The Gallivanting Monkey

let us be the first parents to not screw up

tinarowley — Wed, 23 Jan 2008 02:13:00 +0000

Hi Finn. Hi, you. Love you in the Harry Potter glasses your uncle gave you. You’ve also recently sussed out smiling for the camera. That’s the way, sugar! Leave no square millimeter of enamel hidden. And everyone, behold the view I get when my boy’s heading in for a smooch. Ideally I’d like his face to remain within three inches of my face at all times. He also smells good.

So, I don’t mean screw up like in the small ways we have already screwed up nine million times and will screw up thirty trillion more before we’re dead. I don’t mean that. I mean that I was just thinking the other day that the possibility exists that we can hurt him. We can do something, knowingly or unknowingly, that makes him feel smaller inside.

It hit me – boof – in the gut, this possibility. We could bestow on this tiny man that we love more than anything some creepy, slow burning gift of self-doubt or self-loathing or shame or something else that we don’t even know to watch out for. We, by not knowing ourselves properly, can slice off little pieces of his well-being day by day.

Don’t get me wrong. So far I think we’re doing pretty well. Nobody can accuse us of not loving Finn. We shower him with love and we laugh all the time and we keep the small things small and the big things big and we’re fairly sure we know which is which. I’m not crippled with self-doubt about our parenting. We’re all right. We’re good.

But chances are good that we’re missing something because most parents do their best and feel this way and love their children and try not to skip the big beats. And most people have some kind of goddamn wound courtesy of Mom and Dad. So, the math, do it and weep.

Wish us luck. We really want to crack this thing. It’s our Apollo mission. Let it not be the one that ended up with the Tom Hanks movie.

i have a new band again

tinarowley — Mon, 21 Jan 2008 08:10:00 +0000

This is truly a great pastime, this meme that I posted about two days ago.

This album is dedicated to my husband, Dave. Today is the third anniversary of our tiny little courthouse wedding, our first wedding. We had three friends there holding two cellphones connected to two loved ones. One friend played the ukelele, he played the Beatles song “Things We Said Today”. I carried a bunch of irises and dahlias from Larry’s Market. The bulk of our little wedding party then retired to the Four Seasons for tea; that was our reception. Then Dave and I went to the Kingfish for dinner. We told the hostess we’d just gotten married. The bartender made us fancy little drinks with raspberries and champagne and then in the kitchen they wrote Congratulations on the plate that held our big slice of red velvet cake. Before we went into the Kingfish, we called my parents and I unknowingly had the last conversation I would ever have with my dad. He said, “You’ve been spliced” over and over. He sounded like he was smiling. Whenever I hear that Beatles song now, I think of Dave but mostly I think of my dad. After dinner, Dave and I went to a movie – we saw “In Good Company”. That was our miniature honeymoon, the dinner and the movie.

This album is also dedicated to Finn, who turned 21 months old yesterday and has his pronouns and maybe some other things confused, so he’ll walk up to me and say, “Mommy loves you” or “I love Finny.” He’ll also walk up to me and press a book into my hand saying, “Absolutely read it.” Will do, my dear. Fuckin’ totally will do.

I am Tina. You will have heard of me because of my band, Lamporrecchio.

murmurers

tinarowley — Mon, 21 Jan 2008 07:24:00 +0000

Sometimes it’s enough just to listen to the classical music station DJs talking. You don’t even need the actual classical music to come on.

That was Mozart’s Early Symphony No. 46 in C, the Consentus Musicus Vienna there….

Very good, my calm nasal friend. Keep talking. I like it. You’re better than Xanax.

i am up for about 300 more memes this year

tinarowley — Sat, 19 Jan 2008 09:09:00 +0000

I would like to extend my thanks to the estimable Shannie Shoo Shoo for my discovery of this meme who saves my posting ass today. I quote the whole thing verbatim. Bless you, Shannon Kipp, though you may not have sneezed.

*************

Album cover meme…

Here are the rules:

Go to this website:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random

The first article title on the page is the name of your band.

http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3

The last four words of the very last quote is the title of your album.

http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days/

The third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.You then take the pic and add your band name and the album title to it, then post your pic.

*************

And here is my result:

we in the fast moving checkout line are on our own

tinarowley — Sat, 19 Jan 2008 07:06:00 +0000

The Cosmopolitan magazine was right there, and the guy in front of me had a small but densely packed cart so I thought I had a shot. I flipped and flipped but all the perfume ads and subscription cards and other cover story poaching guards blocked me until my time ran out. I would have had 10 subliminal tricks to make people adore me. Also, I could have found out why John Mayer says that all men aren’t assholes. But it’s the tricks to make people adore me that I would have liked.

Maybe I’ve stumbled on one. Put make people adore me in italics whenever possible, and that genie from The Secret will do it, he will make people adore me. (Yes, I watched it. I watched The Secret. I know what it is. Riches and bliss are mine, clownfish.)

But even if I have stumbled on one, I am without the other nine. I am going to make them up because I don’t think it’s fair that we in the fast line, we non-Cosmo-subscribers, we non-Cosmo-purchasers should have to shuffle around all unadored. I am going to use the penetrating power of my mind to determine what these tricks are for us. I am going to drill my way into a psychic Cosmo and unearth them. I will unearth all ten. The italics one is free. It is the thirteenth bagel. Enjoy it.

Ten Subliminal or Not Subliminal Tricks to Make People Adore You

1. When you speak to people, have your default mouth be a pucker, like you are about to lay a smooch upon them. And raise your eyebrows to make sure that you aren’t conveying some kind of lemon-in-mouth message. Smile with your eyes.

2. If you are walking down the hallway with a colleague, slip your hand into theirs so you are walking hand in hand. (Let me know how this works. I don’t have any colleagues.)

3. Mouth “I adore you” a few times when you want to take a break from puckering your mouth in a conversation.

4. Carry some cash in your hand, and casually dangle it towards people like you aren’t aware you’re doing it.

5. Say “bless you” to people when they did not sneeze. Just say it.

6. Sigh blissfully while people are speaking.

7. Do a miracle in front of the person whose adoration you would like.

8. Go around with a little bag and say you’re collecting adoration for needy children but then when people give it to you, keep it. Keep the bag. (Don’t tell anyone you kept the bag. This is very important.)

9. Post to your blog every day for a year. People adore this! Especially people on Facebook whose newsfeeds are clogged with your imported notes. What I mean to say is do not have a blog.

10. Carry around this month’s issue of Cosmopolitan and people will assume you know the tricks, and then that will be a trick, they will think they’re already being tricked into adoring you, and it will work. Even if they are aware that it’s a trick, they will not know how to defend themselves.

We’re in like Flynn, suckers!

to have to post every day feels like this today

tinarowley — Fri, 18 Jan 2008 05:58:00 +0000

eureka! maybe

tinarowley — Wed, 16 Jan 2008 16:40:00 +0000

Oh my god. Am I the first person to be drawing this analogy I’m about to draw?! I feel like Benjamin Franklin discovering electricity or something. I’m probably not the first. I’m surely the fiftieth. I thought I was the originator of “_________y Mc _________erson”. Without a doubt I was not.

Nonetheless!

It’s perfect. It’s not perfect. It’s almost perfect. I think it’s good. It’s good. It’s good enough.

During the Democratic debate last night — now I’m Isaac Newton — an apple fell on my head and I understood that:

and also – Oedipal, but

so naturally

and for extra credit we feature

which leads to

and since the lily has already been gilded to within an inch of its life and the idea is getting sort of cheapened and diluted from the first relatively pristine group of three you might as well but I’m sure I’ll wish I didn’t just because it’s not very elegant or surprising

Yeah. Three is way better than six. Unless four through six are totally out of left field.

today’s bad math

tinarowley — Wed, 16 Jan 2008 02:00:00 +0000

The next step is to bring Larraine* over here as soon as possible on a permanent basis. We can’t be putting her on any more planes to leave us. It’s just wrong.

*Dave’s mama, for those just tuning in.

**********************
THE MORE UPLIFTING PART OF THE POST

Overheard in the house just now, as Finn is wandering around in a too-small hat that culminates in a mouse head…

Dave: Finn, I forget. Are you a pixie or an elf?

Finn (bored): Pixie.

A few minutes later, as a still-behatted Finn wanders up to a hatless me…

Finn: You look cute in that hat.

hasty self portrait in before midnight…

tinarowley — Tue, 15 Jan 2008 07:15:00 +0000

…which looks more like Leslie Caron but whatever. I posted!

of late i am cranky

tinarowley — Mon, 14 Jan 2008 03:06:00 +0000

I don’t know who or what is retrograde where but whatever you say to me, whoever you may be, I am liable to take it wrong and stew about it and make up imaginary scenarios that take it one step further and get all worked up – until I catch myself. And then I practice this idea I’ve been reading about and say to myself, I’m not angry. My mind is angry. Look at my mind. Look at that. It’s angry. Hmm. Hmmm. I see. I see it.

And then I’m able to understand that the person crossing in the crosswalk who has a walk sign but who’s crossing when I’m waiting to turn left over that crosswalk, that person isn’t fucking with me. That person is all right. Free to go. And so are you, whoever you are. You’re free to go, too, you person who accidentally with your mouth stepped on a landmine in my head.

But I’m a teeny tiny cranky time bomb/minefield of late. Go figure.