. When did you last have too much to drink?
Easy -- back in March, when my friend Koko took me out to see Bob Mould and fed me so many Sam Adams that I almost drowned. (Although I'm probably blocking out at least one 3+ margarita lunch that happened between then and now.)

3. Print newspaper or online? Why?
Both. I grew up reading The Boston Globe every day, and have been a 7-day subscriber to the local paper of record ever since I graduated from college and became a productive (except for days when I enjoy a 3+ margarita lunch) member of society. At the same time, however, my daily schedule is a lot more complicated these days than it used to be (ah, the joys of children) -- and in all honesty, I probably only get to actually sit down and read the paper twice a week now. Subsequently, Boston.com is my home page at work, and I probably check it at least a half-dozen times a day.

4. What did you have for dinner last night?
TheWife cooked me a feast! It was a banner evening in Castle TwoBusy: Pecan Chicken with mixed vegetables over jasmine rice, washed down with a rare (for our house) Chardonnay. Good times.

5. What’s your favorite CD that people would be surprised to learn that you like?
Surprised? I'm not sure. As you can tell by my CD reviews (to the right) and obnoxious predilection for music memes, I listen to a lot of music -- and my tastes are pretty esoteric. Some people might be surprised by my recent foray into ambient doom metal... others by my not-unrelated and also recent jonesing for riff-heavy 70s rock (my kids have been subjected to a fair amount of old-school Black Sabbath in my car in recent weeks, and now refer to Iron Man as "the angry song")... and other others by my longstanding appreciation for some good, old-fashioned Renaissance music. I dunno. I guess the easy answer would be the first album by A Flock of Seagulls - which is easy to make fun of, but also a pretty decent album when it's all said and done - but I'm pretty tough to pigeonhole as a music fan.

6. How would you describe your singing voice?
In my better moments - like, when shower's running strong with hot water and I'm feeling extra-soulful - I can pull off a half-decent Mark Eitzel or Paul Buchanan... let's just say I've had a lot of practice doing the melancholy voice thing. By and large, though, I think you'd be much better off thinking of my voice as something akin to the sound of a coyote caught in a bear trap, only slightly off-key and with less range.

7. Whom would you most like to see on the Dem. ticket in November (including VP)?
First off, I think this is a perfect opportunity to let everyone know that the use of "whom" in this question is strictly a Karen thing. Please join me in giving the grammar nerd a big hand. Now, to answer your question... I'll have to go with Obama and... uh... I'm drawing a blank. Hillary? I don't know. She's become a much better candidate recently - after spending her first year campaigning as a strident, prepackaged autocrat, she's found her comfort zone just when it became too late to matter - but I fear she's still too divisive a figure on a national level to win an election. How 'bout we go for someone older and more seasoned in matters of economics and foreign policy? What's Bill Bradley doing these days?