…sure, that is.
June 27th, 2008
No, you never can be…
June 25th, 2008
Wednesday Night Ice Cream Truck Blogging
Ever since we moved in, we’ve been suspicious about our local ice cream truck. Oh, sure – it’s the requisite converted white postal Jeep, with a cooler and a sound system, festooned with pictures of various and sundry icy treats in colors unknown to nature. The truck is legit. The driver on the other hand…
No, we’ve long suspected that ice cream is really the driver’s sideline. He would fly down our street at top speed (a blazing 30 MPH or more!), past disappointed kids too young to realize that the Doppler-shifted rendition of “Daisy” emanating from the truck sounded eerily like Hal being shut down by David Bowman. Our street is, to an ice cream truck, the ultimate target-rich environment: lots of kids, plenty of parents with pocket change and a nostalgic yearning to recapture fragments of their own childhood… And yet… Yet…
He would have none of it.
No, his preferred demographic appeared to consist of the dissolute drifters and street kids who congregate in Gas Works Park and the homeless car encampments along Lake Union. His other locale of choice, earlier in ice cream season, would be the local junior high school right around the end of classes. Hey, he’s just going where his market is, right?
Right. I’m sure it was nothing but Bomb Pops® all around.
And so it has gone for at least the last three or four years, late Spring through early Autumn, psychotically-warbled “Daisy” tear-assing past demoralized children. Oh, he’d stop for an adult, particularly women (for big breasts, he’d practically lay down rubber) – but an unaccompanied kid? Yeah. Forget it.
And so tonight, upon hearing the electronically distorted burbling of “Daisy”, well, we didn’t expect much. We joked about getting a dime bag, ignoring The Boy’s eager face. After all, it wasn’t like he was actually going to get the chance to pick anything.
But tonight, something was… different. He was traveling slowly. Appropriately, even. And then…
…he stopped! For some kids!
Huh. No shit.
I fished out a dollar and gave it to The Boy, who ran out to the street and flagged down the truck. The Boy got his Bomb Pop® and a “Ooh, good choice!” from the driver. When the boy next door came running out, the driver told him to wait a minute so he could pull the truck up to the house where the boy’s moms could see him. And there he sat while our neighbors’ kids got their ice cream.
Whoa. Clearly the pod people have taken our old ice cream driver. Or Seattle P.D. Either way, it’s a nice start to summer.
Posted by protected static as random at 8:48 PM UTC
Eh.
So… I was going to post something witty, biting, and sarcastic about Rev. James Dobson of Focus on the Anus’* remarks about Obama picking and choosing his Biblical passages for political aims… but my heart’s just not in it right now. You know the drill: Pot. Kettle. Black. Shocking no? Witty repartee and oh-so-hip and detached banter follows.
Eh. Whatever.
*Thanks for that great turn of phrase, Pam.
Posted by protected static as politics at 8:18 PM UTC
June 13th, 2008
“[The Boy], your mom has bionic ears!”
Of course, the fact that the roar coming from The Boy’s room is approximately 120 dB probably has something to do with it…
Note to self: 5 8-year-old boys for a sleepover is probably two too many…
[Update @ 10:15PM PDT - the room appears to be quiet... Hopefully they're actually getting some sleep.]
[Update @ 14 June 2008 6:59AM - ...and they've been up for half an hour already. That covers some values of 'some,' I suppose.]
Posted by protected static as random at 8:46 PM UTC
Failure…
June 11th, 2008
30-second science blogging: The Earth and Moon…
…as seen from Mars! How freakin’ cool is that?
(click on the picture for full-size image)
[h/t to Oliver Willis]
Posted by protected static as 30-second science blogging, space at 9:07 PM UTC
June 8th, 2008
I’m sure these things are not related…
I mean, why would Chavez be calling for FARC to end their armed struggle against Colombia… one day after the Colombians caught Venezuelan military personnel trying to smuggle 40,000 rounds of ammunition into Colombia? They couldn’t possibly be related…
Some backstory: Venezuela’s military recently converted from rifles that fire NATO 5.56×45mm ammunition to an updated, Russian-made version of the AK-47 that fires 7.62×39mm ammunition – making them the only nation in the Americas to standardize on this cartridge. At the time the purchase was announced (last year? two years ago? feeling too lazy to Google…), some analysts speculated that the primary reason for the conversion wasn’t to give the finger to the US – it was to make covertly arming FARC easier, since they primarily use AK-47 variants.
Posted by protected static as politics at 10:45 PM UTC
“What toy is that?”
“Take it away from him! That noise! It’s driving me insane!”
So saith The Boy, in reference to a squeaky toy being savaged by one of the terriers.
I find this a.) ironic and b.) amusing to a degree that probably borders on unhealthy.
Posted by protected static as random at 2:50 PM UTC
June 7th, 2008
Further vignettes from The Annals of Bad Parenting
I totally spaced on the fact that The Boy was supposed to go to a birthday party this afternoon. It was for one of his best friends, and we’d RSVP’d with a firm ‘Yes.’ Oy. I feel terrible.
I don’t feel omigod-I-just-ran-over-the-neighbor’s-cat terrible, but still… terrible nonetheless.
Posted by protected static as random at 7:02 PM UTC
June 6th, 2008
“Dad, when are you going to the hardware store?”
Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought this was a question to fear. And yet…
“Why?”
“I need four springs.”
[internal sigh] “Eat your breakfast.”
“But I’m going to…”
“After breakfast.”
[10 minutes later]
“Dad, I need four…”
“Are you done with your breakfast?”
“Yes.”
“What do you need four springs for?”
“Well… If I can get all the materials, I think I can build a fold-away hang glider.”
Did he say…? He did.
“How big are you planning on making this… hang glider.”
I’m guessing kite-sized. As he mentally figures out the dimensions, I can see him measuring with his arms. That’s right; it’s going to be wider than his arms’ reach. Can you say Hell, no?
“Is it going to be big enough for you to ride?”
Silence.
“And how are you going to test this?”
“It won’t be very high.”
“No.”
“Da-ad!”
[louder] “No.”
“Wh-yy?”
“It’s not safe.”
“But I won’t be that far off the ground.”
“I said no.”
“Fine.”
A hang glider. Sweet Jesus Haploid Christ, a full-sized (folding!) hang glider.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Forget the springs. I need some plaster and some cloth.”
[sigh] I don’t even want to know. I suspect it’s going to be a long summer…
Posted by protected static as random at 8:27 AM UTC