The snow always shines on TV

Earlier this month as the holiday season came upon us, I was chatting with my dean about favorite holiday flicks; my head currently embroiled in Ernst Lubitsch films, I mentioned The Shop Around the Corner as a favorite. "For me," she said, "I love nothing better than the hokey wonderland that is White Christmas. I just love that film."

"If you can believe this," I said, "I've never seen it."

Her jaw dropped. Indeed, somehow I have never managed to catch Bing, Danny, Rosemary and Vera-Ellen do their post-WW2 tinsel-wrapped spectacle in any form (television, video or otherwise). I have no idea why I missed this, since I'm a sucker for everything that the movie stands for: musicals, Bing Crosby crooning, implausibly mild Vermont winters, etc. My dean (who is not a film expert, mind you) was genuinely upset that I had not seen this; within two days, a DVD copy that had been lying around her house appeared in my departmental mailbox. The end-of-semester grading mayhem quickly commenced, however, and I didn't get to watching it, despite her constant cajoling in the hallways, until a few days before Christmas, with my parents in town and a cold wind blowing outside.

Since I'm still ovewhelmed by holiday cooking, I'll say that my first response is that White Christmas is something like a meringue: a light, fluffy, pretty confection that isn't very filling. I was stunned to find that a drag routine done by two of the most popular jocks in my Peruvian high school was lifted verbatim from this movie (costumes and all!); I was less stunned to discover that Donald O'Connor was originally slated to do Danny Kaye's part, given its similarity to his role in Singin' in the Rain.

I decided to post about the movie after reading a holiday posting by Glenn Kenny on the film, mainly because one particular aspect piqued my professional curiosity and has stuck with me. The plot finds Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye up in Vermont at Christmastime, where their beloved general has fallen on hard time following the War while running an inn; to cheer him up, the boys decide to ask all the members of their infantry who live in New England to come to Vermont for a surprise. In order get them there quickly, however, Bing decides to go to New York and appear on the Ed Harrison television show (Harrison also being a fellow infantryman, coincidentally enough) to encourage them to come. Everyone watches this show, including the general (Kaye must fake a knee injury to get the general out of the room from where the television set is located) and Rosemary Clooney, who watches backstage from the nightclub act that she is doing in New York when she mistakenly thinks Bing is using the general's plight for cash.


This use of television fascinates me and I want to investigate it more. For one thing, using television as part of the plot seems to run counter to the entire point of the movie in the first place, since the film was known and marketed at the time for being the first to be filmed in Vistavision, Paramount's entry into the widescreen market. From what I understand (and it's been a while since I've read Bolton's book on widescreen), this technological innovation was meant to combat the encroachment of television into the entertainment market. (Drive-in theaters and 3D also were technological innovations, but widescreen is the most interesting to me). It is therefore somewhat surprising for me to see a television screen within a wide theatrical screen. From an international perspective, this might have been the first time that some countries would have seen televisions and how they might be used; according to this, television didn't arrive in Peru until 1958, and this movie was released four years earlier and was undoubtedly screened there. So what was the general reaction to seeing television in this film? And what about in the United States? Why did Paramount choose to include the use of television as part of the plot, when the movie industry was trying to combat television? How many other movies in the 1950s did this? What kind of relationship between TV and movies existed for this?

We'll see. Give me your thoughts, if you want, and let's see what happens.

Jingle bells all the way, man!

'Tis the season for all sorts of wonderment. Due to my potential jury duty (which so far hasn't actually occurred, yay), we stayed in the DC area this year and instead brought my parents here. This means that we've gotten to experience the holidays in DC for the first time. It's been a lot of fun to actually put up the tree and lights and actually enjoy them for Christmas. Santa will be coming down our chimney (which, come to think of it, may mean that we shouldn't start a fire in the fireplace tonight). We almost went to Michigan, which is currently overrun with bad weather, so this turned out to be great foresight on our part, even if Xan won't quite have a white Christmas. And we're having some good friends over for Christmas dinner whose families are otherwise far away (in Kazakhstan, Hong Kong and Michigan again), which may be accompanied by Stinkylulu's holiday soundtrack which he sent. (Should I play the "Festive" CD, or the "Filthy" one? Hm.)

For me, one of the funnier stories has to come from a couple weeks ago, when I had a bit of deja vu. Oma and Opa were due to arrive in a couple days and I was started to indicate to Xan that they would be arriving. "Are you excited that Oma and Opa are coming for Christmas?" I asked in the car.

He thought for a moment. "No," he said.

I was a little taken aback. "Really? Why not?"

"I don't want Oma and Opa to come for Christmas," he said with finality. "I want Ruben and Gabriel and Liam to come for Christmas." These are three of his best friends at school, part of what I call The Gang. The first two are twins, the second is the sweetest kid ever.

All three, however, also happen to be Jewish. "Well, Xan, that's sweet, but they don't celebrate Christmas?"

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because they celebrate Channukah." I knew he knew about that, because a parent had done a special thing at school about Channukah and he was therefore well-versed on dreidels and menorahs.

"Why do we have to celebrate Christmas? Why can't we celebrate Channukah?" he asked.

And suddenly, I was taken back about thirty years to when I started school myself, only to discover that all of my friends were Jewish as well. Growing up on Long Island, where everyone is either Roman Catholic or Jewish, I was a bit of the outcast as the Hispanic Protestant.

We have since gotten totally into Oma, Opa and Christmas (with all the songs, as you can see below, and the going to church), so we're dedinitely in the swing of things. And man, Santa is a great bribe to get a wayward child in line. What will I do tomorrow?

Merry Christmas, everyone!

¡Feliz año de la papa!

That's right, folks. If you didn't know, it is now the Year of the Potato. Like my family, the potato comes from Peru. This must mean I'll be making more causa limeña, which I've been making fairly often these days. Perhaps because it's so yummy. Mmm.

Oh yes, Happy New Year as well.

Joy to the World

We're up in Cape Cod this Christmas and, although there is no snow around, everyone has been having a good time. Around here, presents are opened on Christmas Eve, so we had fun opening last night -- all except for Xan, who waited until this morning after Santa had delivered. (We've then been opening throughout the day, as he just got overwhelmed with items. He still has two more to open, I think.)

Christmas Eve, however, is usually punctuated by Angela and me -- and now Xan -- accompanying her grandparents to church. A word here: I am now a Unitarian-Universalist, although I have admittedly been lax at getting to services every Sunday; Angela has generally inherited her father's (dis-)taste for anything church-related. In general, however, this is something that Nana in particular loves and we feel it's the best for everyone to go to church, even if it means delaying the Christmas Eve Meal for some time.

I should also say that I happen to love Christmas Eve services. This is, after all, the happiest day in the Christian calendar with no strings attached. If I am ever wistful for Christmas, I think of the services from back home in Lima which, for me, were always a great sign of Christmas, even though it was usualy hot and outside in the summer evening air (which I never got used to for the holidays). My church in Lima does a candlelight service with lots of Christmas carols (and for many years I was forced into the choir as a guy who could sing), so for me Christmas always solidifies with a singing on "Silent Night" as the lights go out and the candles turn on -- but in my world, it features three verses in English and one each in the original German and in Spanish. For me, that's magic.

Two years ago when we were last on the Cape for the holidays, we went to what was billed as a "Birthday Party for Jesus." This turned out to be amazingly wonderful, even for the sub-one-year-old that we had at the time: lots of Christmas carols, a direct rendering of the Christmas story and afterwards a quick round of "Happy Birthday to You" with balloons and cake in the parish hall. Brief, to the point and entirely on a kid's level. It was, to use a word, heavenly. I was actually looking forward to the service this year, gleefully expecting cake.

In the interim, however, the former pastor (who actually married us) has been moved elsewhere and a new pastor -- who we refer to as "Reverend Doctor" since the "Dr." was prominently on display when we attended a memorial service only a month or so ago -- has been installed. We had not been to a regular church service at this church for quite some time.

Certainly, I would not have expected that our venture would be worth recoutning. And yet, here I am

For starters, we walk into the main hall of the church to the musicians practicing, since we're a little early. There is a boy playing trumpet and a woman playing piano. They appear to be playing similar tunes, but are at an interval that is dissonant. "Is the trumpet in a different key?" I turn to ask Angela. "Maybe," she says, "since I don't think piano and trumpet are in the same key. Surely the pianist has figured this out." Indeed, we see the two chatting and they wander off as everyone else is wandering in. Xan picks a row for us to sit in and Nana and we two are happily esconced. There is even a little boy who comes to try to make friends with Xan.

At some point before the service begins, we notice a rather large change to the church: there are now two rather large screens hanging around the cross. Oddly, this seems incongruous to me in this otherwise fiarly normally adorned church and I realize that they have gone high-tech in a way, that the lyrics will be projected. I look down at my program and see the lyrics have also been printed in full here. Why, I think, do we have both? Isn't this a waste of paper?

The service begins and the first thing we realize is that the pianist and the trumpeter clearly have not been talking about how to fix their problem because it's still there. They are still dissonant. This grates on a number of my nerves. Xan, however, is thrilled to pieces and fascinated by the music. It appears that he knows something of "Jingle Bells" and tries in a few places to sing it while he is in my arms.

We quickly fall into "Angels We Have Heard On High." This features the chorus that goes "Glooooooooria, in excelsis deo." Xan perks up with a big smile: "Fire engine!" Indeed, each time the church sings the "Glooooooooria," it sounds like a siren and he starts happily singing along, "Fiiire engiiiine! Wooooo!"

As is to be expected. the lyrics come up on the aforementioned screens. As is to be expected, said lyrics are correctly rendered, sometimes.

There is a skit in the middle of the service, impassionately performed by several of the congregation's kids, where each letter in "Christmas" is noted, with some notation as to how a word beginning with that letter pertains to Christmas (such as "T is for tequila, which you undoubtedly could use right about now"). Before this begins, however, the screen features a lone "C" while the pastor explains what is about to occur. A long animated bell continues to ring on the corner of the screen. Xan lights up, happily yells: "Jingle bells!" The pastor, who has not said anything about what anybody else's kid has done, calls attention to this. Xan then proceeds to repeat each letter as a kid comes forward with a large letter. (As is perhaps to be expected, at one point the word in front of us reads "CHRI2TMAS.")

The Biblical passage that the pastor reads comes from a completely different translation than what appears on screen.

The trumpet and piano still are not together as the carols continue.

The kids are brought up for a small children's sermon, which involves him going on about war. The one cool thing that happens at this service is when he gives the kids bells made from spent cartidges made from the metalic detritus of war in Indochina. Xan has gone up with the rest ofthe kids but, upon seeing a mother with a smaller child in her arms, comes back to drag Angela up with him, thus inducting her into the Dadak tradition of being forced against their will to the front of the church (which apparently happened to her father all the time as he would arrive late to Christmas pageants when only the front row was left).

At some point during this, Nana turns to me and points out a 60-something-year-old man sitting with the kids. "That's Joseph," she says to me. I later find out from Angela's mother that indeed this man played Joseph in aliving nativity scene in front of the church; Mary was played by a 14-year-old. Yeesh.

The kids come back with the bells and I realize that my kid finally got his jingle bell -- and that he won't be the only one making noise for the rest of the service.

This being a kids-oriented service, the pastor then offers a regular sermon where I believe he discusses homeless people in three different cities. At this point, however, Xan gets antsy and forces each of his parents out into the vestibule for a while. (In my time away, we got to look at both the traffic and the parking lot.) I realize by this point that, this being the happiest day of the year, the pastor hasn't smiled once.

For the last hymn, the pastor introduces a new song with a calypso beat. (Remember, we're in Massachusetts, where spicy often means black pepper.) The piano and trumpet are still nopt coordinated, no one else appears to know the tune, the lyrics provided on the screen are half grammtically correct and and half rendered in grammatically-incorrect-yet-possibly-Caribbean-patois-maybe? style, Xan is still happily singing about fire engines on one side and Nana, who is lovely but completely tone-deaf, is singing on the other.

The service ends. We do not stay for cake.

I know Christmas Eve services. Later, I will tell Angela that this was by far one of the worst I have been to, on many levels. Before then, however, we turn to Nana in the car: "How did you like the service?"

"Wasn't it lovely?" Nana said genuinely. "I just love seeing all the kids around. And you."

And that, kids, is what the holidays are all about. Merry Christmas.

In lieu of day laborers

Cookie season is under way. Luckily, we now can employ some indentured servitude to get through the many baked goods that need to be made during this time of the year.

Rates per hour will go up when he's able to reach the sink in order to wash the dishes.

Last night

(Paper count:
"Jeff, how many are left?"
"About 20."
"In that stack or overall?"
"Just in that stack. Should have it done tonight or tomorrow. Then one more stack to go before all the finals come in.")

Visions of Holiday to Come (by AMD)

Last night, the three of us were sitting in Xan's room during the handoff between post-bath/pyjamas (Jeff) and pre-story/music (Angela).

"Goodnight, Dada. I love you." Kiss.

"Did you say goodnight to the Christmas tree?"

Xan hops off the bed and excitedly scampers into the living room. "Goodnight Christmas tree." Parents smile. "I love you." Parents giggle. "I give you a hug." Parents panic.

Happy Belated Thanksgiving

Hope you all have successfully devoured the Thanksgiving leftovers! Blogger and my Dad's computer didn't like each other, so I couldn't post this earlier. So pretend it is the Wednesday before Thanksgiving and read on.......

Happy Thanksgiving with lots of cranberries (by AMD)

(Jeff's paper count: 2.5 stacks down, 1.5 to go, 3 more coming in by Wednesday night)

One of the joys of being a parent is sharing things you love with your kid. Orchestra pictures will be coming later, but to honor the holiday, let's look at CRANBERRIES!

I grew up with a cranberry bog practically in our backyard. We walked - or in my short running phase, jogged - around it (1.3 miles), learned about its history (used to be a pond), helped harvest, ice-skated on it, etc. We have about a million stories about "our" bog. So naturally we share this experience with Xan.

We had a special treat this year: on the road between the airport and my parents' home we stopped off at a different cranberry bog where my dad was helping a friend with the harvest.



Grumpy (yes, that is really what his grandfather wants to be called- it's great!) walking with Xan on the road between two sections of cranberry bog. Notice the bog on the right in its dry spring-fall dry state and on the left in its winter dress - covered with water (according to my 8th grade research on the topic, this is because cranberries don't like lots of temperature changes, so keeping them under water keeps them at a mostly steady temperature; from personal experience I can say it also makes for a great skating rink in January).



One way to harvest cranberries is "wet:" flood the bog; then use a machine to hit the berries off the vines. The berries rise to the surface, perfect for corralling together (see above). Then they send them an escalator-type contraption to a truck (below).


Berries that are wet harvested are processed into juice and sauce, mostly. (The whole berries you can buy in the store are dry harvested.)

Have a very Happy Thanksgiving! Eat lots of cranberries!

Lion, not bear!

(Jeff's paper count: 1 stack down, 3 to go; 4 more stacks still coming in by Thanksgiving)

Xan's Halloween Report (respectfully submitted by AMD):

8:ooam: "Halloween, Mama! We will get chocolate, and candy, and lollipops!"The latter is the treat of choice this season, oddly inspired weeks ago by two random students on the AU shuttlebus (who left the wrappers on the seats).

3:30pm - protest putting on costume. Agree only when parents plead that it is just for two friends in the department.

3:30pm - trick or treating in the department, starting with the graduate students in the lounge who teach him the classic "trick or treat, smell my feet......"

3:45pm move on to professors in their offices. Handling the "trick or treat" and "thank you" routine with ease. Starts to go further "trick or treat... um... give me good to eat!"


(this photo looks remarkably similar to last year!)

5:00pm Left campus and joined four colleagues and friends in a trick-or-treat friendly part of our town. Angela was very lame and took no photos; Jeff was working at a film screening on campus, so there is no visual evidence of the event.

But if you will, imagine this little lion happily traipsing after a slightly bigger fairy princess on a neighborhood sidewalk in the Halloween dusk. It was magical.

Avant moi le were-rabbit

It was supposed to be simple.

He's only turning two, after all. It's not like he's really going to remember this party beyond pictures and what we tell him. No need for a blow-out where we invite every kid we've ever known, with preparations weeks in advance and a major order placed at the catalog that suspiciously arrived in our mailbox only a few weeks ago, from which you can order practically any themed party supply item you can think of. Also, to be honest, we got bogged down in other things, so we really didn't have time to prepare lavishly. (Yep: Bad Parents. Them's us.)

Last week, I was put in charge of general party duty. I decided on a small gathering, just three kids with some other good friends (most of who came for the first birthday last year) on his actual birthday. Since I teach all day, it would have to be dinner, something fun but low-key: make-your-own pizza. And as for a theme, well, thanks to Guess How Much I Love You, we've been on a bunny kick of late and Target fed this kick by placing a large number of Peter Rabbit items in the dollar section. So, after about $25 in stickers, books, paper, crayons, candy and rabbit-ear headbands, a bunny theme it was. Still relatively simple.

Angela suggested I look at this holiday-themed book we got a while ago that admittedly has some good ideas. This is where we found the bunny cake.

And the little wheels in Angela's head started turning. Rapidly.

At 11:30PM the night before the party, Angela is currently shaving white chocolate for bunny fur. She has given me permission to say on this blog that at this point I think she's insane. I'm not even sure I can describe her trying to form cheeks out of the spongy part of the cake, which still needed to be frosted. ("And what about feet? I have enough to make feet!")

It's going to be amazingly cute. Xan, of coruse, may only care that it's cake. Me, I'm returning to my grading.

(Stay tuned? How can you not?!)

UPDATE: 12:30AM -- The beast is completed. See for yourself. Complete with cheeks! And eyebrows, even! Of course, now we're worried that he's going to freak out when we have to cut into the bunny.

Why we don't have cable television at home

In alphabetical order, these are the movies (parts of, or complete) we've seen on TCM (which featured a day of Irene Dunne flicks and an evening of Stanley Donan flicks) in the very few days we've been at my parents' place in Ann Arbor:

• The Age of Innocence (1934)
• Ball of Fire (1941)
• Give a Girl a Break (1954)
• If I Were Free (1933)
• The Last Time I Saw Paris (1954)
• Penny Serenade (1941)
• Royal Wedding (1951)
• Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (1954)
• The Way We Were (1973)

You've got to admit, not a bad way to spend a few days. And tonight: The Shop Around the Corner. Yippee!

Joyeux Christmakwanzukkah!!

Indeed, 'tis the holiday season all around. And if the frantic paper-grading and hyperventilating prospects at going to MLA next week weren't enough to get me in the mood, we had a evy of activities to make sure we're in the holiday spirit.

On Friday, we braved a rush-hour endless litany of "mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama" in the backseat to experience Brookside Gardens at its brightest, with its annual holiday light show. We met up with Xan's most amazingest special friend Jolie and family -- and, truth be told, KC not only has the pictures, but gets the description down right, because I too felt like I was inside the world's largest Lite Brite.

Yesterday, after Xan and I delivered some cookies and Angela went to a dress rehearsal, we actually drove up to New York City for the Fields family Channukah tradition known as Latkethon. We've been invited for years but damn if the holiday just comes at the wrong time of the semester. By a stroke of sheer luck, however, my exams were separated by a week, leaving this weekend pretty clear -- so we piled everyone in the car and drove up to experience more potato pancakes, brisket and good red wine than I have had in a while. (OK, so Xan was only really interested in the applesauce and tri-color cake-like cookies. Still.) This also allowed us some face time with the whole Dadak clan before Christmas (see below).

And then today we braved the New Jersey Turnpike to come home in time for Angela's orchestra's carol sing. Given that we didn't get tickets ahead of time, we were a little tuckered out and, ahem, our last experience with the orchestra, Xan and I sat this one out. But after tomorrow's exam (and a frantic period of grading), we all head up to Ann Arbor for Christmas with my parents, which is the first time we've done that in a few years (and clearly the first time with Xan). With snow on the horizon, it should be a great holiday -- complete (and they don't know this) with Peruvian D'Onofrio panetón for my parents.

This probably means I won't get to blog too much until just after Christmas, when we descend on Philadelphia for MLA, but you can be sure there will be stories and photos upon the return. Until then (and maybe even before then, have a wonderful holiday!

'Tis the season...

...for sharing with your best friend. And for cookie dough.

Picking up chicks

Well, I had to pick this chick up several times while trick-or-treating. And damn if the boy isn't getting heavier by the minute.

Folks, if you're wondering why people ever have children, one of the reasons is that on one day of the year, you can dress 'em up in silly-looking clothing and have them go out and beg for candy. Not for him, mind you, because he's not allowed to eat that much. I, however, currently have the carcasses of four mini-candy bars within reach. (Thanks to the Costco Hershey's bag, I had a Butterfinger, a Reese's peanut butter cup, an Almond Joy, and a Kit Kat, which is melting in my mouth as I type this.) If I were nice, I would bring some candy to class, but I'm forcing one class to watch Babel, so you can determine for yourself whether I'm nice or not.

Today was my day with Xan, so I brought him to campus in costume. The costume would have been perfect had it been a normal Octobery day; at 70 degrees, however, this suit was a little hot. (I bought this, by the way, on clearance at Old Navy -- a store I never even walk into -- last year for a grand total of five bucks, well spent.) The result was that the voices of nearly every person who walked by us went up by at least three registers upon seeing him in this suit. (This includes the I'm-too-cool-for-school frat boys who sit outside the student center all day to smoke.) Admittedly, I laughed for a full five minutes when I tried the costume on him for the first time the other day, perhaps because my rather un-American (read: not obese) child doesn't normally have a body shaped like this, which I found reminiscent of the main characters in the animated film Chicken Run.

The best part about these pictures, however, is not merely that they capture how adorably cute he really is: it's the fact that we'll have enough material from today alone to fully embarass him about 15 years from now. Mark my words.

Myself, I had a lot of plastic costumes growing up -- and my "homemade" costumes of later youth were not always terribly inventive. (I was a hobo for several years, I think, in junior high.) In graduate school, the creative juices started to flow more and for a couple years I went as Luka, which I thought was amusing, yet topical... until I discovered that people thought my masterful makeup job indicated actual bruises. (Shockingly, Angela refused to go as my mother one year.) I also managed to win a costume party contest as Speed Racer -- a natural for me since (a) my hair naturally creates that curl in the middle of my forehead if I don't use hair product, and (b) I managed to find a pair of white bellbottoms that gave me the perfect Speed silhouette. (Actually, those pants were a little tight. No, a lot tight. In the right spot. Let's just say I had to walk carefully for fear of hurting myself. I know, too much information...)

In my attempt to get everything done today, I didn't put too much effort into this year's costume for trick-or-treating, instead choosing to spike up my hair, wear all black and call myself first a Robert Smith wannabe (which became impossible when I remembered I only recently threw out all my old goth makeup, which had gone bad) and then merely a behind-the-scenes techie. Besides, I didn't actually have to teach today and I didn't want to distract from Xan's impact on his first outing on Halloween. I have threatened for several years now, however, to do something much more daring -- and wouldn't you know that next year the holiday falls on a Wednesday and I'm teaching Cinemas of Latin America again?

In any case, happy halloween. If anyone still wants some candy tomorrow, I still have plenty. (You still only get it if you come in costume, however.)

Father's Day #2

Not that today wasn't wonderful -- many wonderful things happened today. World Cup games were actually exciting -- particularly when viewed with actual World Cup Afficiando Señor Pájaro (who, living up to this moniker, brought guacamole to the festivities of the Brazil-Australia game). The air conditioner made its way downstairs. Friends M&M came over to help us continue the weekend project of finally replacing our evil bathroom ceiling. (Natually, that is becoming more of a hassle than originally expected, but let's move on...) Angela decided to braid my hair; yes, there are pictures. (Yes, point taken: the hair will be chopped soon.) And, in an indelible memory, Xan expertly crawled out of our kiddie pool (filled with just enough water to cool off) and ambled across the lawn in search of ripe blackberries, stark naked.

All this wonder was, I believe, meant to counteract the present that Xan decided to give me earlier this morning.

(note: if eating, please wait until after you finish before continuing. consider yourself warned.)

After breakfast, Ange felt a little tired and asked to go back to sleep for a bit. I agreed and played with Xan for a bit. Coming into his I-want-to-play-by-myself-just-stay-here-with-me mode, I crawled onto the sofa and turned on Univisión to catch part of the (boooooring) Korea-Croatia game. I started to doze off when Xan wandered over and I smelled that familiar smell that indicates a diaper change. No problem, I picked him up, all ready to change him.

As I started to clean him off, however, I realized that there was poo on his leg. I turned him around, got enough wipe -- and found some on the front of his leg. And then on his foot. And his other foot. And back on the first back part of the leg. I thought, "What the hell?!"

To make a long story short: shockingly for the first time, we suffered a combination poo explosion-wardrobe malfunction. Resulting in poo everywhere: all over him, on me, on the floor (all over -- he tracked, then Angela came out and tracked...), on toys, the high chair, everything. Somehow, Vega was spared. To say that this was vile is putting it mildly. The good thing that came out of this: our hardwood floors are now spotless.

Naturally, Xan was entirely unperturbed. In his own way, perhaps this is the beginning of I-can-make-my-own-gifts-for-Dad stage, a step before macaroni sculpture.

A Year in the Life

What a difference a year makes. I started this blog just over a year ago, pretty much to track our descent into parenthood and, primarily, to let folks who knew us know more about what was going on with all of us without having to send emails out every other day. The event that triggered this was, of course, the impending birth of our son. The first picture below is me and him almost 365 days ago to the minute, give or take an hour.



This is us now!:

I can hardly believe that an entire year has gone by. Babyhood is apparently officially over and Xan is creeping slowly upward into Toddlerville. Seriously: standing is now a constant, happy activity (when done up against something relatively solid) and, as of the last couple days, he can wobble down the length of the coffee table to nabsomething that caught his eye (usually the wooden puzzle my cousin gave me, seen under the table here, which he is allowed to play with; or my computer, which he is not).



We had a really (really) small party this evening, with my parents around and a couple friends. My parents have been really great while they have been here. Among other things, they arrived right when Angela left for a conference... and right as Xan got sick with only his second cold, meaning that he basically clung to me for three days straight. (Hence, my grading time was not what I expected this spring break. Sorry, class.) They have been wonderful though and my mother in particular is having a ball being the crazy Oma.

Speaking of crazy, perhaps our idea of an ideal birthday gift for Xan is a little nuts:



We saw him play with a giant drum at a birthday party, the first any of us had gone to in our new roles and he took to it very quickly. As you can see -- and really, this is what amazes me -- he instinctively seems to know which end of the mallet is to be used to hit the drum, and which is to hold. This photo is really within the first five minutes of him acquiring the drum, and we did not show him what to do. This may, however, thwart Angela's plan for him becoming a violist. I mean, really, would you pick viola over precussion? (I put this to Señor Pájaro and he said, "Viola." So, maybe the quarter will still happen.)


Today also served as an introduction to the world of cake. More specifically: cupcake. After a full year of mostly organic foods, carefully prepared or bought at Whole Foods, and milk either from the breast or made with the one formula I could find that didn't use corn syrup solids as an ingredient, we go and blow the whole thing with a Duncan Hines cake mix that was oh-so-yummy. Some kids apparently react really negatively to experiencing so much sweet after having had almost exclusively eaten food that was not nearly as sweet. They either spit it out, cry (usually both) or mash it into their (or their parents') hair. Not my boy: he ate the whole darn thing. And, son of his mother, the frosting was the best part.




525,600 minutes, as the song goes: this is a good measure of a year.. Happy First Birthday, baby boy. We are very glad you are here.

This, my friends, is love

The following is a recounting of an actual phone conversation held this morning. The implied people involved have not been altered in any way in order to implicate the guilty.

"Hello?"

"Hi! I'm just checking on my boys to see how they are doing."

"Oh, we're doing fabulously. We just got dressed and we're about to head out the door."

"Great!"

"Although I just experienced something a little weird."

"Oh?"

"Well, this is going to sound a little crazy perhaps, but... um... did you use my film textbook to squish a bug or something in the basement?"

"...yes."

"Oh my God. You're kidding."

"Jeff, it was a huge spider. I couldn't even step on it."

"So you used my textbook??!!"

"Well, it was right there. And it's large."

"And then you didn't clean it up?!"

"No."

"OK, well, let me tell you what I did. I hadn't turned on the light yet when I picked up my book and I felt something squishy and wet underneath and thought, 'My goodness, do we have a leak? Did the cat throw up? What happened?' I brought the mass that had by now wiped off onto my hand and brought it to my nose to sniff it. To my nose!! And then, because it didn't smell bad, I started to roll it around in my fingers, hearing it crackle and squish. And only then did I turn on the light and saw it was a mass of squished giant bug. And then, I scremed."

"I just wanted to leave you a little present! Kind of like the cat."

"Oh yeah, speaking of which -- happy anniversary."

It had to happen eventually

I spent most of today on campus. Which means I couldn't spend Valentine's Day with my wife.

As such, she spent most of today having a really good time with another guy. And there's no way I can compete because he's younger, doesn't say much, is exceptionally cute and has even better eyes than I have. Not to mention, he goes to bed early.

Ah well.

As the clock ticks...

...why not consider some resolutions?

• To write more. Got to get that book done, so preferably nightly. Don't call between 10pm and midnight.
• To see more movies. Not sure how to do that between Xan and kicking up on writing but I can hope.
• To get the front lawn in a halfway decent shape, considering how much I wrecked it this year.
• To be a conscientious advisor for my independent study, capstone project and thesis students.
• To use the word "frell" instead of the more socially unacceptable word it usually replaces on Farscape to get through the censors, thereby ensuring that my son learns the geekier word first. (This may lead to more social outcastness. However, given that both of his parents survived that, we will chalk this up to something that is "good for him.")
• To get in frelling shape. (see? why not start now?!)
• To get the darn blinky Christmas lights up outside the house with plenty of time before Christmas. Or, even, get them up at all, which I failed to do this year.
• To call my parents more.
• To have even more fun with Xan, if that's possible.

That's it. I think. Happy New Year -- see you in '06!

Christmastime is here

We interrupt this grading session to report that...

THE CHARLIE BROWN CHRISTMAS SPECIAL IS PLAYING ON TV RIGHT NOW!!

I realize I'm old-fashioned in this day and age of TiVo and everything-televised-on-DVD, but there's something special about catching this on television. It's just so neat.

If he weren't asleep, I would be waking up the boy. Then again, I still have to wait a few years until he can learn the Snoopy Dance. (And then, he can be like that other Xander. Not to mention me, since I do a mean Snoopy Dance.)

Speaking of this Christmas special, I discovered just now that Jody Watley has a version of the tune from this special that makes it sound very... well, let's just say it's a version that makes you want to snuggle at the fireplace.

(Hee hee, Lucy just said the "big Eastern syndicate" line, a metafictional dig at the world of comic strips. Have I mentioned I love the Vince Guaraldi Trio? Yay.)

Ho oh no

I had to stop looking at these pictures because (a) I should be grading and (b) attempting to contain my laughter in order to not wake up the rest of the house was starting to get painful.

Suffice to say that this is yet another reason why we are going nowhere near Santa's Magic Kingdom at the mall anytime soon.

Thanks to the posters at my nephew Joel's blog for finding this.