Snake oil, anyone? Tearbosnike oil, anyone?

The child only gets to watch TV with commercials on weekends when she sees Cookie Jar TV for an hour because it has an animation of Richard Scarry's (insane and cool) books. The very first time she saw this sort of TV -- not long ago -- the kid came away from her hour of network viewing asking for Shoes Under ("we should get one of those," she sang, "You can store all of your stuff conveniently under the bed!"), a Pillowpet ("Makes a great gift under $20 Mom," she pitched, before lapsing into a rhapsody about the cuteness and the softness of the thing) , some gizmo that dispenses toothpaste onto a toothbrush ("Mom -- it makes less mess! And it uses the WHOLE tube!")

And then there was the Turbo Snake. Only you don't say it like that. You say it like this: tearbosnike. As in 'I'm yellowin' ma teef and spakin' lika Brit, gov'na'. The tearbosnike launched us into a different sort of TV category, and has led to an unlikely childhood fascination about both drain clearing and the British. And not necessarily in that order. "Mom! Dad!" she called. "You should get this! If you order now, they'll double the offer" she implores at 8:30 am on a Saturday. "You can get two large and two small tearbosnikes for just tan dollas."

It is now apparently a requirement that all gimmicky products be sold by Englishmen, probably because Americans think it gives the Sham Wow and Tearbosnike an air of sophistication or believability -- it's foreign, exotic!. The kid agrees with this philosophy completely.

Meanwhile, since we groggily ignore the TV in favor of half-sleep, we had no idea what the child was talking about, or why they would be showing an ad like that while cartoons were on TV (answer: when they can't sell ad space, they sell it for pennies on the dollar and companies buy in bulk regardless of when they'll be fit in. Hm. I guess it works too, when you mesmerize the post-toddler set). When she realized how amused we were, this quickly became a running gag. In the middle of dinner, out of nowhere: tearbosnike!

She's also begun listening more carefully to the British mom up the street, and she can imitate her perfectly. If she finds out that chocolate and cheese are part of high tea, we'll be forced to move to England immediately.

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The old man is snoring

I was going to go on about the kid, but first off, let's talk weather: Being soggy all of the time sucks. I hand it to you, people of Oregon and Washington -- I like you all with your funky, awesome houses and vegetarian stuff (especially you, Portland, where I have yet to go). But getting into my car with half a gallon of torrential rain pouring off me so I can drive in traffic behind several Camrys (read: never leaves house, normally makes annual pilgrimmage to the mall for Christmas gifts going 10 mph, apparently in dire need of groceries now, but must slow to 5 mph because of the rain -- when not making inexplicably random, rapid lane changes) makes me want to blow my own head off.

And that's before considering the hat shoved over my head to prevent Ted Koppel hair from forming (sorry, Ted, but really, it's true), dragging my computer-filled briefcase 1/4 mile to class, and that every street is flooded because LA is not one for the big storms. Hopefully the people below the Station Fire area won't lose their houses -- a considerably worse fate than all the other sogginess, but I enjoy the complaining.

Even the dog is ready for Xanax. No time out-of-doors chasing squirrels and cats through the backyard, no seeing her friends in the 'hood. Just sitting around with her box of toys wearing a purple sweater.

She won't wear a coat -- not a raincoat, nor a regular coat, nor a sweater, nor a plastic Target bag (didn't try the latter, considered it, however). Realizing fully I should question my sanity for trying this sort of humiliating stuff on a dog, I still found it interesting that she wouldn't budge her 15 pound frame off the porch dressed in this protective gear, but she'd quite willingly bound forward naked into the storm. Even though last time she got ill and threw up for a few days. You would think that a creature with superhuman smelling power that still insists on eating cat poop would be less discerning about her outerwear, but it's just fur for her, unless she wants her sweater after her walk, and only if no one is going to look her in the eye.

Apparently it's just she and Steven who are immune from the family Outerwear Gene, which dictates that the child and I have a large enough selection of coats, sweaters, jackets, and hoodies to fortify the Alaskan army. Not my fault. It's genetic (ask my Dad).

Oh hell, I'll talk about the kid separately.

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Sudoku: Japanese for “Annoying Number Puzzle”

I think Su doku actually stands for “the number that stands alone,” but that is only occasionally helpful to know.

Years ago, when the sudoku puzzle was added to that dinosaur of all media, the local newspaper, I sat down to see what all the fuss was about. In less than 15 minutes, I kicked out the series of numbers that made the puzzle count to 9 in each of its individual 3x3 squares as well as vertically and horizontally. I reasoned that any dummy could do this, and that was that.

I now know that I must have been having a zen moment, in the zone, living in the moment, centered to the Universe. Because it never happened again when I would occasionally mess about after perusing the comics and horoscope (it keeps company with those two, as though it’s going to be as easy as reading Star Magazine).

And then one day, I decided I needed to complete a Sudoku puzzle again to feel whole as a person. I got out a pencil (remember those?) and went to work.

I very quickly learned that puzzles have difficulty levels assigned to them, ranging from “gentle” to “diabolical” (a term that I really enjoy, though “bastardly” would do just as well). The week starts out “gentle,” works its way up to “bitch slap,” (okay, "moderate," but it feels like a bitch slap) goes all “tough” by Thursday and is “diabolical” (or for me, “unsolvable”) by the time you’re thinking weekend.

You might be wondering, “How hard can it be to get from 1-9?” More likely you’re thinking “What the fuck are you doing wasting what little time you have on this, I would never waste MY time on this stupidity?!” – but let’s pretend you’re pondering the puzzle, because this is my world you’re skittering through with that horrified look on your face. The answer is, it’s so damned hard by the time the daily puzzle goes diabolical that, according to my pals at sudoku.org.uk, you should consider brushing up on your Bifurcation Theory.

Oh, you don’t remember Bifurcation Theory from grammar school? That’s that little ditty where….oh, right, like I know. I did do a diabolical puzzle until very close to the end, when the missing 1s and 6s began to pile up disconcertingly. I followed one path (that's something to do with bifurcation I hear, but really, isn't it just following a path?), couldn’t find my way back, tossed it into the recycle bin and had dessert (Hm, a metaphor describing my coping mechanisms, you say? Perhaps).

I read in Time this week that sudoku good exercise for the mind, and I'm going with it. Even if it's occasionally diabolical. I'm working up to getting diabolical right back.

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Doggie!

We pass this every day on the way to school. For Xmas it had a giant red bow. It's awesome, isn't it?

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Night!

Uh, yeah, still catching up: On December 5, we went to the L.A. Auto Show. But we were a bit ambitious this year. The child learned, with the aid of a Skuut, how to ride a bike without training wheels inside of a week (thanks Keith and Rozzie, for the loaner!), so she wanted to tackle a bike ride around the sprawling Balboa Park. It was very frosty, which is the perfect kind of weather for biking. The kid made it around -- it's several miles -- very quickly, but was tired. So we decided to run home, catch the train, and walk forever to get through the auto show. How this is the antidote to being tired is anyone's guess. Probably too ambitious, and it cost me $20 in convention pizza that the kid didn't even like, but it was fun anyway.

We were outside at night. Night! This rarely happens unless we are leaving someone's house after a dinner, and never for stuff like this (read: crankiness ensues, and spreads like wildfire). In our (failed) search for food, we quickly visited L.A. Live, which happened to be decorated for Xmas and featured the KIIS Jingle Ball, so lots of stuff was happening, making for a little fun. It was so bright there was no need for a flash on the camera. There were fields of poinsettia with trains running through them on tracks, plenty of lights, and even some band playing outside.
It's difficult to remember what it used to be like to go out at night, dressed up, hopeful and unencumbered, but some girls dressed in insensible mini-skirts huddled together served as a reminder, and made me a bit less wistful about it, too.

Here's a pic from the auto show. They're marketing the new Ford Fiesta (which was sealed shut - hm) to the youth market, but they're really getting those show girls a bit young these days.

p.s. - having to run across working train tracks to get to the train platform would be thought completely idiotic in any other city, but not here.

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Does this sweater make me look fat?

It's 52 degrees. In Los Angeles, this is akin to the end of the known universe. When I see our crossing guard wear pants instead of shorts, I'll consider it a sign of the apocalypse.

When our dog agrees, against all former protestations, to wear the purposefully looser dog sweater I so thoughtfully purchased yesterday (a tighter, adorable red one draws looks of humiliation and annoyance), I suppose it really could be considered bona fide winter day.

Now, she won't wear it outside, understand. This is to be done strictly indoors where the other dogs won't snicker at her. She even makes me take it off so she can pee in the backyard (just in case someone walks by? A cat?).

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Summer and Fall, in a nutshell

(I just got an email from work about an "Effective Time Management" workshop. I'd attend, but I'm too busy wasting time).

Haven't been around these parts in a while. No really good reason, so here's a brief catch-up on things we learned and did:

Over the summer, we grew some stuff: eggplants, basil, bell peppers, tomatoes, one zucchini (I thought we were supposed to have so many that the neighbors ducked us when we rang the bell), and one hell of a serious cucumber plant that exploded with spiky specimens. Right now we have an enormous pot filled with lettuce.

Every year, from August through January, I live with the dread of more gift-type stuff entering the offspring’s natural habitat. I beg and plead both the giver and receiver to back off, thin out, chuck stuff, choose items smaller than a breadbox. And then I am blamed by both parties for not allowing them to live out their fantasy of filling our house to the rafters with enough pink plastic to blow out the front windows.

Cheese is like air for the kid; she can’t get through the day without it.

Expensive summer camp is better than cheap summer camp. But then there's no money to go away, and that's all you want to do when it's over 100 degrees every day (but right now it's raining and very cold and even the dog is wearing a sweater and I'm in piiiig heaven!).

Our friend Bruce visited, but then decided to sell his house so he could live high in North Carolina. Which seems perfectly reasonable, as long as he doesn't mind us showing up on his doorstep and insisting on riding his tractor mower before we drive however far it takes to get to the "local" Taco Bell for cheese roll-ups.

When your kid is gifted, you get a lot of homework. And by you, I mean you, not just the kid, who gets 10 pages. So far we've collaborated on Badgers and Trolley cars. (That right there is the Pacific Red Car, which used to run through the Valley) And a Snowman Construction Worker. And when the kid isn't busy wrenching her teeth back and forth in her mouth in an effort to conjure the Tooth Fairy (resulting in the last one flying through the air in a wide arc...and then a kid stepped on it), she's becoming measurably smarter. But the mouth on her! How did that happen?

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Happy Halloween!

The kid's "alien pumpkin" idea, as usual, was the best. Go dress up and eat candy, people. It's really the only time it's acceptable to be a big goofus.

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Pearls of wisdom, LAUSD-style

A brief discussion of Columbus Day brought on a little lyricism by the small child whilst dog walking:

Columbus sailed on the ocean blue in 1982...

Me: It was 1492. In 1982 I was in school.
Child: (missing emphasis entirely, her mind obviously bogged down by important matters like how much TV she could boonswoggle out of me): You went to school with Columbus?

And then, Red Ribbon Week. Where they teach kids who don't know anything about drugs and alcohol and smoking about drugs, alcohol and smoking.

Me (ignoring the red ribbons in favor of finding the kid in the melee after school): Hi. How was school?
Child: I got this red bracelet. It says, "Just Say No To Drunks."
Me: (stifles laugh, can't speak)
Child: What's a drunk? Oh, and they say that if you find someone smoking, you should run up to them and say "BOO!" And you can't have wine every day. Just sometimes. And C---'s Dad smokes.
Other kid: And tries to keep it from the kids (apparently not very well, C---'s Dad. Not that you're not in for some fresh Hell now).
Other kid's parent, under her breath: "We have wine sometimes and now I'm worried that she's going to run around telling everyone we're lushes."

Have mercy, LAUSD. Sometimes the sin is all we've got left, huh? Not me, of course. Just saying. BOO!

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Cruising, total coolness return to Van Nuys

We got that rare dinner alone tonight (thanks, Grandma!) and ran off to take the dog for a quick spin as the night turned cooler. Behold, at Starbucks, a beautiful car. And then, wow, another, a Corvair. And then, wait, what's that on the boulevard? Okay, hold up, what's with all the nice cars? We get over to Van Nuys Blvd. and there are amazing vintage cars in every direction cruising up and down.

We followed the ruckus to the old Rydell Chevy lot and there they all were: Fab cars from all over, with enough fumes to knock us all over flat. Really serious stuff -- hot rods, Mustangs, VW buses, 1950s Chevys, GTOs, Model As, crazy lowriders -- you name it. And the ones that weren't parked were all around, cruising, or parked seemingly randomly, as at one Mobil station, where in each of three bays was an enormous lowrider car with everyone leaping around greeting each other. It was like catapulting back in time to the '70s, when you could cruise Van Nuys Blvd. and everyone wasn't such a tightass.

Of course, in lieu of the child to remind us, we ran into our kid's preschool teacher, who was there with a teacup chihuahua that threatened to nip Poppy's enormous-by-comparison face off. Poppy was completely nonplussed (We're out! We're out! Yay! Yay! People! Noise! Urban decay! Whoo! I love being a dog! Can I poop right here in front on the grass where everyone is talking?!).

A lovely evening in Van Nuys in the summertime. Sometimes it's just nice to see people out having a good time (including us for once!). Nobody seemed to know who organized this, but I found this fab poster online...Word to the locals: I hear this will be a second-Wednesday-of-the-month phenom. See ya next time!

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