Harrison Gray Barrett was born today at 2:16 p.m. (PST), weighing in at eight pounds, 12.5 ounces. Rebecca pushed mightily for about 15 minutes after a labor of fewer than three hours. Aaron Copland's "Billy the Kid" Suite was playing as he emerged. I cut the cord, letting him know that I would do it again no later than his 18th birthday. Everyone concerned with the blessed event is raring to go.
Last week I needed to renew my registration, walked into a California Department of Motor Vehicles office carrying prepared paperwork I'd downloaded, took a number, and 16 minutes later I was done. I thought of calling an ambulance to meet me and my aneurysm outside, but I survived.
Once, in Massachusetts, I spent seven hours at a DMV. Once, in New York, I spent six hours at a DMV, doing the same thing that took me 16 minutes last week.
This morning I went to a gas station with three banks of double-sided filling islands. Only the island I'd parked near (x) had no number. I quickly looked at the visible numbers as I approached the cashier. It looked like this: I asked the cashier if I could have $20 on (x=Pump 7).
In seventh grade I was confident that I would never use algebra in everyday life. And I am still correct; if that were an algebra problem, I would be credited $20 at the nonexistent Pump 6 and 1/9.
Instead, I used analogies. Thanks again, tenth grade English teacher Sheila Hallissy! First you taught me Antony's Funeral Oration, now you're saving me cash on gas!
"You sure you don't have some ambitious canvassers going up to the ice shelf to knock a couple of them off, you know, to get them on the list?" I probed. "To, you know, sacrifice a few for the good of the whole?"
"You're being flippant," he said. "But we will actually send people up to spray a non-toxic green stripe on baby harp seals so that no one wants to take their coats. Do you think anyone would buy an ermine coat with a green stripe on it?"
"Have you done any studies about how attractive seals with defacing paint on their coats are to each other?" I asked. "What are the chances of reproduction if a seal looks like ass? I wouldn't get it on with a striper."
"I think they use pheromones and musk in mating," he said.
That's interesting. In Glendale they use Drakkar Noir (and lots of it).
Researchers have determined that infants who view "Baby Einstein" and "Brainy Baby"-type videos are less verbally adept than their peers whose parents substituted TV time for actually talking with them.
I believe watching these videos, with their vivid colors, morphing shapes, and absence of words are the equivalent of cats watching an aquarium. Can my cat talk? No she cannot.
More than 1,000 parents took part in an assessment of their children's skills as judged by the MacArthur-Bates Communicative Development Inventory (CDI).
Among infants (age 8 to 16 months), each hour per day of viewing baby DVDs/videos was associated with a 16.99-point decrement in CDI score...
...some children could not identify the word "cookie", indicating that parents hoarded all the sweets while they parked their children in front of the TV.
This is why we only let our daughter watch Baby Geddy videos. I asked Marisol what she thought of this.
"One likes to believe in the freedom of music," she said. "But glittering prizes and endless compromises shatter the illusion of integrity, yeah."
"That doesn't make any goddamn sense," I said, enunciating each word clearly so she understood. "You are a horrible disappointment."
Sooner or Later, We All Make the Little Flowers Grow: Lee Hazlewood
Lee Hazlewood died this weekend at age 78. Like Roger Miller and Harry Nillson, he was a singer-songwriter who couldn't easily be categorized.
Most famous for the songs he wrote for Nancy Sinatra, like "These Boots Are Made for Walking" and "Some Velvet Morning", Hazlewood was reluctant to be in the spotlight until Sinatra insisted. After that, his solo work became even harder to define, but was always striking.
His music began to attract renewed interest after his career slowed down in the 70's and 80's, and he released an acclaimed album, "Cake or Death?" last year, after discovering he had kidney cancer. He was a cool dude.
Partially because of the faerie problem, and partially because I have been coveting Martha's Vineyard real estate (it's the type of coveting free of the ability to procure it), I have been thinking about a particular phrase of William Butler Yeats in his description of his intended digs on Innisfree.
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
I WILL arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made; Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray, I hear it in the deep heart's core.
Through the guy living in my office building's garage, I was able to contact W.B. Yeats and ask a few questions.
MB: How would you describe the noise in your glade, Mr. Yeats? WBY: Oh, it's bee-loud.
MB: Does that mean the noise in your glade is made by bees, and that they are loud? WBY: Yes.
MB: Does it ever bother you, the bee-loudness? WBY: Aye.
MB: What, you're a pirate now?
Because the directory was already open to that page, psychically, I then contacted W.B. Mason for some mailing labels.
In terms of glades, their usability decreases in inverse proportion to the number of bees in them. If I were to own property with a glade, I would put a barbecue and hammock in it. And if my enemies came over, I would suggest they try out the hammock, and then put the barbecue under it, thus burning my enemies to death, as the guy in my garage suggested.
Were I to have a glade, there are only a few types of sound I would allow, lest my property value decrease:
Harrison Gray Barrett was born today at 2:16 p.m. (PST), weighing in at eight pounds, 12.5 ounces. Rebecca pushed mightily for about 15 minutes after a labor of fewer than three hours. Aaron Copland's "Billy the Kid" Suite was playing as he emerged. I cut the cord, letting him know that I would do it again no later than his 18th birthday. Everyone concerned with the blessed event is raring to go.
