My wife has discovered Etsy.

It's the beginning of the end.

Absolutely overwhelmed with work, stressed out, juggling a dozen things at once, and I finally figured out what I was doing wrong:

I haven't been listening to music.

It took The Stranglers, Always the Sun to make me realize what I was missing.

Okay, what to say here.

First off, I am completely addicted to this song. I must listen to it about a dozen times a day.

The last time I listened to a song this much, it was this song. Virtually the same song, as you can tell, with nearly identical vocals.

Life is busy. Work is busier than I have ever been, which is great of course, especially when you work freelance and have no guarantees of any new gigs after the current one is over.

It's also good because we really need the money. The basement renovation continues, and the final tally on the work will by high. Originally we figured it would take around $20k to do it. Ha! We were so naive back then. Once we actually sat down and budgeted things we realized it would be considerably more.

Well, I'm sure we could've done it for 20k, but not the way we wanted to. And now that it's almost over, the final cost should come in around 15% higher than our real budget.

And then we have to furnish the sucker. Hooboy.

Anyway, I'll post a video of the thing once it's all done. You'll see it was all worth it.

In other news, the baby learned how to crawl this week. The easy days are officially over.

Still haven't seen the Watchmen. Haven't seen many movies lately, actually. Haven't watched TV either. It's either paid work, or looking after the baby, or working in the basement.

Did happen to watch Lars and the Real Girl the other day. A most excellent movie I couldn't recommend enough. Both hilarious and sad at the same time.

Went to St Lucia last month. Seems like forever ago already. It was an awesome trip, even if I did have to stay up until 3am working every night for the next 2 weeks to make up for it.

We're in Nova Scotia for a week, visiting in-laws for Easter. Going through security at the airport one guard tried to make Claire smile while his buddy did a random body search on me. She's a happy baby, but has such a serious face sometimes. I told the guard that if he did Pat-A-Cake she'd give him a big smile for sure -- she can't resist it -- and he was just about to do it but then said he shouldn't. it would ruin the image of the security checkpoint and he'd lose the necessary aura of fear and intimidation.

The guards did say she was a cute baby, though. They said they see a lot of babies come through, so they know ugly, and she's definitely a cute one.

Travel with a kid is all kinds of fun.

Enough for now.

While it's nice that the baby loves her solid foods -- more sweet potato, please! -- I'm not sure I'm pleased with the corresponding changes it brings. Namely: turdlets.

I was used to only one poop each day. Sure, it was a fucking mess to clean up, but at least it didn't smell that bad.

I've already had to dispose of three turdlets so far today. The second one made me gag. How something so small could smell so bad...

The third one we caught on video. Not to worry, I won't post it. But it's documented now, so that's something for the ages.

I'm sure Sean Penn deserved the award and all, but can you imagine if they'd let Mickey Rourke loose to give this kind of acceptance speech at the Oscars?



Now that's a speech.

I can actually see when Bell turns on the "traffic shaping," as my download speeds drop by over 50%.

That, and I can feel the choke-hold squeeeeeezing.

It is rare these days for me to catch any TV show when it sctually airs. Sad, but true.

Last night between 8 and 8:30 I had a few minutes, and as I was flipping channels I saw the Simpsons was on -- oh yeah, a new Simpsons on Sunday -- so I watched a bit. The first thing I noticed was that it was an HD episode. Not a normal one on HD, but an honest to goodness produced in widescreen HD episode.

I learned today that it was their first.

Not much to say about it, really, except that wow, the black lines a really crisp and Homer's pants are a particularly bright shade of blue.

There was also a new, extended title sequence for the occasion:

The secret to a good night's sleep, by the way, is making sure the baby has two nice long naps during the day.

Anything that can be done to extend those naps into at least an hour and a half will pay off when she goes to bed easily at 7:00 and only wakes up once in the next 12 hours.

It's true. More sleep in the day means more sleep at night.

Hallelujah.

Now if only I can do something about the liquid shit dripping out of the dog's ass that gets me up to take her outside in the cold every two hours all day and night, we'll be golden.

So yesterday I had my first doctor's visit in about 4 years. I'm fine, by the way.

The only trouble I wanted to ask about was earwax buildup. I could feel it there, in my ears. I acknowledge that it's my own fault: years of shoving Q-Tips in there and packing it in like cannon wadding.

There are two ways of dealing with earwax buildup, by the way. One involves a syringe of warm water squirted in. If it's really bad, they'll ask you to put some olive oil in there for a few nights to loosen things up first.

The other involves a tiny ice cream scoop on a long stick. I love that in this modern age of medicine, the best ways we have to deal with this universal issue are squirting water and a tiny scoop.

Well, my doctor whipped out her scoop and went to work on my right ear, which was the worst one. A few seconds of digging, and I hear her say: "Wow, that's the biggest..."

And then it dropped into my lap.

"...usually they come out in little pieces," she said.

And in my lap is a solid chunk of earwax. Dark brown, about 3 cm long, half a centimetre wide. Wax.

"Sorry," is all I can think to say. "That's kind of embarrassing," I add.

"Sorry about dropping it on you," she says.

"No worries."

Secretly, we're both quite proud of our accomplishments. Me, for growing this thing and finally getting rid of it; her for getting it out in one big chunk.

The other ear isn't so bad. "Just put some oil in at night and it'll come out in the shower." I'm a bit disappointed -- I want a slug out of both ears -- but them's the breaks.

Incidentally, two different family doctors have told me that ear cleaning ranks among their favourite professional duties. Apparently it is very satisfying work.

"It feels good to be able to definitively and instantly cure something," my doctor told me yesterday.

I don't know if I can hear better now, but it's nice to know that big lump of crap is no longer gumming up my ear canal. I can feel it's gone, and it's good.

Would you like to hear President Obama swear?

Sound bites from an audiobook version of his "Dreams of My Father" where he quotes a potty-mouthed childhood friend include phrases like: "You know that guy ain’t shit. Sorry-ass motherfucker ain’t got nothing on me, right? Nothin'", "There are white folks, and then there are ignorant motherfuckers like you.", and "You ain’t my bitch, nigga! Buy your own damn fries!"

Awesome.

What I really want to know is: does sardonyx have one of these:

Remember back in the day when there weren't whole channels devoted to playing music videos? There were, like, weekly hour shows, and then at some point they became daily half-hours.

Well, during one of these broadcasts way back in our youth -- say, 1983 -- my sister and I caught this one paricular video that changed us. It wasn't even a video, it was a live performance. And not even live, it was a lip-synch performance from Top of the Pops.

It was this wacky Scottish band called Orange Juice doing a catchy song called "Rip It Up."

Here it is:



We both loved it. The next time she was in Toronto, the nearest place with record stores big enough to have Import sections, she spent a fortune (like, $20) on an Orange Juice EP. Two new songs by the group. We loved it.

Subsequent visits to Import sections in the finer records stores yielded a few more LPs, including the one with Rip It Up on it.

Awesome.

You might recognize the vocalist. His name is Edwyn Collins; he had a hit with A Girl Like You a few years back.

That solo hit made a long-standing dream possible: we got to see him play live. Sure, it was 20 years after that fateful video on TV lead to an obsession. He was much chubbier than the guy whose image adorned my sister's locker door. But it was Edwyn, and he still had the groove.

Still love the Orange Juice, too.

I just adopted a word to save it from death through unuse.

My word is "mingent." It is an adjective meaning "discharging urine."

The sample usage provided is: "No my dear Watson, that's not water you're standing in - I believe a mingent man was here recently."

By adopting this word, I have made a promise to use it as often as possible in regular conversation and correspondence.

I expect you'll be hearing a lot about my mingent daughter in the course of regaling you with tales of her diapers.

Adopt your own word here, at Save the Words.

Nine meals of chili in the last four days.

Something wicked this way comes.

I'm really going to have to remove all the Neil Diamond from my music. Whenever it sneaks up on the random play it makes me very sad.

This time it was Mr. Bojangles. Now, it could be just because that song always upset me -- the dog up and died! -- but usually Neil makes me sad because it makes me think of my mom.

Okay, parents out there: you know that time when your baby's teething and wakes up screaming every hour all night long so you can't get any good sleep?

How long does that last, exactly?

Soo tired...

Work has begun in earnest on our basement. And by that I mean we've given them a cheque for the first payment. They're out rustling up some lumber now, I think.

Soon, we must go television shopping, and I need to use all my masculine wiles to persuade my wife that we really do need the 52", that 46 inches just isn't enough.

I imagine it will look something like this.


"I know a genuine Panaphonics when I see it."

A slight switch from last night's metalfest with Claire, the song currently in my head is a blast from the past.

Hurm. The baby also seems to like NWA, especially Eazy E. Should I be worried?

I mean...MC Ren I could understand, but no child should prefer E.

(One day, she's going to be able to understand the lyrics, and I'll have to put off listening to this stuff for 16 years or so.)

If someone asked me six months ago how I would imagine life would be with a six-month old (it's Claire's half-year birthday today), I would not have described the current situation.

I'm at the desk, working. She's sitting in her swing beside me, grinning and moaning along with Bongzilla. Yes, my baby girl seems to enjoy Grim Reefer as much as I do.

Claire, she like-a the metal.

\m/